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Memories by Bev Jackson Cotter

On the table beside my coffee cup is a pen. A book titled “Mom, I Want to Hear Your Story” is waiting. Jeffrey Mason has compiled a listing of questions, and he had to have spent many, many, many hours thinking about and selecting topics and deciding on the size of spaces left for answers. Would you call him an author? I don’t know.

I’ve been challenged to respond to more than 200 questions. For example, “Were you born in a hospital? What were your first words? What was the cost of a loaf of bread the year you were born? Who taught you to drive and in what kind of a car? How would you describe each of your siblings when they were kids? What are the best and hardest parts of being a mother? Have you ever taken part in a march or boycott? Where was your father born and where did he grow up? Knowing what you know now, what advice would you give yourself as a new mom? Do you believe in miracles?” And even “Do you believe in life on other planets?”

Some of the questions I can answer easily. Maybe I can find other answers in my small collection of family histories and photo albums, but as I peruse the book, I realize how much I don’t know. Maybe Google will help, but some questions will go unanswered. The people who could help me out are no longer here, and there is no one to ask.

Which brings me to another whole list of family questions that are not in the book.

Why did my grandpas and grandmas all decide to emigrate to the U.S.? It must have been heart-breaking when saying good-bye to their families in Germany, knowing they would never see them again. How and why did they find homes in Southern Minnesota? How long did it take to learn to speak enough English to be able to converse with their neighbors or the owner of the nearby general store? What was it like, during World War I, knowing one of their sons was serving in the U.S. Navy and against their own country men?

I have a thousand questions that will forever remain unanswered.

I was a baby when the last of my grandparents passed away, and when my parents were living, I was too caught up in my own life to wonder about those days. Now that I have more time to consider my family’s history, I realize that unknowingly I let those golden moments slip by. And, there’s no getting them back.

If we don’t share our memories, whether orally or in writing, the stories are gone forever. No one will ever learn from the mistakes we made, the wisdom we have gained or the happy times we’ve shared.

I’m sounding a bit philosophical, but this “Mom” book and some recent conversations I’ve had have only emphasized for me the value and joy of sharing our memories. And, doing it today!

Bev Jackson Cotter is a lifelong Albert Lea resident.