Sometimes the stories you tell are the stories you need to hear the most.
In these days of mass media, constant distraction and decreasing attention spans, oral storytelling is more important than ever. In the hands of the experienced teller it can adapt itself to the immediate needs of the audience. But no matter the scenario, or teller, stories carry power.
One year I went to an adult costume party at Halloween. I was invited last minute, so had to be creative when it came to my outfit. Not wanting to buy anything new I searched my closet, threw on my burgundy dancing skirt, a nice top, big earrings and a shawl. Voilà!
“What are you going as Mom?” came the question.
“A travelling storyteller,” I answered.
“That’s what you always wear when you go out,” was the reply.
Sigh. Slightly deflated but undeterred, I went out. And when someone at the party asked me what I was dressed as, I told them. Of course the next request was for a story. Not knowing them at all, having no idea what kind of story they would like or appreciate, I took a chance, stepped out on a limb and asked them to give me a topic.
What popped into my head wasn’t a fable or a fairy tale, it was a personal story. It was my first time telling that story to anyone outside our family, and it touched me so deeply I still struggle to tell it without tears welling up. I call it the Strawberry Queen
One year, while in grade 1, my youngest daughter went on a school trip to Patterson Berry farm. Instead of sending the students home with strawberries, the teachers sent them home with strawberry plants. At the time we lived in a townhouse and I had dug up a few square feet of grass and planted flowers just under our kitchen window. So we planted the strawberry there, among the flowers. I had no idea how to care for it, and no expectations.
The whole family was excited when the first bud appeared. The first bud, followed by the first flower. The first flower, followed by the first green berry. Then the green morphed into red. There it was, the first ripe berry, red and shiny like a tiny precious jewel. Did I mention, tiny? Smaller than a small marble, and not as plump. I told my daughter that it looked like it was ready to pick and explained to her how to do it without damaging the plant (this much I knew).
And here is the part that pulls at my heart strings. When my six-year-old had picked the strawberry, and we’d washed it, I thought she would immediately gobble it up. Instead, she cut it in four equal pieces, four pieces! One for herself, and a piece for each member of the family. Generosity. Sometimes the stories you tell are the stories you need to hear the most.
Kind hearts are the garden…kind deeds are the fruit – excerpt from a 19th century rhyme
You don’t have to be an experienced teller to make an impact. I often take one of my grandsons to a child-friendly story circle. I’ve been taking him since he was about four. He was always encouraged to tell stories, and when he started, he was brave enough to tell them as long as I assured him I would help out if he got stuck. Once, I left for a few minutes, and when I came back, he was telling a tale with the help of the group facilitator. I was very impressed. Progress. Not too long after that he volunteered to tell a story by himself. Intrigued, I waited to hear what he had picked. And I was shocked that I had never heard it before.
In a nutshell, it was a yarn about a pig who had noisy neighbours and hated her job. She went on a vacation, discovered kindred spirits, threw off the physical trappings of her work (in this case, her clothes) and she was free! After a great deal of head scratching, Internet research and by enlisting the help of two school librarians, I finally discovered the book was called, City Pig, by Karen Wallace. What was even more intriguing was that my grandson had added things that weren’t in the story, elements that spoke directly to me.
It was the right story, at the right time. The right story, from a novice story teller, with a deep intuition for what needed to be shared. Not surprisingly, he happens to be the son of my youngest daughter, the Strawberry Queen.
If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. – Barry Lopez, in Crow and Weasel
A special thank you to my daughter and grandson for permission to share their stories.