For the first time ever, I’m not really sure where to post a
blog entry. Does this have to do with my writing and is, therefore, eligible
for the Ken La Salle blog?... Yes, but… Does this have to do with Vicky and
should, therefore, go on the One Path blog?... Yes, but…
So, with this in mind, welcome to My Side.
Here’s the thing. I’m starting work on my next book, which
is a book on the 1970’s. I decided to use this opportunity to clean out my
steamer trunk, which I packed full of goodies until sometime around 1990. I
thought this trunk would be full of things from my childhood…
Then, I found it was mostly full of stuff from high school,
which means I may have to write a book about the 80’s at some point.
I also found it was full of stuff from she who must remain
nameless, from my first wedding, from my first marriage. Crap. I thought I’d
gotten rid of that stuff years ago.
But no.
And I was faced with a definite quandary.
One thing you may not know about me is that I have picked up
the fragments of my life so many times it gets annoying. Hell, most people
these days think I fell to the Earth sometime in 2004. After picking up the
fragments of my life so many times… I’m kind of tired of it. I’m tired of not
having a history, of not knowing people from before 1995 or so, of that lack of
continuity that comes from constantly restarting my life.
I was thinking about this when I looked down at all this
stuff from my past life, from my past marriage. My wedding album. A photo album
from when the girl and I were first together. Random photographs.
I didn’t want to lose all of that again. Hell, I lost it
once already.
So, as strange as it might sound, I decided to preserve it.
I decided that as I was throwing things away – and, believe me, I threw away a
LOT – there would be some photos that remained. Some that wouldn’t be gone
forever. There would be some continuity.
Yes, I’m married to Vicky now and I love her very much. But
I’m a little tired of denying who I was prior to 2004. I’m tired of playing up
my first wife as a fluke, as a tragic mistake.
We loved each other. I have pictures to prove it. Yes, it
ended tragically, but that doesn’t mean that’s all it was. There was more to it
than that. And I’ve decided to remember that. That’s the least I can do.
Perhaps I’ll post a few of those pictures in the coming
days.
Maybe it’s time I go public with some of the history I’ve
been so quick to write about but so reticent to share.
History shouldn’t be forgotten. And that doesn’t make me a
bad husband to Vicky.
It just makes me honest.
