Finding My WritingVoice in My Unknown Father’s 60 Year-old Short Story
What I’m slowly discovering in myself after recently finding out about my real father I never knew I had, and will never get to know.
It’s a short story, handwritten in pencil on yellow lined paper over 60 years ago. By my father. Who I learned about for the first time 3 years ago. This is the only experience of my father’s voice that I have, or will ever have. And it not only made me laugh out loud, it threw the doors wide open for where I am going with my own writing voice.
I had only glanced at it three years ago when it was given to me from among his personal things by my newly discovered cousin Lisa. I didn’t know how lucky I was at the time. I held the story in my hands as if I were reading it, but I couldn’t focus. My mind was reeling, still overwhelmed by the whole revelation. But I found it again, and read it. Really read it.
Recently I found it again. I hadn't looked at it since October of 2018 and had forgotten about the story, also in the envelope.
I read, I laughed, I felt happy. Here it is, complete with edits, no way to know by whom.
