Who ever told us that working hard makes us succeed? “Son, just work hard, be disciplined, and you’ll get what you want.” Our parents or teacher’s mantra seems reasonable; it must be true if they made a point of telling us over and over and over. Obviously, they may have overlooked what their minds imagined or visualized before they ever started all that hard work.

My Dad’s parents left family, friends, and the familiar hills and valleys of northern Italy for the unfamiliar farmland outside of New Haven, Connecticut. Their labor provided food and clothing for 12 children who picked beans, plucked apples and pears, piled hay, and learned to tug and pull milk into a pan from a docile cow. Mommer, my grandmother, chased chickens until she made them run without heads, plucked their feathers and threw them into a pot. Popper chased chicks and slept in the barn, so I am told. He also grafted a twig on the skin of a tree creating new fruit for his labor.

Neither Mommer or Popper ever told me about what they imagined for themselves. In fact, I sense life calloused their imagination and heart (I could be wrong since I did not know them too well).

Just the same, They must have imagined what they could not see, desired what they did not know, but heard stories about when embarking on a ship to America. Something kept them going for more than 80 years of harsh work, and that something kept 12 children productive and determined as post World War II entrepreneurs.

I don’t know if Mommer or Popper ever thought about their dreams, desires, call in life, or purpose. Mommer was not too complimentary of her children or her husband when an old woman. I am told she said, “I married a rat and had 12 little rats.”

Our words are our reality. Our expectations are our results. Our designs and passions make our schedule.

Unlikely that Mommer and Popper wrote about themselves or to each other.  Perhaps a card here or there, but improbable that they kept a journal.  My father wrote a self-published book about his family and parents (I’ve never read it).  Committing the stories of Evergreeen Avenue to print preserves the perception of memories (since all memory is perception) for other generations.

Learning to write about ourselves, tell our stories, and reveal ourselves to others takes energy, confidence, an aversion to shyness, and a passion to inform.  Sometimes the most mundane stories have no monetary value, yet they confirm a common human experience.

Write often; write well.