I come from a long line of great storytellers. It started with my grandfather. Some of the best stories he actually wrote to me in letters while I was at camp. Stories about the snake that had invaded our play schoolhouse in his yard and how he had tricked it with magic snake dust and was laughing hysterically as he watched that snake cough it’s way down the street never to return. I still smile at this image.
Then there is my father. I remember it was as if everything in the room would just stop should he begin to tell a story. You see he doled these stories out like little crumbs. They were told so infrequently that when they did come you knew it was time to stop and listen. He tells stories with the greatest sense of anticipation. It is like he takes you on this wonderful ride and you go through every up and down and turn with him word by word. It’s funny, but now that he has gotten older, he falls into his storytelling mode daily. He loves telling them and although you may have just heard it the day before, you still want to listen as it is in the telling that you find great joy. And he knows this and so he prefaces each story with, “I may have already told you this but…” and he tells it again.
Then there is my sister. She can take any mundane daily activity, like feeding her chickens and turn it into a tale. Honestly, I am always amazed at how she can take anything and make it fascinating. I always think she is truly living life like nobody else I know for in the retelling of her days there are countless short stories and anecdotes. And I wonder, is she crafting these stories as she is living them or does that come after the fact? Imagine living as if each move that you make is one to be retold in a story later. Everybody loves to be with Lisa because of her great energy and ability to find the humor is EVERYthing!
There are days she and I will be out in the woods hiking or on the ski lift and her narratives unwind one after the other. Even better is after she has a couple glasses of wine and the stories flow right along with it. Together we often rebound off of each other with our stories and we entertain ourselves endlessly. My Dad always says we sound like a bunch of old hens cackling away. We tickle ourselves with our tales and then go on to the next one. We amuse each other.
Then there are the family legends. You know, those stories that start out simply and then grow and grow with each telling. One of the classics is from the summer of 1978, a brutally hot summer when my parents decided we would take one of our only family vacations. Visions of amusement parks, Disney and swimming pools danced in our heads as we all went running to our rooms to get ready for the 3 am departure to none other than, Newfoundland. Yes, 3 kids under the age of 15 all crammed into the green, side paneled Pontiac station wagon for a two week, 4,000-mile road trip to Newfoundland and yes, even a lovely Atlantic crossing over to Labrador. There are so many stories from this one vacation from it being the first time I ever hearing my Dad “swear” telling us kids in the back that all we did was eat, fight and fart, to the hotel room with the one bare light bulb, bed bugs, drunkards wandering around and the beach front where we played amongst the jellyfish and broken glass for hours.
Then there is my brother who is also a master of words. He can spin a yarn and sell anyone just about anything. He is masterful with his superlatives and relentless in his enthusiasm. His stories are often filled with small bits of information that nobody knows. As my Dad says, he knows more about everything than I know about even one thing. He too can keep you entertained and on the edge of your seat for hours.
Stories provide us with a sense of belonging to something that is bigger than ourselves and each time one of these comes up there is an energy that surrounds them. We all laugh as the telling begins and those who have married into the family often find the need to leave as once we get going there is no stopping us. They exit the room saying, “Here we go again, the one bare light bulb and the drunks in Labrador stories…”
Then there are the stories that were told at Jimmy’s celebration of life last weekend. Jimmy, 23 years old passed away from Ewing’s Sarcoma on March 16th. (See previous post) In lieu of a funeral his family organized a service of stories. One after the other were people who took the stage and told of a boy, a man, a son, a brother with the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known. It was not just a rambling of how wonderful Jimmy was…you know the words that anyone could say about anyone, but detailed stories that I find I play over and over in my mind. Stories that punctuated who he was and what he believed in.
And then I meet with a group of teachers and they tell me that they do not have room in their schedules for read aloud anymore. And my heart sinks and aches for all of those stories that will not be told, read, discussed and written. For some kids these will be the only stories they will hear. There is scientific research in the area of stories and how those enrich and actually activate our brains in ways that we don’t even know.”
See here for Your Brain on Fiction, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/18/opinion/sunday/the-neuroscience-of-your-brain-on-fiction.html?pagewanted=all%3Fsrc%3Dtp&smid=fb-share&_r=0It states, “By simply telling a story, the woman could plant ideas, thoughts and emotions into the listeners’ brains”
See Vicki Vinton’s latest post here to see what is happening and the kinds of texts 3rd graders are being asked to navigate independently, and all this without daily practice with stories. http://tomakeaprairie.wordpress.com/. This post speaks about what so many of us are so heartbroken over.
And in the end, I ask, what stories will be told after we are gone? They will not be stories of the scores we got on what tests, or the achievements we made or the trophies we accumulated. They will be the stories of connection and what made us unique and individual, the stories that demonstrate how we were part of something larger in this world, how we touched others, the humorous stories, and how we integrated ourselves independently into a larger sense of the world. Those are the stories that will live on.
So how do we change the narratives that are being played out in our schools? In another article, The Stories That Bind Us, http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/17/fashion/the-family-stories-that-bind-us-this-life.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0,
Bruce Fieler states,
“The last few years have seen stunning breakthroughs in knowledge about how to make families, along with other groups, work more effectively.” He goes on to say, “ The single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative.”
And this idea of narrative is taken even further as corporations work to develop community. Developing community is one of the hallmarks of a great teacher. Time in the beginning of each year used to be devoted to creating these communities and creating the narratives where each student became a part of a larger story. These days, there is no time to create community because there is testing in October so often Community building is replaced with test prep.
We are only as good as our stories and I am finding myself feeling almost embarrassed on some level to claim that I am in education, that I believe in the right to a fair and equal public educational system for all when this system has taken on a life of its own and missing is any sense of story that I would ever want to be a part of. It is the story of money and corporate power. And so we must work together to re-write this narrative into one where each character matters and has a part in the larger story, because the alternative is a sterile ground with words on a page that nobody wants to read.
And it begins like this…Once upon a time there was a girl who wanted to go to school everyday to see classmates, to discover new ideas, to create, to sing, to play, to explore, to inquire, to wonder, to read and write and be a part of her larger school community…
One story at a time…