A couple of years before my father passed away he wrote his autobiography and asked me to read it. I was surprised to learn that he was actually a good writer. He had lived most of his life as an electronics technician, and I knew that he wrote technical manuals on his job, but I’d never had the opportunity to read any of his writings.

In his book, the thing that struck me most was the “Forward”, because at the end of it he wrote this:

For myself, I wanted a job that allowed me to retire at an early age with enough income to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about how I was raised, because the way I was raised made me what I am today. And, I hope that anyone reading this autobiography will not think that I am bragging about anything that I did. I just told my story the way I remember it. I also hope that my children and grandchildren will read this and remember me after I am gone.

As I look back, I wonder if that isn’t behind most writers’ intense need to write. Perhaps we have stories inside us that we desperately want to get out and share with the world, but somewhere deep down we also need to be remembered.

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