My Mom always told me to write down my story. When I was in college, she would giggle like a school girl as I would report the events of the day. It seemed like there was always something funny or crazy that would happen around me. Perhaps, I was just aware of my surroundings or could find the humor in everyday events. Regardless of when or why I called, I always had a story to tell which would send her laughing.
I would tell her about the most embarrassing things that would happen to me (like the time I spent all day on campus thinking I looked great because everyone was staring at me, only to realize when I got home, that I forgot to wear a bra and I was wearing a white shirt!) Or she would get an earful of the most absurd situations (I actually saw someone slip on a banana peel!) Or she would get the exaggerated story of some random person that had spoken with me and spilled their life story in it's entirety. Oh, and let's not forget the men--their cheesy pick up lines and the fun-filled dates! Whatever the day brought, a new story was born and I loved to make my mom laugh!
The stories continued after I graduated, as did my Mom's promptings to write them down. "We'll write a book someday," she would say. I would agree with her, yet never wrote a word. I always thought I would have a plethora of stories to tell. That life would continually feed me words of laughter, encouragement, love, and amusement.
One day the stories stopped, and it wasn't until recently that I discovered the reason why.
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