By Shin Freedman
Each year around May, many books are published for Mother's Day, Graduation Day and other celebratory occasions. Memoir writing has become very popular for the young and the old, the famous and not so famous. Two celebrity actresses recently talked about their childhood lives: the host, who grew up poor in the south, but who has become a billionaire, a philanthropist, actress and media mogul, and the other actress, whose book she was interviewing her about, exploring her poor childhood upbringing which included abuse, but now, she too, is an award-winning well-known actress. Discussion of her memoir was a topic on TV. Truthfully, books written by celebrities or politicians, or ghost-written for them, do not appeal to me at all.
I recall a conversation I had with a retired university president whose brilliant academic life was well-known. Asked when I would get to read her memoir, the president's reply surprised me, "Since I had an ordinary, pleasant and happy childhood, my memoir would not be of interest to anyone." I have reflected on the president's remarks from time to time, asking myself, should a memoir contain a dramatic change or misery: from being poor to rich, from nobody to somebody, unknown to famous? I am not talking about a biography, but a memoir.
The interview I watched took place on an exceptionally attractive outdoor patio. The beautiful background was overlooking the ocean with a gentle breeze lifting their hair. The host, with her charming and informal manner, told the audience that the book is "a must-read," she declared.
Why should I pay attention to successful actresses' life stories?
At some point, I began to pay attention when the writer/actress talked about her childhood life with no hot water, rats in her apartment, often broken plumbing and a malfunctioning toilet. Somehow it resonated with me. Growing up in post-war Korea, the whole country was poor, but I did not know how poor we were. It was just the way it was then. I remember my sisters staying up late until midnight to make sure that my family got our water bucket in the queue. Those actresses did not mention outhouses. How scary it was for a young child to go to the outhouse at night. Cramming our living quarters of two rooms with our family of seven was never mentioned. Not having enough to eat was not mentioned at all.
Do celebrity confessions of their miserable lives have more meaning because they survived and became successful? Had they been average Janes or Joes and written about their dirt-poor childhood, would anyone pay any attention? I was puzzled. If my childhood upbringing was more miserable than others', would that bring more attention to my memoir?
The host continued to admire her guest's courage and will to be successful. She asked about her courage. Where does it come from? How do you recognize it? Is there a single instance that defines, "from this moment, I shall be courageous and successful?" Is this a reflection of a successful, mature, older person's perspective?
I wrote my memoir because I recognized that I had missed opportunities to talk about my childhood growing up in Korea with my children. I wanted my children to understand what it was like to grow up with limited basic resources ― food, water, shelter and educational opportunities ― before I became their parent.
Ironically, I found out that a number of second-generation Koreans and Korean Americans have read my book, but none of my own children have read my book yet. What will it take them to get to know me?
Shin Freedman (shinfreed@gmail.com) is the co-author of "Becoming a Library Leader: Seven Stages of Leadership Development."
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I recall a conversation I had with a retired university president whose brilliant academic life was well-known. Asked when I would get to read her memoir, the president's reply surprised me, "Since I had an ordinary, pleasant and happy childhood, my memoir would not be of interest to anyone." I have reflected on the president's remarks from time to time, asking myself, should a memoir contain a dramatic change or misery: from being poor to rich, from nobody to somebody, unknown to famous? I am not talking about a biography, but a memoir.
The interview I watched took place on an exceptionally attractive outdoor patio. The beautiful background was overlooking the ocean with a gentle breeze lifting their hair. The host, with her charming and informal manner, told the audience that the book is "a must-read," she declared.
Why should I pay attention to successful actresses' life stories?
At some point, I began to pay attention when the writer/actress talked about her childhood life with no hot water, rats in her apartment, often broken plumbing and a malfunctioning toilet. Somehow it resonated with me. Growing up in post-war Korea, the whole country was poor, but I did not know how poor we were. It was just the way it was then. I remember my sisters staying up late until midnight to make sure that my family got our water bucket in the queue. Those actresses did not mention outhouses. How scary it was for a young child to go to the outhouse at night. Cramming our living quarters of two rooms with our family of seven was never mentioned. Not having enough to eat was not mentioned at all.
Do celebrity confessions of their miserable lives have more meaning because they survived and became successful? Had they been average Janes or Joes and written about their dirt-poor childhood, would anyone pay any attention? I was puzzled. If my childhood upbringing was more miserable than others', would that bring more attention to my memoir?
The host continued to admire her guest's courage and will to be successful. She asked about her courage. Where does it come from? How do you recognize it? Is there a single instance that defines, "from this moment, I shall be courageous and successful?" Is this a reflection of a successful, mature, older person's perspective?
I wrote my memoir because I recognized that I had missed opportunities to talk about my childhood growing up in Korea with my children. I wanted my children to understand what it was like to grow up with limited basic resources ― food, water, shelter and educational opportunities ― before I became their parent.
Ironically, I found out that a number of second-generation Koreans and Korean Americans have read my book, but none of my own children have read my book yet. What will it take them to get to know me?
Shin Freedman (shinfreed@gmail.com) is the co-author of "Becoming a Library Leader: Seven Stages of Leadership Development."
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