Stories of Anger from Peary Street, Part 2

This is the second of four posts using stories of anger from Peary Street to illustrate the second of twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

Second rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling preserves the whole story, even the little things.

On the day my youngest brother was born, my oldest sister was practicing parallel parking in preparation for taking her driver's license test. Since she was the first of seven, one third of her life had been spent while her mother was pregnant. She could not remember a day that she did not have a younger brother or sister to help. Small wonder that before my brother's sixth birthday, she had married and left Peary Street to start her own family. She spent her entire time on Peary Street watching the family get bigger and the house more crowded. My little brother spent his entire life on Peary Street watching the family shrink and the house become more spacious.

If we had spent our lives sharing our stories, the gap in our ages could have been bridged by the knowledge and the shared experience. Our parents did not share their history and discouraged family storytelling, preferring to keep our lives separate and hidden behind the walls of Peary Street's bedrooms. In response to my father's volatility, my mother became very adept at avoiding confrontation that would set him off. No problem was too small to ignore or dragged behind a curtain of secrecy to be discussed as little as possible by only those directly involved. We were separated by our parents' habits, my father's temper, the turmoil of the 60's and the wide range of our ages and maturity. Any of these elements could have been overcome if anyone had been able to take the lead in bringing us together.

Stories of Anger from Peary Street

This is the first of four posts using stories of anger from Peary Street to illustrate the second of twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

Second rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling preserves the whole story, even the little things.

And oh the fights we had
When my brother and I got him mad;
He'd get all boiled up and he'd start to shout
And I knew what was coming so I tuned him out.
And now the old man's gone, and I'd give all I own
To hear what he said when I wasn't listening
To my old man'
My Old Man
Steve Goodman

Try to imagine a measuring stick that permits you to hear a story and assign a number to the story that tells you its significance. What values would you include in your measurement? Would you try to assess the quantity and accuracy of the details? Would you only be interested in how closely the story relates to your life or beliefs? Or would you limit your assessment to stories that you are likely to retell or appeal to your emotions or sense the human condition? The problem with trying to talk about the impact that stories have on people is that we tell stories for many different reasons. Your measuring stick probably does not look very much like mine and it is likely that you would not use the same measurement tool each time.

Symmentropy in Small Doses

When I started this series of posts on the importance of stories in promoting harmony in the activities of a family, I intended to tell the stories as examples of one family's struggles to care for their dying mother to illustrate the foundation of symmentropy. After six of these posts, I have been overwhelmed by the response as people have contacted me with the their own experiences and questions about the ways stories are so important. So, I am changing the format just a little and will add one post explaining the theory behind the examples of each of the 12 guidelines for symmentropy. This is the first of those posts and will feature less story telling and more dot connecting. I will get back to the stories in the next post.

First, a little bit about symmentropy. I am trying not to describe the statistical applications of non linear approaches to measuring communication that was the soul of my research. Those who want to read calculus, fuzzy set theory and time series analysis can go to Google Scholar to find plenty of information. All that math caused symmentropy to happen, but communicating with each other in relationships, families or businesses rarely allows us time to do the math. We need the summary talking points to make this kind of theory useful when we are in conversation. I developed the twelve principles of symmentropy as a logical structure to explain the calculations, but quickly found that most people wanted to read the twelve principles and skip the math. Human terms and human interactions have to be the guidelines for efforts at understanding each other better.

Seven Stories Told Mal

This is the lat of four posts using stories from Peary Street to explain the first of twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

First rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling promotes understanding and meaning (part 4)

“My fondest wish is that if all seven voices register this concern, our mother would respond.”

When seven voices tell idiosyncratic stories, independent action is all that is available. One of my sisters assigned herself the task of being mother's medical companion. She went to all of mother's doctor's appointments taking care to exclude her brothers and sisters. She was our source for information on mother's health. As it became increasingly apparent that mother was showing signs of age related loss of some cognitive abilities, we began to ask our sister for information about her visits with the doctor. At first, the only information that any of us received was that mother was fine and mother did not want it discussed with her children. The story of FiOS prevented the half truths and “polite” reality from satisfying the members of the committee.

Mal Cognitive Peary Street

This is the third of four posts using stories from Peary Street to explain the first of twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

First rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling promotes understanding and meaning

“Mother is fine. She has a little malcognitive impairment.”
Six of my mother's seven children had the same reaction to receiving this email, “What's the story?” This is not a story. It passes as a story in a family led by a man who never mentioned his dead brother. The difference between my father and my sister points to the difference between no information and bad information. As much as storytelling functions to inform and create harmony in a group, it also runs amok to create information fiefdoms that result in everything from minor misunderstandings to violence when vague or incomplete stories cannot make events meaningful.

We identify generations by their common experiences, the stories that are told by a large portion of the people who lived through a certain time. The “baby boomers” are living through caring for the end of the “greatest generation”. The shift in attitude that is required to move from “child of” to “care taker of” challenges us to tell stories that allow us to help our parents in ways that they would want or maybe in ways that they helped us. When assistance is offered in families with consistent stories, a smooth transition from independence to mutual care giving results, but a family that suffers from a vacuum of stories struggles to create a story that allows a family meaning at the end of life.

Unbelievers on Peary Street

This is the second of four posts using stories from Peary Street to explain the first of twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

First rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling promotes understanding and meaning

“You don't really believe that!”
A simple sentence that became a symbol of rejection and a rallying cry for respecting the views of others. My mother would not have believed herself capable of hurting any of her children, but that sentence, repeated so many times, was her flogger, her passive aggressive weapon of indoctrination. Shared stories build knowledge, but rejected stories create distance and distrust. My family mastered numerous ways of preventing stories from being shared. Overt rejection is just one of them.

Finding Meaning on Peary Street

This is the first of four posts using stories from Peary Street to explain the twelve ways that storytelling defines creativity in the way we talk to each other, a process that I call symmentropy.

First rule of nonlinear storytelling

Storytelling promotes understanding and meaning

Life is messy. Storytelling is our intellectual clean up crew.

Before adding some Peary Street stories to illustrate this point, I have one current story as an example.
Christmas morning treats were half eaten as Rachel sat watching her mother doubling over, laughing holding a red handled Microplane grater in her hand. Rachel had the look of one who has missed the inside joke without any hope of joining in the merriment. Intimate relationships are built on little things that endear spouses to each other as their joined stories are retold amplifying the endearing qualities but puzzling to the observer. Her delight that her Christmas stocking contained a shiny new grater with a red handle was boisterous. So why is that so funny?
A foundation of her marriage was the joy the couple shared mixing, blending, roasting and toasting in the kitchen. Each of them had their own particular style of cooking and favorite recipes. He had a fondness for fresh ginger that he always stored in the freezer to make it easier for hand grating. He used one grater for ginger only to keep it sharp for the zesty but gnarled ginger root. Each time she picked up that grater for Parmesan or any purpose not ginger, kitchen dancing slowed a little while he bit his tongue. She knew his preference for keeping that one grater pure but liked it so much for other things, after all, it did work really well. He knew he was being jealously protective but could not escape the grated nerves that accompanied the cheese.
Both of them could have ignored such a small issue, but they both knew the stories the other told about favorite tools and tastes when cooking. By listening and remaining sensitive to the other's stories, simple solutions can be found. So in the weeks before Christmas, both went in search of little things that would fill a stocking hung with care. After the coffee, cinnamon buns, fruit and mimosas, they started to empty those stocking stuffers onto the table. She talked about how much it meant to her to have a stocking filled by someone else after decades of doing her own and could not fully understand his silly grin when the Microplane grater with purple handle hit the table. She explained that she wanted him to have one to keep for ginger. He kept his secret and thanked her. She started pulling things out of her stocking until she found the red handled grater he had purchased for her. Affectionate laughter followed by gasping belly laughs intermingled with marginally coherent attempts at explanation did nothing to help Rachel enjoy the joke. The whole story had to come out before she understood that their stories were the source of the laughter, not the graters or the ginger, it was the shared story and sharing it with her. The back story explained many things about a relationship, including how they listen to each others stories with an eye on writing new chapters to smooth the rough spots.
Every event, every little detail of our lives presents us the opportunity to create some meaning to help us understand, accept or enjoy ourselves. When we tell the story later we use phrases like “the important part is” or “the impact is” or “the kicker is” to point out the meaning that we make, not of the event but the story that we share with others. When our stories are told, both the teller and the listener have less confusion about both what happened but also how someone responded to it. Telling the story gives us an audience for editorial comment and critical evaluation. This is the treasure of storytelling. It is a group activity that promotes shared knowledge and awareness of others.
In this simple example there are numerous opportunities for entirely different outcomes. Consider what would have happened if only one new grater had been purchased. Would feelings have been hurt if the perceived message was “keep hour hands off my stuff” or “get over yourself and use this one for ginger”? Mixed messages are not always a result of the current story or latest version because memories of past interactions leave scars and sweet spots in our collected stories. Consider the difference in this gift exchange if she had been offended that someone had invaded her territory of stuffing the stockings instead of relief that someone had considered her wants. Each story in our lives has the potential for many different results and can change its meaning and significance as more layers of stories are added to memory. The strongest memory may be the grater or the fact that she found a stocking already filled for her on Christmas morning. It will depend on the additional stories that are told.
The first rule of nonlinear storytelling is that we have the ability to manage the amount of knowledge that exists in our relationships by the way we tell our stories. People who carefully consider the stories they hear and the stories they tell are making an effort to build relationships. After this example of how storytelling helps create understanding, we will return to Peary Street for examples of stories that were not told or were told to create confusion. This first story illustrates how stories help promote shared understanding, but too many Peary Street stories show people hording stories to prevent shared experience and prevent cooperation.

Another Lesson from Peary Street

Our Stories are more dynamic than our lives because we live once, but stories are retold endlessly.

On the surface, my parent's seven children should recall similar versions of life on Peary Street, but as we boxed and cleared out a lifetime's keepsakes, our memories required frequent questioning as it seemed that we did not all grow up in the same house or family. In fact, my father's passing created absolute turmoil as seven adults tried to ease our mother's time alone based on the wishes of our parents as we remembered them from the stories told on Peary Street. We seven consistently offered each other versions of history and lessons that our parents taught us that sounded like we could not have ever shared the same dinner table.

Each of us has to reach our own acceptance of the terminal nature of aging, even if our parents have accepted that their lives are ending. We certainly demonstrated the difficulty of that task as we responded to the declining health and vitality of our parents, a task made infinitely more difficult by our parents refusal to share information with us. We learned while my father was near death that he had been treated for prostate cancer years earlier. In the absence of knowledge, we created our own stories of our parent's last years. One sister refused to accept that dementia reduced her mother's ability to function independently. One brother resisted getting a diagnosis because putting a name on the memory loss would not change the care or prognosis. Some tried to reinstate a driver's license suspended due to the obvious loss of cognitive ability.

The story of symmentropy springs from the foundation of Peary Street where nine people lived pretending that their stories contained totally unremarkable events. When I was in grade school, my father was among the church leaders who confronted the minister over his sexual interest in the young boys in the choir. The minister hanged himself in his cell while he was waiting for trial on various charges relating to his prurient interests in my classmates. The interesting part of this story is that it was not discussed! I never heard a word about it from my father or even a conversation over dinner about the changes at the church or why they occurred. My brother, sister and I had our conversations about the immediate dislike that we had all taken to the man when we first met him, but we did not have a reason for our feelings until we got the rest of the story. The story remains a part of my rejection of organized religion, but as a young man, storytelling gave us peace in how it explained the world that we knew and our parents seemed to ignore.

Both of my parents celebrated their tenth birthdays during the great depression and their twentieth in the build up to WWII. Hard times were the standard for most Americans during that decade and to hear the story from my parents, it was normal to keep hardships private. You just did not discuss your business with the neighbors. This reluctance to air your problems drove seven young people to share their stories in groups of two or three. We had no real family stories, but we had lots of back channels to share what was going on. The pattern we established as preschoolers helped the older ones leave Peary Street at the first opportunity but without creating a story that would suggest anything other than growing and moving on.

Another example was my father's movie camera. He had a 16mm camera that stayed in a closet except for birthdays, Christmas and the annual vacation week at the beach. As the years went on, he edited, well more he spliced together each new spool onto 7 inch reels. Every so often the projector and the screen came out of the closet so we could review an increasing number of Christmas trees with an increasing number of stockings hanging from the mantle on Peary Street. Our family storytelling reduced to the few times a year that the movie camera came out of its box so that we could review the years in chronological order. The amazing part of this story is that when we were packing up the house, that camera was still in its original box and still working. A quick computer search gave a few hints that you might still find film for it if you work hard and carry a lot of cash.

Sixty years after we moved into Peary Street, many of these stories appear in the papers and personal effects that our parents kept secret, even from my inquisitive sister who had no qualms about researching any drawer or any box in any closet. The absence of coherent family lore has left us bereft of congeniality and family cohesion. There is a real question as to whether or not there will be any time in the future that as many as four of the seven us can be found in the same room again. Our stories were as separate as our lives will be in the future. Nothing in storytelling is more important than the development of group knowledge through the understanding of twists and turns of a lifetime.