I’m taking a writing class. The idea is to possibly write a memoir about my parents. I came to this conclusion after a heavy-duty session with my counselor. The impetus for it was the season finale of Supernatural. In it, one of the brothers sells his soul in order to bring his brother back to life. (Hey, the series is named Supernatural for a reason!) As selling brother says as he’s getting his ass reamed by the fabulous Bobby Singer, “At least maybe now my life can mean something.” To which Bobby says “And it didn’t before? Are you that screwed in the head?”Â (To which I always reply, “Yes, Bobby, he is.”)
This scene really affected me because I’ve often felt the same way.Â Why am I here?Â I haven’t procreated, I’m stuck in a job I don’t like, I’ve alienated a couple of great friends, my only brother and I are estranged, and I haven’t done any extra-curricular activities in several years.
Ever since my father died over 10 years ago, I’ve wanted to write about my parents. They were part of the “greatest generation.” The things they lived through as young adults, I can’t even fathom. And they were two of the best people I’ve ever known. (They weren’t necessarily the best parents, which is partly why I’m so screwed in the head, but they were wonderful people, and I’m so glad I got to know them as an adult.)
While I’m a fairly good writer, I’m not terribly creative. I’m hoping this class will help me tap into some part of my brain I haven’t used yet. Wish me luck. By the way, for my first assignment, I wrote about a trip I took last week to Fort Worth, Texas. You can read about it ad nauseum here. (Most of the posts on the first page relate the story. And I’ll be writing about it here, too, because it was just that awesome!) This week, I’m going to write about my grandfather, Sigel Overholt.Â Funny name, wonderful man.