Kentucky Folktales: Revealing Stories, Truths, and Outright Lies

This Is the Story . . .

tHis is tHe story . . . Many of us have heard stories about ourselves set in that time before the earliest memories we are certain we recall. Here is a story I heard from earliest childhood, retold as I remember my mother and father telling it: You were born on August 3rd. When we brought you home from the hospital, it was so hot we dressed you in a diaper and an undershirt and put you in your baby bed. We had just drifted off to sleep when you began to cry. Well, you were our baby, so we tried to help you. You weren’t hungry; you didn’t need your diaper changed, but you cried. We just held you, and then you drifted back to sleep. We went back to bed and were just about asleep when you began crying again. This went on all night. You’d cry. One of us would get up, determine you were not hungry and did not need your diaper changed. We would hold you. You would drift off to sleep. We’d put you back in your bed. We’d return to our bed. Just as we began to sleep, you’d cry again. We eventually decided you wanted to be held because you always went back to sleep if we held you. But every time we set you down and we tried to sleep, you’d cry. We thought: “What’s wrong with this baby? We can’t be holding this baby all the time? She’s not even a week old; how can she already be so spoiled she wants to be held all the time?” We didn’t know what was wrong, but we couldn’t imagine how we had ended up with such a spoiled baby. This crying, holding, and no sleep for us went on for your first three nights home. Then Mama Lillian1 came to visit. We told her our problem. She asked, “How have you been dressing this baby for bed?” And we told her, “In a diaper and an undershirt.” “Why, this little baby’s cold,” she said. “It’s August, so it may be hot to you, but it is still colder than this baby is used to. This little girl this Is the story . . . 187 is just cold.” She dressed you in a long flannel nightgown with flaps that pulled down over your hands. That night you slept all through the night, and you slept every night after that. Why, you slept through the night sooner than any of our later babies. You were such a good baby. CoMMentary So, what is this story about? This is the story of how my grandmother shared her knowledge born of experience to help my parents and me. It shows how important good grandparents can be. This is the story of how my parents, though smart people, were not smart enough to figure out that the inside of a human body is much warmer than a hot, humid, upstairs, no air-conditioning August night in Kentucky. This is the story of why, to this very day, I am easily chilled. This is the story that shows how fortunate I was to have parents who loved me and struggled to meet my needs even when they could not name the need they met—instead of having parents who, thinking only of themselves, could have silenced me for good. This is the story that shows how I, as their first child, along with my grandmother, helped teach my parents how to be parents. This is a job done by every oldest child, willingly or not. This is the story of how I learned not to bother people by asking for what I wanted so I would not be considered spoiled. This is the story of how, even before time I can remember, I knew I must have my needs met. It tells how I succeeded even though I could not clearly communicate what my needs were. This is the story that shows, when it truly matters, I am persistent and so are my parents. Perhaps persistence can be inherited. This is the story with no fixed meaning. It changes and changes. Perhaps the meanings of all of our stories, those we tell and those we are told, can become this fluid when we allow ourselves to listen to them anew. ...