I enjoy reading personal essays especially autobiographies, but I’ve never had the opportunity (unless journals and diaries count) to write a personal one of my own until about 7 years ago (I think). In my high school and college years all my essays were about presenting an argument or an opinion and then stating facts or reasons why with supporting statements and then close it off with a conclusion.
I have, off and on, toyed with the idea of writing a book of essays. I feel like I am pretty good at telling stories orally so why not write them down (lord knows I have plenty of entertaining scenarios that have occurred in my life to write about) and present them in book form. Although I’ve always written fiction when it came to telling a story; my poetry was (and still is) the only creative expression I use to delve into personal aspects of myself.
One Sonday Afternoon was written specifically about the birth of my son. In 4-5 pages I document the day I was having right before I went into labor with him to the moment right after I gave birth, and all the little moments in between.
This piece is not though-provoking, somber or highly emotional like a lot of the work I write. It is wholesome and organic with bits of humor (and yes, the football references really happened the way I had written it while I was in labor). I had a great first pregnancy and the birth was just as pleasant, which could have been because of the drugs, but nevertheless it wasn’t nearly as horrible of an experience as the one the lady on the other side of my hospital wall was having. With that being said, I loved writing this piece and I love being able to go back and reread it years later and relive the experience again and again.
Oh yeah, how did I come up with the title? Easy…I went into labor on a Saturday night and my son was born that following Sunday. I switched out the “sun” in Sunday and replaced it with “son,” which is the gender equivalent of a male child…hence we have One Sonday Afternoon.
SIDENOTE: I need to write a companion piece about my daughter because if she finds out I wrote about my experience having her brother and not one about having her…I won’t hear the end of it.