Doug Westendorp
Stories (3/0)
Bicker Wisdom
I was raised on a dairy farm just about in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota, by my grandparents on my mother’s side. I was a good, innocent (naïve) Christian little girl. It was the 1960s, the decade of revolution, hippies, assassinations and war, but you wouldn’t have known it by me. I missed all things cultural, countercultural, and pop cultural. We had a few cows, some chickens, and each other, and that’s about it. Our only social life was church, twice on Sunday. Our entertainment life too, as far as that goes. Television was a new idea, but my grandfather wouldn’t have a set in the house. Grandma would have liked one – “for the news,” she said – but she couldn’t talk Grandpa into it. He didn’t even want to watch the baseball games. As far as he was concerned the radio was just fine. “The pictures are better,” he declared, “besides, the cows like to listen to the games while I milk.” But I got an education anyway, in the little Christian school by the church, and eventually even went on to college. I now have an advanced degree from an institution of higher learning that took me many years to earn.
By Doug Westendorp3 years ago in Families
Bathtub Stories
BATHTUB STORIES Ah, perfectly so, yes, young man, thank you. That warmth feels good to these old bones… I have to tell you, I woke up this morning with an old memory on my mind. It’s a story from my childhood during the Great Depression, when we lived on the south side of Chicago. I couldn’t have been any older than 5 or 6 at the time... Funny what comes back to a man 90 years down the line. I thought of it because of the story I read last night in this book that my daughter brought me. It sounded so familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. I think I drove Deborah crazy ruminating on it, because finally she said, “Just sleep on it, Dad. It’ll probably come to you in the morning.” She was right, as usual.
By Doug Westendorp3 years ago in Humans
Memoir
I wish you would relax. I keep trying to tell you there’s no danger of me ever publishing a memoir, with or without you in it, because none of my memories are true. Never mind the little black notebook, please. Just ignore it. It’s not for publication because nothing in it ever happened.
By Doug Westendorp3 years ago in Criminal