I Write The Stories

Expressing one’s opinions is done differently by different cultures and different people. My great grandfather was English. If he was in agony, he would still say things like, “It is terribly unpleasant.” Talk about understatement.

I had a friend in college who had been a prisoner in Viet Nam. I knew a little bit about what had happened to him, so imagine my surprise when he told a group of people that “They have some strange welcoming rituals for new prisoners.” This was no game he spoke of, he had been terribly tortured. He just didn’t want to share that with everyone.

I have learned to read between the lines. I am a curious creature and I pay attention when people speak, but I try never to pry beyond what they want to share. There is a fine line between caring and curiosity. Who would want to embarrass, or upset someone they care about and make them relive a past experience that obviously has had terrible repercussions?

The mother bear part of me wants to gather them up in a big bear hug and growl at those past tormentors. It just wouldn’t do any good, so I simply share some of my own experiences. It’s the best I know how to do.

Then for my own peace of mind, I write the stories I don’t know.