Tradition of Oral History

This evening I ventured out of the house with three children in tow to frequent the pool the family is a member of. After a couple of hours enjoying playing in the pool, we returned home. Listening to the conversation of three children was quite interesting on the return home. My children were recounting tales of pets and their adventures, but what caught me off guard was that these were not pets they had known. They were pets my mother had at my birth or growing up. The stories were ones I heard growing up, and now my children are hearing them as they grow up.

In an age where antiquated yearbooks (bound pages with photos) that are declining because of instant access to real-time status updates thanks to things like Facebook, it's refreshing to see that oral histories are still alive and well. I am thankful that children love riding in the car with my mother and request to hear her stories. I recall sitting at my own paternal grandmother's feet as a young boy, and regaling in the stories of the exploits of my own father as a young boy and of my grandmother's plight as a young woman in the Army. To hear my own children speak of these stories as if they were there is simply mind blowing. It warms my heart to know that this oral tradition is being past to the next generation and I look forward to the opportunity to share in this tradition with my own grandchildren some day.