Obituary ... or Life Sketch: chapter 1
The first lie I remember being caught in
I was six, in Coffeyville, Kansas, living in Mrs. O’Hares’ upstairs apartment across the street from a tiny grocery store. We had recently moved there from rural Washington where I had been an only child in a childless land.
Still an only child, suddenly, we were in a neighborhood where there were kids, although many of them weren’t supposed to play with me because I wasn’t “Catholic,” whatever that was. So, I went hunting for playmates.
After returning from one unsuccessful scouting trip, my mother asked me where I’d been and I said the six-year-old equivalent of “nowhere.”
My mom asked if I had been peeking in doors. “No.” I said.
“Then why is there screen print on your nose?”
Busted.
My friend Pat is a genealogy whiz who reads obituaries somewhat like I read Substack Notes … avidly. Over the many years of our weekly calls, the idea of obituaries has inched closer and last week we were talking about who would write ours and what they would say. Pat has a daughter who might write hers and Pat would probably write mine, if I plied her with enough bird seed (San Diego bird radar system has a marker beacon on Pat’s house.)
After awhile though, we decided we should just write our own obituaries. We often say we’re going to do something and then promptly forget all about our good intentions. Who knows whether we will actually do this project, however, it made me laugh when the above memory poured itself onto the page.
This may continue … or not. I’ve committed myself to writing about the mass deportation being planned by the new trump administration. “Diddly squat” is a good description of what I know about immigration, so it will be an uphill learning curve and soul-sucking at best.
I will need a counterbalance so I’m giving Wednesday posts over to things like writing my obituary and sharing my photography and digital art.
Update: This week we talked about who would even read the obituaries we were talking about writing. Unless the obituary relates to a celebrity and is written by the LATimes, my view is that they are somewhat like eating sawdust. So our conversation wandered in and out around questions of Why? and How? and What could possibly make it interesting? Are obituaries just tiny biographies? What are they supposed to accomplish and who are we writing them for?
Pat started calling it a “life sketch” and that sounded more interesting because it included the context of time and place as well as, perhaps, random memories. Pat remembered listening to the Beach Boys but refusing to listen to the Beatles, but not why (yet). I remembered having an “I LIKE IKE” button and then wondering how I got it since politics was never a subject I remember discussing in my family.
So, we would love to hear from any of you who are writing your own obituaries, life sketches, memoirs, etc. Why? How? For whom? What are you gaining from the process?
I was once asked to write my own obit. as part of a team building exercise for a new job.
I refused. I didn't trust the owner/manager. He was the type of person that would use the information against you. This exercise was his means of getting you to divulge personal info.
I quit shortly after.
Later, that year, he was arrested for fraud and embezzlement. Luckily, I was not involved.
Although completing this exercise can be interesting to those close to you, it's not something I recommend sharing with strangers.
I wrote a friends father’s obituary and it came out beautiful. I wrote about what he accomplished and how he helped others. If i find a copy I’ll send it to you. As a journalist and feature writer of people i used to ask them - “If i were writing your obituary what would i say about you.” Most people just looked at me as if i asked for their most recent tax return. But if i were going to write my obituary it would be funny and true. It is a great thought. Writing one’s own obituary. I will write mine and send it to you.