Stories Shape Us, Make Us, And Are One Of The Best Parts Of Life

Random stories and the images they bring come to me often. I’ve written about the now-horrifying book Brave Mr. Buckingham saying “that didn’t hurt!” and how each time Tucker loses a tooth, I think of that line. It’s been years since I set eyes on that story but I picture myself as a young child, sitting in our 70’s-style kitchen, fascinated by Brave Mr. Buckingham’s inability to feel pain.

I still see the simple drawings on the pages. The words. I feel the excitement of what Brave Mr. Buckingham will next exclaim didn’t hurt.

“That didn’t hurt!” is something I say in my head, in the imagined voice I have for Brave Mr. Buckingham, each time a moment passes. The moments are both bittersweet in their endings, and perfection in the moment. Because it does hurt, a bit, each time. Being exhausted after a vacation at Disneyland. The moment being over hurts; the hurt an acceptable price to pay for having had it.

Stories Shape Us, Make Us, And Are One Of The Best Parts Of Life

Sometimes, the stories that come to mind are simply ones I’ve woven based on a single sentence. When we had our back-in-Colorado party this past summer, my best friend Julie said “Sara gave me the tour.” She repeated herself. I wish I’d reacted differently to her comment, but said nothing at the time. I think I nodded or did something equally stupid. At the time, I was worried about her thoughts on this too-big-for-us house, the new neighborhood with tiny trees… Now, I think about what she wanted to say. I should ask her, for her, or, if only to get my imagined story out of my head.

After all, stories shape us, make us, and are one of the best parts of life.

Sara, Julie’s sister, and my other best friend, once told me something about her past I thought I should already know, so I didn’t say much. Rather than being in the moment, I was spiraling back to whether she’s maybe told me before, and I’d forgotten. We did do a lot of drinking back in our youth. I should ask her about that, too. Maybe. Maybe she’d rather move on. The point is, I build these stories in my mind without knowing the real one.

For somebody who advocates that we never ever ever never ever know somebody’s story, I am guilty of spinning them.

Stories Shape Us, Make Us, And Are One Of The Best Parts Of Life

An overheard story from when Tucker was watching YouTube is why I haven’t eaten tuna in months and months, even though I love tuna sandwiches with lettuce, pickles, and extra mustard. I’ll spare you the details just in case you’re as squeamish as I, but I can’t even look at the tuna fish in the pantry without visualizing the story from his iPad.

***

In my 20’s, my mom, cousin, and Grandma went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. It was this place set on a river in Colorado, our seats right next to the window looking down at the rapids. It was unsettling and thrilling. That was the first time I remember my grandma talking about being a young girl in Nebraska.

She talked about this time she was supposed to kill a chicken for dinner, and how she’d put it in a bag to not have to see its face when she chopped off the head. I don’t even remember how the story ended (in my personally-spun version, she set it free and they ate from the garden), but I remember feeling shocked and filled with wonder at this life she had before she was a grandmother.

It wasn’t until that meal that I realized my grandma was an actual person with stories, dreams, and struggles. The next time we visited her home, I looked at old photos of her, saw that she was once beautiful. Saw that beauty in her aged, wrinkled roundness. I think about that meal, and wonder what stories Tucker will remember from our travels, struggles, boredom, and laughter in the moment.

Maybe, because I’ve said “That didn’t hurt!” when it does hurt at least a little bit will be something he remembers too.  

Or, maybe, he’ll have his own catch phrase from a story we read over and over. Here’s hoping it’s not one from that little d-bag Caillou. Because Caillou is just a kid who sucks.

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, hosted by yours truly. This week’s prompt is “A story that stuck with me is…”