Looking Forward to Looking Backby Wendel Potter
Posted January 29, 2005
When I informed someone recently that I was a columnist, that person asked me what kind of column I wrote. I told him that I was a "nostalgist".
At the time, I wasn't even sure nostalgist was a word. But I did find it in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary. It means "a person given to nostalgia".
I sometimes hesitate to describe myself as a humorist, even though this column is generally considered a humor column. Of course, judging from some of the email I've received recently, not every reader considers my column to be all that humorous.
At any rate, I learned a long time ago to be careful how you identify yourself because you can easily be put on the spot.
Twenty-five years ago, a local newspaper here in Nebraska did a human interest story on me when someone on the staff discovered that I was a freelance comedy writer for Joan Rivers. I have to admit that my ego grew about seventeen sizes but I wasn't prepared for the type of attention the article would create for me.
People approached me for some time afterwards. Many were very gracious and seemed genuinely interested in my hobby. God bless them everyone.
However, there was a multitude of folks who would ask me if I was the fellow who wrote jokes for a famous comedienne. When I responded that I was indeed the same guy, they would fire back with things like, "So say something funny" or "Tell me a joke".
Needless to say, I had no punch lines sitting cleverly on the tip of my tongue. I just wanted to turn tail and run. Although, I guarantee you when I run with my tail turned, that's actually pretty funny.
The few times I did tell a joke that Joan Rivers had actually bought from me and used on national television, I received many blank stares. It just isn't quite the same hearing a man doing comedy material about having boobs that sag so low people think you have knobby knees.
Whether I've grown more humorous over the years may be debatable, but I have grown wiser. I've learned in many instances (but not all) to keep my big mouth shut.
After re-reading dozens of the columns I've written, I noticed how often I write about my childhood and my hometown. It does appear that I have a particular fondness for great personal moments in times gone by.
So, for myself, I've decided on the word "nostalgist". It's a chummy little word that doesn't invite a lot of great expectations.
Being in a position to write what's known in the newspaper trade as a "personal column" is a luxury for someone like me. I was always instructed to write what I knew about. Not that I know that much about having boobs that sag.
Perhaps I sometimes entertain myself more than I do some of my readers, but I get quite a kick out of scratching around in the sands of the 1950's and 1960's of my childhood and adolescence and coming up with a treasured memory that seems worth putting on paper.
The real pleasure comes when I hear from someone who says, "that's what we did when we were kids" or "you reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in years". I've come to realize how universal some of those memories can be. Striking a chord with readers is what makes it all worthwhile.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend whom I hadn't seen in some time mentioned that she reads my column each week, then said, "I can't believe how well you can remember the particulars of your childhood."
"You mean because I'm 52 and should soon be approaching senility?" I asked.
I've always had a penchant for being able to summon the details of various, long-ago episodes in my life. Although, I can never be sure if I'm relating what actually happened eons ago or if I'm just writing down what I think happened.
I do know that in conversations with my siblings, we cannot always agree on the details of certain incidents from our shared pasts. I just tell them, "The way I remember it must be right. It's in my column and if it's in print, it must be true."
Whether or not my recall is 100 percent accurate, I guess I'll keep on being a nostalgist. That's an identity I'm comfortable with. But when the memory goes, it's back to the boob jokes.
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