Writing “Alice Drive”

When I began writing Alice Drive, I thought I was writing about a house.

I quickly discovered that I was writing about much more than that.

Alice Drive is based on my life as a fourth and fifth grader in Brunswick, Ohio. It was a season of my childhood that lasted only a short time, but it left a lasting impression on me. Looking back, I realize many of my values, memories, and foundations were formed during those years.

At first glance, the book is simple. There are chapters about baseball, blackberry picking, planting flowers, going to the drive-in, riding the school bus, and spending time with family. There are no dramatic plot twists. There are no villains. There is very little conflict.

That was intentional.

I wanted to write the book through the eyes of a ten-year-old boy.

That boy didn't know what was coming.

He didn't know there would be more moves.

He didn't know there would be divorces.

He didn't know that his brother Jeff would die in an automobile accident a few years later.

He didn't know that one day he would leave home and board a plane for California.

He only knew what he had at that moment.

He had a home full of family.

He had older brothers and sisters to learn from.

He had food on the table.

He had a baseball field down the road.

Most importantly, he had a mother who worked tirelessly every day to create a stable home.

My mother was the heart of Alice Drive.

She cooked wonderful meals. She kept the house clean. She taught us responsibility. She encouraged us, guided us, laughed with us, and somehow managed a household filled with children. As I wrote the book, I realized that many of my favorite memories were not tied to major events. They were tied to ordinary days.

Breakfast around the table.

Helping with chores.

Working in the garden.

Family conversations.

Those ordinary days became extraordinary because of the people who shared them.

Writing Alice Drive was also an act of preservation.

Years ago, after my sister Cherie passed away, my youngest sister Michelle asked me a question that I have never forgotten.

"Who's going to tell our story?"

The answer came to me immediately.

I am.

That responsibility didn't begin with Alice Drive. It began many years earlier when I wrote Patchwork of Grace, a book inspired by my mother's life and memories. Mom often shared stories about growing up on a farm in West Tennessee during the 1940s and 1950s. Later in life, after her brothers and sisters had passed away, she looked at me and said, "Everyone who remembers me as a kid is gone."

That statement stayed with me.

Stories disappear when they are not told.

Memories fade when they are not shared.

Alice Drive is my effort to preserve one small season in the life of a family that meant everything to me.

The house is gone.

The years have passed.

Some of the people in these pages are no longer with us.

But the memories remain.

And now, they have a home on paper.

Thank you for taking this journey with me.

— Ted Whitney