🧠 Why I Wrote My Memoir Before It Was Too Late

Spoiler Alert—It Wasn’t About Me

Me and Dennis, locked in—probably watching Chat Patrol or Tom & Jerry, thinking we were invincible.

We didn’t know we were storing stories. But we were. Every moment, every laugh, every scar. This is where memory starts—and why I wrote it all down before it disappeared.

This is not a memoir about trauma.
It’s a memoir about momentum.

About two barefoot brothers giving gravity hell.
About a town that collapsed underneath us.
And a family trying not to do the same.

My town’s gone—condemned, evacuated, wiped off the map.
My granddad is gone. My dad too. And I can feel the dust swirling behind me now.

So I wrote it all down before it disappeared.

Before the porch caved in. Before the names faded.
Before the part of my brain that holds "hog rodeo" and "Ragsdale wrath" turns into static.

I didn’t write this book because I thought the world needed another coming-of-age story.
I wrote it because my grandsons needed to know where they came from—before I forget where I came from.

And if you’ve ever lost someone to dementia, or lived in a place that doesn’t exist anymore, or wondered when the stories stop—
They don’t.
Not if we tell them loud enough.

🧠 Keep the Fire Lit

• 💌 Subscribe for new chapters straight from the chat piles—and get a free copy of Full Speed Stupid,
  a wild ride from Barefoot and Bulletproof: The Dirty Little Glover Boys.

• 📩 Forward this post to someone who still talks about the good stories

• 🔥 Light a digital match: share this post with the hashtag #WhatIWon’tForget

• 📸 Follow on Instagram for memory triggers and behind-the-scenes photos: @RealChatRat

• 👍 Join the conversation on Facebook: facebook.com/RealChatRat

🦍 Want the next story?
Operation Chicken Chute just went live exclusively on Substack.
👉 Read it here and subscribe for free