Saturday morning, I packed a bag lunch of turkey sandwich and Teddy Grahams (honey flavor), drove to the University campus, and attended Read Like a Writer. I joined 11 other students and an instructor, all better read than me, in that they did not scrunch up their face and shrug when the instructor mentioned someone named “Ayn” Rand. I certainly did my part to participate in the class. In business, I’ve learned if nothing else that if you’re walled in with a bunch of people around a table, saying stuff is the best way to avoid nodding off. So I offered my limited examples of book knowledge (Dirk Pitt is rad!), espoused original observations, and even made counterarguments to a few really opinionated lifelong students, which isn’t something I normally do. It was a rare time for me to engage in intellectual discourse with a group of people about things other than work or sports. I do engage my wife in intellectual discourse about once a week, but you should stay out of my business.
Several classmates expressed their desire to write memoirs; some as retirees with decades of life experiences looking to share their stories, others as people writing to write. I’ve thought about this too, and I find that the following facts about me – facts which are almost certain not to change – make the idea of my memoir quite silly:
- I was never in the military
- I was never poor
- My father was not a drunk
- My mother was not an evil taskmaster
- I did not attend Catholic school
- I am not an expert in any field
- I am not gay
- I did not have an older brother who beat the dickens out of me
And let’s be honest, facts like those are often bases for compelling and interesting memoirs. But screw it. I’m compiling a memoir-ific outline using the following facts about myself – facts which are almost certain to make you drowsy:
- I sort of skipped 3rd grade
- I once made 62 consecutive free throws
- I won the “Director’s Award” in 8th grade band, only to quit band after 9th grade
- I grew up on the rugged avenues of Hudsonville, MI
- I scored a 33 on my ACT
- I’ve sprained my ankles a combined 34 times
- I wore teeth braces for 5 years, and still made homecoming court
- My family is quite nice and I enjoy hanging out with them
My challenge is clear: figure out how to create an indulgent meal out of weak-sauce ingredients. And if there’s one story-of-my-life asterisk here, it’s that I avoid challenge at all costs (just kidding, employer!). I’m diving into this memoir full speed, tomorrow. But if it takes 31 more years to write, all the better, because by then I will have:
- Probably beaten down a few minor diseases
- Probably been married 4 or 5 times (just kidding, honey!)
- Probably developed random neuroses, like plucking hairs out of my upper arms (wait, I already do that)
- Probably punched a few hobos
- Probably figured out what I’m good at
- Probably failed as a writer...
