“Will you sign this?” — 8-year-old me

I’ve acquired a few well-known and somewhat well-known peoples’ autographs over the years, but the autographs that mean the most to me are the ones in my childhood autograph book.

I don’t know who gave it to me or if I bought it myself, but the first entry is dated June 16, 1972, when I was not quite nine and fresh out of third grade.

The signers are ordinary people from my ordinary childhood, and I wanted to share a few of them, hoping maybe you’ll recognize someone from your own life.

“Dear Lynn. Well here goes, don’t know what to say. But you are a good girl I think, don’t you?” Uncle Milty

Milty was a tickler, and I don’t mean that in a pervy way. He’d never give me or my siblings more than a tickle in the ribs­ or on the neck—and only for a few seconds—when he’d greet us. It was more the anticipation of it that made it so fun, or maybe it was because his deep, robust laugh was so infectious. When I see his message and signature in my little autograph book, I’m reminded that he was a safe adult male, and at age eight, I thought that’s the way all men were. I learned a few years later that not every man was like Uncle Milty.

Milty wasn’t my biological uncle. He was married to my grandmother Signe’s sister Martha

“You’re a nice girl; hope you continue to be such a good girl so Mom and Dad can be proud of their girl. Lots of luck.” Auntie Martha

Martha wasn’t nearly as fun as Milty. Still, she was reliably Martha: welcoming, but not overly affectionate (we’re descendants of Norwegian immigrants after all). Her message parallels her sister’s, in that it stresses the importance of being good and sweet: 

“Be kind, be good, be always as loving as you are now. You are a sweet girl so continue being so and you will be a sweet old lady.” Grandma Signe

Don’t laugh! There was a time when I was a good girl! And sweet. And nice. Everyone (in 1972) thought so.

Back then and for years after, I thought that being sweet and good meant being agreeable. Don’t upset people; just keep things calm, and for heaven’s sake, don’t rock the boat. What I’ve learned in 50+ years is that you can be sweet and good and still upset people; sweet and good and still rock someone’s boat; sweet and good and shit still goes south. There’s not much you can do about those things, but what else I’ve learned is that you can be sweet and good and not kowtow; sweet and good and fight for justice; sweet and good and say no.

I’m probably not the sweet old lady my grandma hoped I’d be, and I’m pretty sure one of my parents isn’t very proud of me, but I’m okay with that. I like me the way I am.

“Roses are red, violets are blue. Pickles are sour, but not you!” Aunt Shirley

Shirl was married to my late uncle David, my dad’s brother. While not my blood relative, she is my favorite aunt and has been like a mother to me. She’s one of those people you can’t help but love the minute you meet her. (Writing about her reminds me I need to call her and get her Kringla recipe…)

“I shall always remember you as the little blond girl with the wonderful personality. I’ve enjoyed having you in my room. Just keep up the good work and success will be yours.” Miss Nissen.

Miss Nissen was my fifth-grade teacher. For reasons I can’t remember now, fifth grade was a tough year. Maybe because everything was changing; I was learning so much about the adult world. It was the year of “the movie**,” and nervous little me freaked out when I learned that, one day, there would be blood coming out of me every month. Blood! I was only eleven and had not started developing, but a girl in my class got her first period that year and, of course, she was the topic of every recess discussion. That and the question, “How do you get pregnant?” and it was unanimously decided that kissing and belly buttons were involved.  

“Love many, trust few. Always paddle your own canoe.” Annie

Annie Farrar made—hands down—the best peanut brittle ever. She was also a wise (and very fun and kind) woman. I wish I’d taken her advice about “trusting few,” but I have the paddling-my-own-canoe part down…finally.

“I am happy to have you for a neighbor. Always keep that pleasant smile. Good luck in school next year and all of your years.” Eldora Stoltenberg

Eldora was a widow, and when she married our town’s school superintendent a few years after his wife died, it taught me that people are capable of loving again, even in their later years. I didn’t realize at the time how valuable that knowledge would be.

“Don’t worry if your job is small and rewards are few. Remember that the mighty oak was once a nut like you!” Your sis, Debbie. (She’d write something similar today if I handed her an autograph book.)

While my sister has not always understood my life decisions, she has supported me throughout my life and, I know to my core, loves me unconditionally. We’re different in many ways: where I am emotional, she is logical; where I am chaotic, she is steady. But we have a similar sense of humor, and we both lean left; Debbie a little farther than me, but not by much. We both disappointed our parents with our religious views and ideologies as adults. “That’s not how you were raised!” were tiring words we’d both heard and read, to which we responded—in one form or another—“Thank god.” My sister is a childfree (I refuse to call women who choose not to or cannot have children “childless”) former cat owner, and I love her just the way she is.

“Dear Lynn. Don’t go to England, don’t go to France. But stay here in America and give our boys a chance.” Love, Dad

It’s always good to see my dad’s handwriting. Gives me the warm fuzzies. I miss him so. If he was here, though, and I read his note to him, I’d add, “I gave them a chance alright, didn’t I, Dad?” and we’d laugh. Many lessons learned about love and relationships since those days.

I’ll end with the entry from my mother’s mother, Katinka Hagebakken (such a fabulous name).

“Hope you can always be like you are now. Always cheerful and full of life. Yes, enjoy every day as we pass here only once.” Grandma H

Katinka wasn’t the easiest person to be around. Her form of honesty was often hurtful, especially when she had an opinion about my weight. There were times, though, when her sense of humor and kindness shined. And when she laughed, it was always genuine. She used to whip my ass at Scrabble, and once, she trusted me with her tears of anguish when she was going blind and deaf. Katinka loved children, especially her great-grandchildren, and my kids remember her only with fondness.

Katinka was right in that we do only pass through here once, and I am grateful that she and the many other signers of my autograph book have been a part of my time here. I only hope that in knowing me, I enhanced their lives, too.

** This is the exact movie they showed us in fifth grade!