The Kids are All Right: A Memoir by Diana and Liz Welch with Dan and Amanda Welch

The title of this series, “Dead Babies,” refers both to the term writers often use to describe the often painful act of editing scenes we love — “killing our babies” – and the Alice Cooper song.

(For those of you who feel frightened or disgusted by the linked video, perhaps you’ll be comforted by what Alice is up to now.)

When we handed The Kids are All Right over to our editor, we knew that the monstrous manuscript we were giving her was way longer than it was supposed to be. But it’s hard to fit four childhoods into one book, and we just couldn’t bear to up and trash those memories that are so strong or scrap those incidences that still hold such importance for each of us.

So we thought we’d share with you some of the good bits that ended up on the editing room floor, the ones we swept up and shoved in a file for safe keeping.

The Kids are All Right ended up being a book with no afterword, a traditional device used to wrap up a narrative in a tidy fashion.  It wasn’t for lack of trying. Liz and I tested out a bunch of versions, searching for the perfect way to end our story.

In one attempt, we tried writing about going back to our old house, where we discovered some poetry in the way some things changed and some stayed the same: The cottage, the depressing little house where we spent a lonely year together right after Dad died, had been transformed into a sunny, modern one wherein lived a single widow woman whose daughter never visits; our barn, once filled with horses and an evil cat named Ted who terrorized all passersby had been torn down and replaced by a tennis court; Mom’s house had been completely redone – blown up and out, is how the current owner described it – that is, except for the room in which Mom died. That room, we couldn’t help but notice, remained eerily the same – even the new bed was in the same spot as Mom’s Craftmatic.

In another, we described my high school graduation, where Liz, Amanda and Dan presented me with “The Book of Diana,” a collection of memories from everyone and anyone who knew our parents. Almost a precursor to The Kids are All Right, “The Book of Diana” was Amanda’s idea. She was sad that Mom and Dad weren’t going to be around to see their youngest graduate, and she wanted them there in spirit. So Liz typed up a letter asking people to recollect Bob and Ann, and flung it far and wide – from extended family members to business associates – using her reportorial skills to track each person down.The result is a beautifully designed oversized book that is completely falling apart now – I’ve lugged across country several times – that I completely and totally cherish. I cried when I first opened it at the party the sibs threw for me at Amanda’s house, right there in front of all my punk rock high school friends, and I sometimes catch myself tearing up still when I flip through it.

But neither of these attempts quite worked.  In the end we decided to leave readers hanging a bit – our reunion seemed to wrap up the story enough for now. We were together, that’s all that mattered.

Below is Liz and my third stab at an afterword. It describes the four of us heading to Boston in a wicked blizzard to attend out Uncle Don’s funeral. We were inspired to post this deleted scene in its entirety after we received our cousin Jeff’s story – which you can read here – wherein he talks about the four of us braving the weather to honor our dad’s family. Come rain or come snow could be the Welches’ motto, determined as we still are to be there for each other, to be a family, with all the responsibilities it entails.

“Snow swarmed the headlights of our rental car, fighting to be seen in the dark.  Dan drove slow and steady, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, as red taillights flashed in front of us.  We were silent, on our way back from Boston, where we had just attended the funeral for our dad’s brother, Don.

Feeling nostalgic, we had decided to have dinner at Friendly’s.  When we were little, our dad took us there often. It was big deal in our house. He loved their lime sherbert shake. Mom always got their Reese’s peanut butter sundae, so did Amanda. Both Dan and Diana always got grilled cheese and fries, followed by mint-chocolate-chip cones with chocolate sprinkles.  Liz remembered loving the clam boat platter, but riding in the backseat of that rental car, she thought she might be sick.  It was 1994, and Friendly’s just wasn’t what it used to be.

“Hey guys,” she asked, leaning forward. “If you could go back, and re-write history, would you change anything?”

We were quiet.  The windshield wipers swept. A new, cold wind that sucked the smoke of Dan’s freshly lit cigarette out into the night sliced through the car’s warmth.

Amanda was the first to speak, from the passenger seat. “No,” she said decisively, keeping her eyes on the road. “It made us who we are.”

“That’s how I feel,” Liz said, falling back into her seat. “Dan? What about you? And, can you roll up the window? I’m freezing.”

Dan did, after flicking the cherry off his cigarette with his finger.  “Honestly, I think it’s true. I think if Mom and Dad had lived, we’d be spoiled brats.”

“I’d still hate you, Liz,” Amanda added, not unkindly. Laughing Dad’s laugh.

“Di?” Liz asked, ignoring Amanda. “How about you?”

Diana had her forehead pressed against the cold window. She could see her reflection in the black glass.  “No,” she said after a while.  “I don’t think so.”  She wasn’t sure. She was with her family now, and happier than she had ever been when they were apart.  But, what if they never had been? How would things have been different? How would we all be different? Where would we each be? There was no way of knowing.

But here’s where we were: We were on our way back to Liz’s Manhattan apartment on Washington Square Park where we would spend the night, on couches, in shared beds, before Amanda and Diana took the train back town to Charlottesville. Dan would stay the night at Liz’s too, even though he had his own place not far away, in the East Village.  We all wanted to wake up and have coffee and breakfast together while we had the chance. We were still making up for lost time.”