My storytelling career began in the back seat of a car, a ’57 Chevy with its glamorous two-tone green paint job. Inside the vehicle, with the bench seats and the green dash was a giant steering wheel, reserved only for my dad. My mom’s role was to occupy the children: a newborn, two toddlers, and me. I was a newly minted reader and felt I could conquer the world with this tool. At the very least I could enter a world apart while the other three squabbled, demanded, and cried.

I’d just entered the world of writing, nourished by my teacher and my mom, who’d surrogated her college education to be a ’50s caregiver. Both parents were dedicated to family visits so we made frequent weekend visits. My habitual seat was on the right, behind my mom. To keep me occupied during the long ride, we did alphabet searches on billboards and looking out for Burma Shave rhymes.

But my favorite preoccupation occurred with her prompt: “See the people in that car? Tell me a story about their lives?”

My mom was an avid reader. Though her reading time was confined to children’s naps and bedtimes, the wall-to-wall bookshelves in the family room showed my parents’ values. Once I gained the gateway to reading, I was her soulmate. My dad was eager to fill vocabulary gaps. His forte was storytelling for the older siblings while my mom handled the baby at bedtime. Even as he told of the boy attempting to milk the cow or the one who put the gathered hen eggs and put them in his pocket, only to fall as he ran back to the kitchen, I knew he was sharing his life as well as a valuable lesson: don’t take life – or yourself- too seriously.

I cherish my storytelling gift, in which the words seem to flow freely – without conscious effort – from my fingers as I write on any topic. The gift’s derivational history is my parents, who I miss deeply. The one below was taken in front of our house by my husband. My parents had visited with us to celebrate her 80th birthday at her request. We had a grand adventure and happy times, as shown on our faces.

I feel honored to honor them.