For your viewing pleasure….?

After long last, I’ve added a bit more to the “South of Southlands” story entitled “The Barnyard”, and yes, I know it’s been a while coming.  My writing seems to come in burst, rather than something I can draw on at will.  And, even when I start on a story, have an idea or story line in my head, often I’m surprised at how it turns out.  It is almost like reading a book written by someone else, because they always take a tangent I’d not prepared them to.

If you’ve not realized it by now, the principal character, from who’s point of view this story is told, is of course me.  And the stories are based on my memories of my childhood, so they may have errors or misconceptions in them, but are as I remember.

Friends and family alike often accuse me of having a photographic or eidetic memory, however let me assure you this is entirely untrue. And to be truthful, I’m glad, because most people with that type memory are Autistic, most commonly having Asperger’s syndrome, nor do I have as one learned individual suggested, Hyperthymesia, which is a form of superior autobiographical memory, there being only 4 confirmed cases ever.

I do have a memory that allows me to recall certain things I’ve read, heard or seen, but I work on it all the time, and unfortantly, I seem to be able to recall the trivial or nonsensical things, yet unable to retain what I want to. 

That being said, my memories of my Papa, my father’s father, are very clear, because he was my companion, mentor, babysitter, friend and hero for the first 5 years or so of my life.  If I was awake, and he was around, we were together.  He was such a major character in my early childhood, that I can with no effort at all, see his face, and hear his voice and remember so many things we did. 

I never knew Papa as an adult, he died of cancer when I was 9 or 10.  I’ve heard stories about him from my father and uncles, and some of them are not flattering to him when viewed from the eyes of an adult, but I am unable to merge those ideas with the man I knew.  The man I knew was kind, tolerant, and loving,  a man who had all day to spend answering the multitude of questions from a little boy, could always be counted on for comfort if trouble came, quick to avert the wrath of a irate grandmother or parent, and knew just when a little boy needed a watermelon or a coke. 

That’s how I remember my Papa, that’s how I will always remember him.  I wish every child could have a papa like mine.

Anyway, the story is up, hope you like it, if you read it, leave me a comment.