Foreward
Why now?
Memoirs are unnecessarily reserved for the old and accomplished. For people who have changed the world like Gandhi or Mark Zuckerberg, the people who have dropped bombs: the bread slicers, peacemakers, life-saving drug makers, and creators. One of my heroes Thomas Jefferson wrote one — well an autobiography — and I’m going to write one, too.
Sadly, my impact on the world has been minimal. Compared to Jefferson, I’m a barely capable citizen. If my life were comparable, I’d have already graduated UNC, have started law school, and would be preparing for the NC bar exam. But alas, I’m not Jefferson. I use a laptop instead of a pen, and my typical lunch consists of a microwaveable meal instead of a hearth-browned mutton cutlet.
Memoirs don’t require an amazing life story. They are a retelling of one’s memories: How the story is told is more important than the narrative. Colorful commentary can make even life's flattest events interesting.
Here, let me give it a shot. I’ll take something mundane and turn it into a brief passage for a memoir.
Although I’m not famous, I still have 22 years of memories, which I can express through writing. This book will be about my life the way I see it, or remember it. I’m sure my family and friends reading this will have different memories of the same events. Growing up as a triplet, there were often at least three sets of ears and eyes on the same event.
My sisters and I experienced life and its many challenges together and at the same time. I will be interested to learn where they disagree. But I know their company has helped shape my person and form my memories.
Reflecting on life’s big events and even small events, we talked and reminisced together. We have had numerous "remember when" conversations about beach trips, and school, and religion, that have certainly affected my memories of these people, places, and things. Whereas most people have an older sibling that despises and neglects them until around college, my sisters and I grew up together and we never had this dark period. This is one of the great joys of being a multiple.
As I tell people who ask, “what’s it like being a triplet?”
For the reasons in this book, I highly recommend it. And may this memoir keep our memories bright.
Memoirs are unnecessarily reserved for the old and accomplished. For people who have changed the world like Gandhi or Mark Zuckerberg, the people who have dropped bombs: the bread slicers, peacemakers, life-saving drug makers, and creators. One of my heroes Thomas Jefferson wrote one — well an autobiography — and I’m going to write one, too.
Sadly, my impact on the world has been minimal. Compared to Jefferson, I’m a barely capable citizen. If my life were comparable, I’d have already graduated UNC, have started law school, and would be preparing for the NC bar exam. But alas, I’m not Jefferson. I use a laptop instead of a pen, and my typical lunch consists of a microwaveable meal instead of a hearth-browned mutton cutlet.
Memoirs don’t require an amazing life story. They are a retelling of one’s memories: How the story is told is more important than the narrative. Colorful commentary can make even life's flattest events interesting.
Here, let me give it a shot. I’ll take something mundane and turn it into a brief passage for a memoir.
Laundry is something people with laundry machines take for granted. The most privileged citizens are lucky to own machines that channel fresh water and hot air into chambers that, in 40 minutes time, remove stains, brighten, and freshen the dankest of clothes. They’re usually located conveniently in the house — most likely off the kitchen garage.
It’s a privilege that, when taken away, wreaks havoc on the psyche. For the first time, I’ve joined the 4 billion people of the 7 billion in the world that live without a washing machine. I, like the 4 billion others, are forced to venture into the wilderness for clean linens.
My wilderness is 60 miles away in Greensboro, where my parent’s have a very nice laundry machine adjacent to the kitchen. I don’t have to navigate the jungle of the Town and Country Laundromat down the street, or into the literal wilderness — like into the woods — to beat my clothes against rocks in creeks, which would take an almost incomprehensible effort.
My ancestors grew up beside a creek, Craig’s Creek, and I’m sure that 100 years ago, they were literally beating their clothes against rocks. And maybe if not that, they were heating water on the wood stove, filling washtubs, and stewing their clothes to then press them and hang them out to dry. Which, in any case, would be a terribly difficult and laborious chore.
A chore that as a man living beneath the shackles of traditional gender roles, I would not have experienced. Although, for me, working all day in the fields would be an even crappier alternative.Well, you get the idea.
Although I’m not famous, I still have 22 years of memories, which I can express through writing. This book will be about my life the way I see it, or remember it. I’m sure my family and friends reading this will have different memories of the same events. Growing up as a triplet, there were often at least three sets of ears and eyes on the same event.
My sisters and I experienced life and its many challenges together and at the same time. I will be interested to learn where they disagree. But I know their company has helped shape my person and form my memories.
Reflecting on life’s big events and even small events, we talked and reminisced together. We have had numerous "remember when" conversations about beach trips, and school, and religion, that have certainly affected my memories of these people, places, and things. Whereas most people have an older sibling that despises and neglects them until around college, my sisters and I grew up together and we never had this dark period. This is one of the great joys of being a multiple.
As I tell people who ask, “what’s it like being a triplet?”
For the reasons in this book, I highly recommend it. And may this memoir keep our memories bright.
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