From as early as I can remember, my dad has been telling us stories. Every birthday, my sisters and I would hear our birth story. At night when he’d tuck us in, he’d tell us a story. Some were fiction, but most of them were true stories from his past. He grew up in rural Kentucky, and his childhood playground was acres and acres of woods and farmland. We’d hear stories about his dogs, getting in trouble, favorite foods, shenanigans with his cousins and friends, helping his granddad on the farm, and sitting at his grandma’s table. We’d hear about hog killings, salt boxes, farm tractors, climbing trees, tobacco barns, and hilarious quotes from his grumpy grandparents.

Dad as a boy, my parents' wedding day, and my dad and grandparents playing music

He would reminisce, and we would sit and listen. When we’d go to visit Mema and Granddaddy’s house, he’d take us to cemeteries to see where our family was buried, show us every relative’s house, the acres of fields once belonging to my grandparents and great-grandparents, and even the creek bank where he and my mom got married. He was showing us our heritage, and even as an adult, I have a great love and appreciation for Marshall County KY. What I’ve learned in those moments about the Sutherlands and Darnalls is priceless to me now.

Mema and my dad holding baby L, Mema and Granddaddy holding me, my grandparents' house, my sister and me on the creekbank where my parents got married.

I doubt my dad sits and thinks about these stories every day. But when a story does come to his mind, it’s a joy to watch his face light up when as he starts telling it again. It's obvious which ones are his favorite. I’ve heard them many times, but I honestly don’t care. His shared memories are the only way I get to experience those pieces of my heritage. My sisters and I value both sides of our family's history because my parents decided it was important for us to know where we came from. When I got married, I suddenly had another rich heritage to discover through stories, and it’s one of my favorite parts of J’s family.

During this quarantine, we have the time to sit and listen again. Recalling memories with the ones you love is therapeutic, and tension and anxiety dissolve in the light of a favorite memory. Busyness tends to shove our memories into the back of the closet in our minds, but now is the time to pull them out and share the joy. If your parents are still living, call them and have them tell you a story. If they've passed on, recall a story of your own and share it with a loved one.

Memories are precious. They need to be shared. What are your stories?

God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy.
Psalm 68:6