Jay Allison on recording your children (and your mother and your...)

In the course of writing an essay for The New York Times on the joys of recording the first words uttered by my Leo (seen here in his radio onesie), I interviewed legendary public radio guru Jay Allison.

Jay, known for producing "The Moth Radio Hour," spoke to me for a sidebar that ultimately wound up not running.

I'm going to share a few of his insights because what he said was so beautiful and so moving -- I believe it will move you all right now to start recording. Your child, your mother, your friends, the birds outside your window who signal it's time to wake up each day -- whatever.

Words of wisdom from Jay:

“People have a very special relationship to sound that is different than photos Sound literally gets inside of you, it inhabits you. It can break your heart. That’s different from photos, which remain outside.” 

(This quote mesmerized me and so I included it in an essay about recording loved ones for the Boston Globe).

“It’s a focused time to talk to your kids. We are so distracted. If you weren’t recording, they may not respond in the same way.”

“There is an intensity about recording it.”

I also spoke to my former colleague, Clay Bolton, who had some great points to share including this:

“The best way for someone to relax and tell you their story is not with a camera. Audio is the least disruptive. You just put your recorder on the kitchen table and press play.”

I recently interviewed my mother over Thanksgiving dinner, and a little tidbit emerged that I should have known, perhaps did know, but which never had much significance before. Namely, my grandfather was an only child. So is my Leo. I'm one of four girls so I can't even imagine being an only child. But Grandpa Tisdall was an only child. Grandpa Tisdall, a.k.a. Dr. Tisdall, who through some recent web research I learned had been quoted in The New York Times during World War II (he headed up the blood donation effort in Brooklyn; what I wouldn't do to have HIM on tape about it or anything he might want to talk about. Ditto my beloved grandmother, who inspired my most feminist ways). 

I now see an invisible line in the air connecting my grandfather to the great-grandson he never knew, and I wonder what other "hidden" bits of family history might emerge the next time I press record.

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