Is How You Remember It, How it Was? (Jen Intro)

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Introduction by Jen Maidenberg.

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Almost 20 years ago, when my grandparents were still living, I spent time one summer helping my grandmother fill in the blanks on her family tree. I lived in Tucson then, and they lived in Florida, so all of this took place virtually, back when “virtual” was via email only.

The online research available in 2001 consisted of searches of reported Census data and tombstone photo galleries, combined with email communications to genealogy-obsessed strangers. It was fun, for sure, especially since my grandmother’s ancestry makes me (a New Jersey-born Jew) an unofficial daughter of the American revolution. 

I’m a history nerd, charmed by the stories that become legends, and I was enchanted by the discovery of being related to historical figures and events I learned about in 4th grade. (Two of my ancestors, it turns out, came over on the Mayflower.) 

But had you asked why I spent those months following online bread crumbs from Massachusetts to Virginia to Missouri, connecting virtual dots between one John McGuire and another, I would have told you it was mainly about helping my beloved, half-blind 76-year-old grandmother. 

I was her unspoken favorite, and always felt pulled toward engaging her in conversation, listening to her when most others didn’t bother. Our family had little patience for her; my grandmother was, let’s say, a very emotionally unpredictable person. This wore on people after a while. I suppose I believed that listening to her was a kindness. 

This week, however, a renewed interest in researching this particular lineage (possibly for a future writing project, but more likely just a temporary distraction from the news) sent me digging into old emails, and what I discovered is probably not unfamiliar to you, especially if you are a writer of memoir:

how I remember it, is not how it was

. Indeed, the older I get, the more I realize how fallible my memory is, but the more I write, the more I realize that good creative nonfiction depends less on fact and more on feeling. 

According to the old emails, it turns out I was the one to initiate this research project; I wanted the information to “share with my children one day.” She figured I would “be bored with all this family history by now,” and while she enjoyed reminiscing for me, she wasn't very driven toward tracking down any answers. I led the way.

And here I am 20 years later, still delighting in the new discoveries I find. (The internet has filled in a lot of blanks for me.) And still, in a way, I’m listening to her.

Reading the old emails didn’t turn up much in the way of new information about the folks on the family tree. Instead, they brought to the surface a deep and somewhat painful awareness of just how fond my grandmother was of me, maybe more than anyone else was prior to me having kids of my own; how attentive she was and legitimately interested in the mundane details of my life; and how often and effusively she expressed her love and adoration of me, when others did not, especially not then. Perhaps, she was the one doing a kindness; except, that kindness was not rooted in obligation, but in genuine feelings of love.

Being a descendent of a bunch of Pilgrims certainly makes for good conversation, but being a descendent of a woman as complex as my Bubbi will likely make for the better story one day.

Here’s to more temporary distractions masquerading as research. 

Stay safe out there. We're glad you're here.

Jen Maidenberg

Columns Editor

THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

BOOK REVIEWPOETRY'S WINDOW INTO BLACK HISTORYA Review of WHERE WILLIAM WALKED by Vernita Hall from Willow BooksReview by Maria C Goodson"Can poetry also function as a history lesson? What if this book, and others like it, could be used to teach history and poetry in every school in our country?"GET THE BOOKREAD THE REVIEW

FICTIONA SMALL MOON DROWNINGby Jules Archer "...I exhaled a huge breath. Though I could swim, I let my chest lose its air, and I sank, allowing the water to pull me under."READ ON

POETRYYOU DON'T HAVE TO KILL A MAN TO KILL HIMby Ricks Carson"          How it musthave been for my grandfather to siton the rented side porch he used to own,to smoke Camels and flick the buttsover the rail like fireflies..."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONOPEN HEARTby Zsofia McMullin "I don’t know anything about the heart. Well, not anything that matters right now. I know that it pumps blood and that it breaks. I know I should take care of it."READ ON

MIXED MEDIASHADOWSby Celia Parra"In a dystopic, screen-dominated world periodically updated like an operative system, it’s impossible to hide from the abrasive light of electronic devices. 'Shadows' highlights the importance of intimacy and imagination. All kinds of colors can emerge from darkness."READ ON

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