“If my parents had stayed together, today would have been their 56th wedding anniversary,” Del commented.
“Well, that would have been quite the accomplishment,” Irene reclined against their sofa and curled her feet under her.
“Oh, yes. Their marriage was quite the achievement. We had four different social workers, fourteen hospital visits for ‘falls,’ and dozens of cop cars at our house at all hours over the years.” Del raised her wineglass in a toast. “To Mom and Dad’s marriage, may it rot in hell.”
“I think that might be the strangest toast I’ve ever heard,” Irene took a sip of wine.
“That’s because it wasn’t a toast, darling. It was a eulogy.”
(This one is semi-autobiographical. If my parents had stayed together, today would have been their 56th anniversary. And we did have a number of social workers and hospital visits and cop cars at our house.
The challenge in writing this story was how to keep it from getting too bitter. I hope I succeeded. I always want these tales to be entertaining even if the subject matter is dark. Here’s the thing, though. I can’t help thinking that as I wrote this, I wanted to gloss over some of the arduous aspects of my childhood. I wanted to be glib and not hurting. I guess that is a protective instinct, but I do wonder if it makes me less honest somehow as a writer.
What do you think? How much honesty should writers display?)
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