Even though a part of me wanted to stay home in front of the fire on the evening of November 15, I had already bought tickets for the Grand Slam, so my friend and I braved the rain and traffic to attend. It was late for us moms, but we were game!

We didn’t know the stories are rated, immediately, by “volunteer” judges. That must be why they call it a slam! Thankfully, we were not among the chosen. What a crowd. Diverse, enthusiastic and ready for whatever the contestants would throw their way. And yes, we were amazed at what was thrown our way. It takes a lot to tell your mistakes and foibles and naivete to a 350 people, yet it happened and no one seems the worse for it. You can see the stories on video here on the blog, but the full experience is the best. A story slam creates its own kind of intense give and take between the tellers and the audience. No offense, YouTube, but you had to be there. And you’ll be at the next one, right?

The following day was Sunday, and I took a different friend, one who has lived in the neighborhood of Painted Bride for years. “I can’t believe it was my suburban friend who got me out to this,” she marveled as we walked a couple blocks to the Bride. This time, we were on our way to Relative History, Daniel Mendelsohn and Lise Funderburg’s joint reading and discussion.

Their work is so different, his about family members who perished in the Holocaust, and hers about her father’s life in the Jim Crow South, and yet together the readings created a deep resonance. The audience, again, was totally engaged, and asked questions that showed they had not only been listening, but were actively taking the subject farther. How do memory and history intersect in memoir? What should be remain unsaid, and what is fair game, in writing about family?

As my friend and I ate our dinner in a small Vietnamese restaurant on Market St., we agreed, we must do this again.