Writing My Story by Ricky

I suppose that everyone else has some or most of the same impediments to writing their story as I do when writing mine.  Between all authors of course, there are the differences of skill, vocabulary, imagination, and life experiences from which to draw inspiration. I am referring to the hindrances brought about by the so-called “writers block” and “the muse isn’t musing” and a lack of “passion” for the topic.

Only rarely do inspiration and passion combine to motivate me to write on a topic earlier than five to eighteen hours in advance of its presentation to our Telling Your Story group. A procrastinator all my life, (influenced by all those before-the-sun-comes-up farm chores while living with my grandparents) I seem to be my best when faced with a rapidly approaching deadline. This writing is well within those time limits as I began to type it at 8:15 this morning after having it in my subconscious mind for over a week. Even after all that passage of time, no ideas on how to approach the topic for writing presented themselves until Sunday morning between 1:30 and 3:00 AM.

While looking for some photographs I could place into my stories on my blog site to jazz-it-up a bit, I found a box of photos labeled “John & Deborah.” As I perused the contents, I began to travel down the memories invoked by the images. Suddenly, the muse attacked and I knew what to write about this week.

Actually, the writing about part is really the same-old-thing; it’s about me. I am writing about my life’s story not just any story (as most of us do in this group). What makes the topic most difficult for me to write about, is my desire to include my dealings within in the context of how I interpret the meaning of the topic. I guess that is the “Drama King” or ego part of me wanting the story to be about me. But then again, that is the premise of this Telling Your Story group, so maybe I am not being a drama king or an egotist; just following the premise.

Now you might think that I am done with this topic as this is an easy place to stop but you would be wrong. This story is really about the effect the photographs have on me because the muse attacked me with that idea. Therefore, this is the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say.

There were several photographs of major interest to me. Especially enjoyable are the ones where either my spouse or I had written some information on the back. Then there were those where nothing is written but I knew all the people and the background indicated the place if not the exact year. Then there are the mysterious ones where again nothing is written on the back and I knew at least one person in the photo but the background does not provide any memory jogs to time or location.

I found three black & white photos of me as a little boy of at various ages. One shows me sitting on a new Schwinn bicycle in front of the Christmas tree. I was five or six-years old.

Another photo shows me standing at the curb waiting for the school bus for my first day of 1st grade at the Hawthorn Christian School.

There are two official school photos of first and second grades. I really cannot tell which is which. There are very slight changes in my facial structure and one slight difference in the school uniform I am wearing, but I am not sure which one shows the younger me although I made an “educated” guess.

1st Grade

2nd Grade

Yet another shows me at 5-years old crouching on the front porch of our home. The expression on my face made me think that I was looking at a photo of Leonardo DiCaprio at 5-years old. In contrast, Donald thinks I look like a young Buddy Ebsen, which I can’t see any resemblance.

I have seen a photo of my mother, stepfather, and my 3-year old brother and sister taken on Easter Sunday in 1962. I know I took that picture but always wondered why there wasn’t one of me. Well, I found my equivalent photo in the box with all the others through which I was rummaging.

Me and my dog, PeeWee.

That photo and another one taken at high school graduation made me re-evaluate my life-long self-image.

HS Graduation

 Even though it will make me appear to be vain and egocentric if not an egomaniac, I must say that depending upon age I have always been very cute or rather handsome. (Perhaps not vain or an egomaniac as this is supposed to be a story about me.) This next part might be though. I was good looking enough that every pedophile within 50-miles of me should have had me on their most wanted list. Why they did not I will never know. Perhaps I was not all that attractive in reality.

So now, you know what struggles I have with writing my story and what goes through my brain as I do it. I hope it is not an ugly or frightful sight. 

© 16 July 2012

About the Author

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in 1948 in downtown Los Angeles.  Just prior to turning 8 years old, he was sent to live with his grand-parents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while (unknown to him) his parents obtained a divorce. 

When reunited with his mother and new stepfather, he lived one summer at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife of 27 years and their four children.  His wife passed away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.  He says, “I find writing these memories to be very therapeutic.”

Ricky's story blog is “TheTahoeBoy.blogspot.com”.