Our first "4WW Writing" prompt for 2024 came out on Sunday, as it will every Sunday for this whole year. As mentioned in the post on January 1st, our weekly writing exercises are more focused and outcome driven this year, entitled "MY LIFE IN 4 PARTS - 4 SEASONS OF ME".
The first prompt was, "Tell the story of your parents and grandparents - including yourself when you get to that part." We thought it would be helpful for you to see some examples of how you might work with this. As we move through the 4 seasons, we will share an excerpt of our story, rotating the style of writing, once at the beginning of each season. These are not our entire writings for that week, just an example to share what it might look like. All 4 of us are hoping to have a volume of writing at the end of this year that captures our story and all 4 of us have already done work looking into our family history to some extent. You may know lots about your family's history or you may know nothing. Maybe this practice will inspire you to do some research, maybe you will write how you wish it was. Maybe your entire writing piece will be questions. Start where you are. That would be amazing!
While the focus of this practice for us is writing, you may also choose to work through these prompts with a more visual-art type of product. Do what works for you. The only wrong way to do this practice is to not do it.
Example 1: Writing in a list - by Star Woman
Grandparents
All four were from India.
Paternal grandfather and grandmother are called Aja and Aji. To be distinguished from Maternal grandfather and grandmother who are called Naana and Naani.
My two grandmothers (my Aji and Naani) and my paternal grandfather (my Aja) were brought over separately as indentured servants to work the sugar plantations in the then-British Guiana (BG; now Guyana).
My maternal grandfather (my Naana) was never indentured. He had a disagreement with his father in India when he wanted to come to BG for adventure. When he returned to India some years later, his father still would not see him. He returned to BG and never saw India again.
Both my Naana and my Aja were Pandits (Hindu priests) from whom members of the community sought counsel.
Both my Aji and Naani were illiterate.
Both couple’s marriages were arranged in BG.
My Aja and Aji chose to take land they were offered versus returning to India – the two choices at the end of the 10-year indentureship contract.
My Naani died when I was 4.
My Aji – Mai as she was known by all, even by the Prime Minister of Guyana when she turned 100 – was the memorable, strong, kind, able, generous-with-her-time grandmother I wish to be in my grandkids’ lives.
My Aja – Pa – died when I was about 6. I have two memories of him: being picked up and carried on his left shoulder when we would meet. The second: standing beside his coffin in the ‘bottom house’, watching him sleep.
My Naana never spoke English.
None of us kids ever spoke Hindi. When my Naana came to visit my Mother once a year – at Christmas – he would be accompanied by a cousin who could translate for him into Hindi. Although he was a Hindu Priest he came bearing gifts for us kids every Christmas, as he knew the Christian customs among which we were growing up.
Parents
My parent’s marriage was arranged in BG.
My mother was 15 and my father was 18.
My mother’s wish to continue school like her brother was not to be. Indian girls, at that time, were deemed of a marriageable age from 12-13 years old. It was to be a regret for her entire life.
I am the 8th of 9 children.
Looking back, it is clear to me and my sisters that unwanted pregnancies were the top of all her fears.
My Dad worked for Bookers Sugar Estates all his life – from Office Boy to Office Manager. He was one of the first ‘Local Boys’ to be promoted to a role traditionally held only by expat white men from England.
He and our mother came to come to Canada to make a home for those of us single kids who had emigrated to Canada, a home which none of us wanted.
Whatever it was he saw in me, my Dad was the one who encouraged me to excel.
On the other side of it, my Mom and I rarely saw eye-to-eye.
Example 2: Prose - by Red Moon Warrior
As was common in rural Quebec in the 1950s, both sets of grandparents lived in the same small town. My paternal grandparents, Memère and Pepère, were pious, devout Catholics and spoke almost exclusively in French having lived all of their lives in predominantly French speaking Quebec communities. Memère's ancestors emigrated from Normandy to New France in 1651 and eventually settled in the Ottawa Valley. She was a strict disciplinarian, an excellent cook, and a seamstress. I remember Pepère as quiet, gangly, often sickly, and yet he managed to operated the town's general store and was mayor for a time. My dad was the fourth of their six children.
My maternal grandparents, Nanny and Grandpa, were quite different people. Both were equally at ease in English and French, were definitely not pious or devout, in spite the fact my Nanny was the eldest daughter of a United Church Minister. Nanny was a city girl who grew up in Montreal and moved to the small town of less than 1000 people as a young teenager when her dad took over the ministry of the local French Baptist Church.
Example 3: Poetry - by Butterfly Heart
As I pen this week’s writing I’m in the midst of boxes upon boxes of pictures and mementos from all across the years. I’m the senior now. That statement startles me to my core! My parents and grandparents have passed and while some of my more senior aunts and uncles are still here to tell a tale or two, I realize that I am the keeper of stories and memories now. One of my goals for 2024 is to clear things that are no longer needed in my space. All through the holidays in fact I have been recycling and donating items and thanking them ‘Marie Kondo style’ as I bid them farewell.
As it happens, appropriately, I’m immersed today in family memories and mementos but writing about them is confounding. Sometimes when this happens I find a poem or song or random thoughts easier to release and pour onto the page so here goes!
I come from grandparents four and parents two,
All six live in me still, though they’ve moved forward to the next curfew.
A slight gesture, hand placement, smile, facial expression, and more,
They are recalled in me, my children, and my grands, not yet walking our floors.
This wonder of life generation after generation, sharing their wisdom and traits,
Makes me feel humble, introspective, in awe, - it’s life and it’s fate.
I reflect and dream of them one and all, even the grand I didn’t meet before she passed,
Her life lives vibrant in stories, tales, and anecdotes of our shared past,
It’s my turn now to carry the tales, our stories, and family torch,
Reminds me of beautiful times with my Nana and Papa - sharing with we kids and grands on their front porch.
Example 4: Once Upon a Time - by Donkey Soul Sister
Once upon a time, across the Irish Sea from the Scottish Giant, Benandonner, lived a young lass named Agnes. She was sitting in the north of Ireland on one of the sea-carved basaltic columns at what was known as the Giant's Causeway, named for the Irish Giant, Finn McCool. The surf was smashing against the rocks. She could barely hear herself think. It was July of 1866. Agnes Wilson was 13 years old. She had no idea her great, great granddaughter, Pam, would spend her Sunday evening thinking about her. She figured she would long be forgotten by the year 2024. She, honestly, couldn't even imagine what 10 years from now would look like, never mind the space age of the 2000s.
As the mist from the latest big wave to crash close to her hovered in the air, she blinked twice. What was she seeing? There was a beautiful old lady, maybe even 100 years old, holding hands with her daughter? Perhaps. There was a resemblance. And this woman was holding hands with a younger woman still. Who were these women? The names Henrietta, Valerie, and Pamela came to her heart. And she felt at ease. Her destiny had just flashed before her, yet she didn't know what it meant.
At 13, Agnes had no idea where her future would take her. The Potato Famine in Ireland of 1845-1852 had taken its toll on her family. She was grateful for some time to sit here alone, away from the sadness, the hopelessness. She needed some time to dream. She had no idea she would marry, have 8 children, and live to the age of 72. She would meet her granddaughter, Henrietta, who herself would live to 103 years of age. After Agnes would pass away in 1925, Henrietta, then 13 years of age herself, would take a ship with her mom and dad and her 5 younger siblings to Canada.
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