Playing with the Patterns [1996]

There are two main reasons I have resisted, despite considerable urging, following up on the memoir sections of my book Voices of the Self. One, I don't kiss and tell. So I would have to leave a large hole in a narrative about adult life compared to the small one (barely noticed by some) that I left in the tale of my adolescence. I can work with cracks in my story, but not craters. Two, I haven't considered my adulthood to be all that remarkable. Interesting, yes, exciting at times, but nothing I would read a whole lot about — the pressure not so intense, the days not so desperate. However, as two colleagues have set the task for me of reflecting upon some of the values and experiences that account for my teacherly orientation, I find that I can pick up a strand of the story line (life line) with which I don't mind playing. ¹