Unexpected Connections

Some of my favorite moments of writing Wreckage really have nothing to do with the writing process itself. What stands out most is the unexpected reactions of others who have heard certain essays.  I’ve been surprised by their responses, and more than that, new bonds have been formed. It seems that hearing my stories has not only helped people I know understand me in a different way, but has enabled me to connect with them differently, more deeply. Two instances stand out to me. 

The first is with my sister Marlene. Early on, I shared a rough draft of Chapter 1, Missing Parts, with her. This essay describes something that happened to me when I was 9 years old with my stepfather. For years, I’d tried to convince myself out of my upset about what, as an adult, seemed like a minor infraction. Sure, my stepfather had crossed a physical boundary, but it was (I told myself, in the grand scheme of things) not that big of a deal. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself my feelings were overblown, the memory still bothered me. So, I wrote about it.

I’m not sure what I expected when I read the essay to Marlene, but in hindsight, I guess I assumed she would probably think it wasn’t that big of a deal either. After all, far worse things had happened in our house – before and after.

That wasn’t how she responded at all.

When I finished reading, I looked up at the Zoom screen. Marlene was wiping her eyes. “I didn’t know that happened to you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

No one had ever apologized for such things before. I felt heard and understood, as her validation of 9-year-old me created a new bond. We knew each other differently, more profoundly.

Me, my son, and my future daughter-in-law, snowshoeing in Northern AZ.

A second moment that stands out is when I shared Chapter 2, Running in Circles, with my future daughter-in-law, who is several decades younger than I am. I felt a bit self-conscious subjecting her and my son to my latest creative endeavors, thinking they were humoring me by listening! I suspected, given our age difference, she couldn’t possibly relate to a story about me in kindergarten, nearly 60 years ago. She would politely listen, give the socially expected positive feedback, and then we would be on our way.

That wasn’t what happened.

As I read, I’d occasionally glance up toward her and my son. Each time I did, her eyes seemed to grow wider, and she leaned closer. She wasn’t just politely listening; she was rapt.

When I finished, I laughed and asked, “What’s going on with you? Your eyes are killin’ me!”

“That’s just how I felt in kindergarten,” she responded.

She went on to describe her own story of finding solace and comfort in school, just as I had. She explained how she, like 5-year-old me, loved the stability, predictability, and structure of school. We might have been in kindergarten decades apart, but our experiences were similar.

In that moment, I understood her in a deeper way. She, too, knew me a little better. We connected over our mutual, yet separate, experience.

These are just two of the unexpected connections created by Wreckage. There are many others I will discuss over time. It’s remarkable how the combination of a few hundred well-placed words can bring people closer together and forge new, stronger bonds.