There's been a trend to writing your Family Stories for some time now, and I doubt that it will fade away any time soon. The pandemic we're experiencing is serving to make people realize the importance if family and holding on to all those tales told during family gatherings.
Many would like to write a series of Family Stories for their own generation and the next and the next and... The big question is where do I begin? Let's face it, we have many, many untold tales.
Begin with a memory. It doesn't matter how small or how large. You can write a story about the tiniest of memories. Those little memories are things that left an impression on us and deserved to be noted in your Family Stories collection.
Consider putting your story in the creative nonfiction category rather than merely a report of what happened. Creative nonfiction is a true story told using fiction techniques. In other words, you should add sensory details, some emotion/feelings, sense of place. Try for a beginning, middle, and ending just as you would have in a piece of fiction.
As an example, I'm going to post a story I wrote about a very small memory from my childhood. My grandmother's Date Muffins. You may doubt that an entire story can be written about such a minute, seemingly trivial thing. What I wanted to get across was not only that the muffins Grandma made were special but that it was that she could only show her love by preparing special foods for her family. And so, "Love On a Plate" came about. Read it keeping in mind the items I mentioned above used in writing a Family Story. Read it and then try one of your own. (Note: This story went through the usual process of first draft, letting it sit a few days, revision/editing) I'm quite certain you all have special foods that your mother, aunt, or grandmother made for your family.
Love On A Plate
By Nancy Julien Kopp
My grandmother moved away from Chicago about the time I started grade school, but she came back to visit us for a few weeks every year. At least one time during her visit we had a “Muffin Day”--unannounced, and a happy surprise.
I walked the eight city blocks home from school every noontime with my classmates. It was the late nineteen-forties, and grade school lunchrooms were never a consideration. Each day was much the same. My classmates and I laughed, chattered, and played games like Stinkfish on the sidewalk sections as we made our way home for lunch. The group diminished, as, one by one, kids disappeared into their various houses. Mothers waited inside with lunch on the table, soup or a sandwich in most cases.
I lived farthest from school so traveled alone on the final two blocks. The sight of our large red-brick apartment building usually made my stomach growl with hunger. I'd walk a little faster, adding a hop, skip, and a jump now and then. Cars rumbled past on the brick street, and trains that ran parallel to the road often rolled and clattered by. Our vestibule doorway was one of seven entryways surrounding the formal grassy courtyard in the center of the large U-shaped building. My degree of hunger set the pace as I ran around the bushes and green area that led to our entrance.
I knew the day that Grandma made a special lunch had arrived when the aroma of hot date muffins greeted me the minute I opened the vestibule door. At the first sniff, my heart skipped a beat, and I felt a flutter of excitement deep inside my stomach. My nose twitched with genuine pleasure as the scent of the hot muffins floated down all three flights of stairs. My feet slid quickly across the cold, tiled entryway floor to the softer, carpeted stairs. My fingers touched the smooth stairway railing only once or twice as I flew up the steps following that ever-stronger fragrance.
I burst through the unlocked door, heading straight to the kitchen in the back of the apartment. Grandma waited there, face flushed with heat from the oven, a plate of her special muffins in her wrinkled hands. Mother smiled at me, her delight nearly as great as mine.
“Sit down and eat while they’re hot,” Grandma said.
Finally, seated at the table with a tall glass of cold milk and a steaming muffin on my plate, I sniffed the delectable treat to my heart’s content. The anticipation part proved almost as good as the eating. Then, it was time to break the golden muffin in half and heap a generous pat of real butter on each piece. The first bite tasted of the salty butter and the sweet dates, all mingled together. Heavenly!
On this special day, our lunch consisted of as many of these treats as a stomach could hold. They were so much better than a bologna sandwich. This was love on a plate. It’s a wonder that little red hearts didn’t escape into the air as I broke each muffin in two. My often-stern grandmother knew only one way to show her love, and that was through the food she prepared for those close to her heart. No amount of effort, time, or cost was too big when she cooked and baked for her family.
What has kept those date muffins in my memory bank for well over half a century? Was it that they were especially delicious or that they were made with love? Perhaps a little of both. Which brings to mind my grandmother’s bakery…but that’s another story.
"Grandmother Studham’s Date Muffins"
Grandma mixed her muffins in a big blue crockery bowl, and she always wore an over the shoulder Mother Hubbard apron.
1/3 c. butter softened
2 c. cake flour
¼ c. sugar
3 level tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
¾ c. milk
scant 1 c. dates, cut up
Cream the butter and sugar. Add the egg and mix well. Mix the flour, baking powder and salt together. Add alternately with the milk. Fold in the dates. Bake in greased muffin tins or use paper liners in the tins. Fill each ½ to ¾ full. Bake at 400 degrees for 15-18 minutes or until done. Makes about one dozen muffins.
Note: I substitute margarine and 1% milk to make a healthier version, and they’re still wonderful. You don’t even need that generous pat of butter we used ‘way back when.’
My Grandmother
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