Remembering Our Own Past Stories -Shifting the Parental Perspective
THE PRE SUMMER OF LOVE, SUMMER OF LOVE
– -A tale for telling aloud, or for reading…
I chose to tell this tale in my story coaching class, because right now in my own life, we are dealing with one of my children’s struggle for independence. As parents, most of us have seen young adults who, at times, sabotage themselves in order to assert their independence. Parents may even sometimes end up suffering some of the inadvertent consequences of their adolescents’ struggles and their not always well thought out decision making, even when our desire is to teach our kids the consequences of their actions.
This story happened in a different time and place, with different people, but deals with similar issues. Working on it, practicing it multiple times, and telling it helped me remember what life was like many years ago at an age similar to my daughter’s.. It helped me think of her choices in a slightly more understanding, less judgmental and parental way.
My process: My story consisted of a bunch of little vignettes I thought were amusing and that seemed at first to fit the story, and helped to set the stage and engage the listener. I practiced so much that I began to lose spontaneity. However, as I practiced I saw that there were really several stories here and to include them all not only made this way too lengthy but watered down the main messages. I removed several of the anecdotes that I had originally included in my story. My challenge was getting it pared down to make it brief enough to tell it aloud and not lose the listener’s interest. As readers of my blog, you will miss the drama of the telling, but I hope it will be enjoyable in some way for you. I would have liked it a bit shorter but just didn’t know what else to cut. I cut out a lot of imagery and scene building I might have liked in a written story, but this did not begin as a written story.
How I will apply: The answer to that must be an honest one. I don’t really know. It will go into my figurative box of stories and tools to wait for an appropriate occasion. The more stories, the more possible applications…
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Pre-Summer of Love, Summer of Love
Tonight I’d like to tell you a story about youth, independence, and love. It happened a very long time ago, but of course, it could easily be happening today.
Once, a young woman awakened on a sunny Vermont morning. The sun was coming through the blinds in her dorm, making a pattern of stripes on the face of her sleeping roommate. The young woman watched it for a while and was suddenly overcome by an unfamiliar, but powerful feeling. She knew in that instant that she would move to San Francisco, to write her play, because she had to…. because the time was right…. because there were too many forces trying to tie her down and hold her back.
There were a few minor complications. She had very little money. She was in a new relationship, but they hadn’t made promises to each other. Her parents were not likely to be in favor of her taking a break from school and moving 3,000 miles away… AND she had never been totally on her own before.
Still she put things in place and purchased tickets……. She knew a few people from school who were planning to be in S. F. over the summer.. She had no addresses or phone numbers. But she figured they would be able to find each other, maybe in Golden Gate Park or in the Haight Ashbury, because it was well….that kind of place….
Her boyfriend had obligations to take care of first. He was in process of having a root canal and a new crown due to a recent football injury. He said he wanted to join her after July 19th. He would stay in S.F. for the rest of the summer and for the college work term in the fall. He hoped to hitchhike part of the way to save money, and then take a bus north from L.A. (It was not as unsafe a thing to do as it is today). Their appointed place of rendezvous was to be Union Square Park. They constructed a plan that starting on July 19th , she was to visit the park every day about 10AM and would stay for a couple of hours. He promised to be there within a day or two of that date, but certainly no more than a week after. In those days they had no cell phones or e-mail to help them stay in contact.
So, she embarked on her new adventure. When she arrived in S.F. the air was crisp and sweet, like warm apple compote. She could not quite believe she was there, till she took a taxi downtown and heard the clanging of a cable car. Her friend’s brother, older and wiser, knew of a cheap, fully furnished flat, which she located without difficulty. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but she didn’t give it much thought. Her boyfriend would soon be with her and she would not have to contend with it on her own. Her new digs were shabby, but reasonably clean. One leg of the large bed was broken off and there was a pot propping up the bed on the broken side. She later found that this was one of the two cooking pots in the cupboard. She didn’t care. She didn’t know how to cook too many things anyway.
July 19th seemed to arrive speedily. She sat on a bench at Union Square, watching the street entertainers, the panhandlers and pigeons. She trembled with excitement and anticipation. When a couple of hours had passed and no boyfriend had materialized, she sadly returned home. Each morning for the next week she returned to the park, but no James. She spent her days scouring the newspapers for part-time jobs and trying to work on her play. She found it pretty difficult to concentrate though.
Soon she constructed a story in her head. She imagined, with great misery, that in 50 years from that date, she would be pointed out by some passers by as the sad old woman who went each day to this park to meet her lover. Though her lover never showed up, she still returned and hoped each day.
Her neighbors at the apt building were interesting enough to keep her somewhat distracted. In her young, relatively sheltered life she had never met such fascinating people, of whom her parents would surely not have approved. One of them was Doris, who lived next door and who sometimes invited her in for tea. Doris seemed ancient to her…….maybe 35 or older, but nonetheless quite pretty. She openly disclosed that she was a prostitute and was working to support her little girl, who lived with her grandparents in Fresno. She was trying to save up enough money to quit her lifestyle and go back to college. Doris admonished the young woman that no boy or man was worth waiting and waiting for. Doris told her it was important to learn to take care of herself.
After almost 3 weeks beyond the tentative meet-up date, the young woman decided she needed to draw her line in the sand and would wait only one more day. Feeling dejected she walked to Union Square and sat in her usual spot.
When an hour had passed, she thought she would try one more thing and she headed to the bus station a few blocks over. She entered the station and stood in front of the large arrival and departures board. Suddenly she felt a strange warmth. She turned and standing next to her, was none other than James, with a huge smile who, throwing his arms around her said, “I told you I would find you”. I knew it would work out.”
I would like to tell you the young woman and James lived happily ever after, but their romantic and exciting months together were soon over. James needed to go back to college. Since she had taken a year’s leave of absence, her tuition had not been paid and she had lost her financial aid for the year. James begged her to return East with him and her parents also implored her. She did not want to give up on her dream.
It seemed imperative to her that she stay on and do what she had set out to do. Soon after James left, she lost the part-time job she had finally gotten. She tried to find another but none suited her. Money ran out quickly, she was unable to pay her rent and ate tortillas and beans and not much else. She was taken in by the kind mother of a classmate. Felicia, the mother, let her stay free in a damp, dark room in her basement. The house, a charming Victorian on a hill, looking out over the city, was filled with students from many countries who rented rooms. They cooked fragrant, exotic dishes. She was usually too proud to accept their offers of food. Mostly, she was hungry and frightened. Needless to say, when hunger gnaws at the pit of your belly and you are depressed, the creative juices don’t flow very well. The worst thing of all was how much she missed James and even her family. She saw herself as a hopeless failure and worried that she would never learn to be a strong, independent, successful woman.
Finally, a couple of her school friends in the city found her through James. They offered to give her a free ride back East. She knew she needed ask her parents for some food money while on the road. This was not easy for her. She was still angry that they had not supported her dreams, or even her relationship with James. Her parents readily agreed to wire her money. Her traveling companions included two cats and four other passengers crammed into a Ford Falcon. When they embarked, one of the passengers disclosed that he was just coming down from a bad acid trip and needed support and nurturing. Needless to say, the young woman tried desperately to enjoy the scenery but she was just not in a place to be able to do that. By the time the group was ready to leave the city, she was sick with a bad earache, and, between the pain and the crowded car, it was a pretty miserable trip.
Her biggest concern was James. She had already reluctantly admitted to her parents that she had made a mistake. To admit this to James and to return to Vermont and to him, felt like such failure to her. She wanted to be an independent woman and somehow did not feel she could do that in a committed relationship. After all, she was never, ever planning on getting married, so why lead James on?
When she arrived at her parents’ home, after calling them collect several times along the way to update them, there was James, sitting and waiting for her on the front steps of the house. He wore his huge, green army surplus coat and a grin as wide as any she had ever seen. He folded her up in his arms and in his big green army coat, and for a few brief moments, independence and being alone were the last things on her mind. Then her parents rushed out to welcome her from her journey. She felt tired but happy, though she realized that she had only completed one piece of the journey and there was a whole lot still ahead of her.
The End and the Beginning…
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Coaching Questions:
Tell me a story about a time in your life when you followed a dream but perhaps did not think it through, or plan it as well as you might have?
What happened?
What did you learn from this experience?
What was the most important thing you think occurred?
The least important to you at the time?
Would it still be the least important as you review this from a more mature vantage point?
Did you view yourself, or your situation differently after having moved through the experience?
How did it affect your life?
Was there anything humorous about what happened or didn’t happen?
Can you think of a similar experience that happened to you later in life than this first one you just told me the story about?
Did your actions or perceptions change because of your earlier experience?
How would you go back and change things now if only you could? Let’s rewrite your story?
What might the different result have been?
Is there some situation in your life now that could benefit from a plan of action similar to or different than the one you took in the time of your original story?
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Ruth Z Deming says
great story, iris! since i was on the periphery of the scene, living on california street w/my black boyfriend curtis branch, i can share the joys and hardships of our fledgling attempts to leave home. you did mention, however, that you felt like a failure. as you probly know, nothing could be further from the truth. how victorious you were to follow your dreams all the way to the end of the country. and what beauty you found there – nothing can compare to the city by the bay.
Iris Arenson-Fuller says
Thanks! Of course my perspective now is completely different than it was in those days, about my choices, my fears, my feelings of “failure”, my illusion that I knew exactly what I wanted and needed at that ripe young age, etc.
Loretta Kretchko says
Iris , It has been a long time since hearing this story . It was interesting reading it. Yes we can see what we have gone through early on in life. Our parents looking on in horror as we made our experiences in life. Not as they would have chosen. We did manage to come out very good from all of it. So as you can only quild and be there for the people that we love. They too will have to find their way. I bet all will be good in the end.
Iris Arenson-Fuller says
Thanks-I did not remember that you had heard this particular story, probably in another form but glad you chose to check out the re-telling and to comment.
Bob Vance says
Iris: I like this as a story and I like it as an example of a powerful exercise in life review. I think your questions about any story that your “client” might tell are sharp and wise. I have used life review extensively in my work, especially with people who are enduring great losses as a way to help them remember how they have persevered in the past and will again. Thanks for this. It’s a reminder too of the unique opportunity all of us have to tell our story, a story unlike any that anyone else can tell.
Iris Arenson-Fuller says
Thanks for this, Bob. You have no idea of the funny stuff left out of this story!!!! But that’s another story.
For those who don’t know Bob, check out his blog and his great work at http://sightlinecoach.blogspot.com/