Sharing My Back Story
From the desk of Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy………………..
Back Story
Our blue collar working class
neighborhood equaled the world to us in my childhood. Those narrow streets lined with tired, worn
houses provided shelter and a familiar refuge.
We shopped at the small markets within a few block radius, went to
school, to church, and to our relatives, most of which lived within the same
area. St. Joseph’s Hospital – known in
the ‘hood and community as “Sisters” – was where I was born and where the old
folks went to die.
Growing up there my life seemed
destined to follow a particular path.
I’d grow up, go to the same high school my mother attended, graduate and
get married to a boy from the neighborhood.
He’d work at the brewery a few blocks away, the same one with the
whistle everyone used to keep track of time.
Or maybe he’d work at the packing house like my dad did or another
factory or at Quaker Oats or if he were really a go-getter, he might become a
postman like my uncle.
I’d work, maybe in a nice office
somewhere or if not, I’d be a waitress or sew hatbands onto men’s hats at the
same sweatshop where my grandma worked.
Or I could wash the hospital’s dirty laundry including the priest’s
smalls like my Granny. If we could,
maybe I’d be able to quit work when the inevitable kids came and if not, they’d
go to Granny’s just like I did from the age of two months until school began
for me. The years would pass, the kids
would grow and I’d get old, living the same lifestyle that nurtured me. I’d go from girl to Granny myself in a few
decades but it would be the natural order of things, the way of it all.
Except I never quite fit the
pattern. Somehow from birth I was never
quite the perfect little girl with ringlet curls and sweet demeanor my mother
expected and as I grew up, I dreamed of another life, somewhere else and
something different.
I
may have left the old neighborhood behind but it lives within me, baggage that
serves me well. Along with the teachings
of my family members, especially my Granny, I have the stubborn, fighting
spirit that brought me here to keep me moving into the future.
Girls from my old neighborhood, from
my rough river rat hometown aren’t supposed to grow up and write novels or
anything else.
But one of my grandfather’s handed
down a saying, “there is no such word as ‘can’t’” and so I grew up believing I
could. My father encouraged me to soar
beyond the confines of the nest, to try my hand at writing and anything else
tempting my fancy. When I headed to
college, he applauded and when I ran out of money before starting my senior
year, he funded it. He didn’t try to
keep my home when I took off for California or stop me when I moved in with a
man. We won’t even talk about my
mother’s reaction but let’s just call it classic and stereotypical.
If I hadn’t lived my back story, I
probably couldn’t write the stories I do.
If I hadn’t left home and visited other places, maybe I wouldn’t be able
to write the stories. But the
background, the neighborhood remains a foundation. Instead of becoming my life, my growing up
turned into my springboard to farther places and my past remains a
touchstone. I couldn’t write the stories
without it either.
Someone once made a lot of money by
writing a book claiming everything he learned was in kindergarten. I wouldn’t go as far to say I learned
everything in the neighborhood which cradled me but I learned a lot and it
travels along with me, baggage of my soul.
MY LINKS
Twitter: leeannwriter
From Sweet to Heat: The Romance of Lee Ann
Sontheimer Murphy
Blog: Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Goodreads:
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