Occasionally I teach a class at the library called Writing Down Your Stories (surprise!). This week there was only a small group, so it was very relaxed and casual. The patrons jumped right in to discuss writing ideas.
Inevitably, this leads to someone telling a story. You can tell the shy ones; you know they have a story to tell, it’s right there on the tip of their tongue. But they look at the table; they listen enviously with a little half-smile, as a real raconteur tells a story. They need a little encouragement.
Essentially, the shy ones have the same problem as the talkative ones. No one is convinced that anyone really wants to hear their story.
It’s the same at the desk, isn’t it? We are so popular because there are fewer and fewer places to find someone who will actually listen and then try to help.
It is amazing the stories people have to tell. Stories about personal strength in the face of hardship. Stories about where they’ve been that show how small a world it is. One woman told a story about Colorado in 1983. She mentioned a highway number in western Colorado.
“No way!” I said. “I drove that highway many times in 1983!” Who would suspect? There are little threads reaching from here in heart of the midwest to points all over the world.
There was one man in the class this time. He was a lifelong salesman, very comfortable talking, even though he was outnumbered. We were talking about grandparents at that particular point. He was probably in his seventies, so his grandparents grew up in the last century – an interesting time to be alive.
He said, “My grandfather built a house back in the woods, and he built a still.”
“Not moonshine!” I said.
“Yep, he made moonshine, and he was selling it. But the still exploded and they caught him.” He laughed. “He had to spend a year in the penitentiary. He told me he didn’t mind – it was the middle of the Depression and he ate better in the pen than he did at home!” He laughed again, then asked me, incredulous, “Is that a good story? Should I write that one down?”
“Yes!” everybody almost shouted. “That’s a good one – your family will love it!”
His wife, also probably in her seventies, said that she had started to videotape her life story, but when she had health problems, she stopped. She told everyone as she finished reading aloud her life timeline, “I quit recording my life history, but because of this class, I’m going to start again – and I’m going to write it this time.”
“Yes!” everyone said. “Good! You should!”
They did that for each other over and over again. Someone would tell a story. “Is that a good one?” they asked.
Yes! Yes! A thousand times – yes! This is a natural extension of my soapbox for the small and the individual. That’s what life is made of - the small is important. The individual is all we have. If you are not you, who will be?
It only takes one thread unraveling to make a hole. Make sure it isn’t yours.
Stories...Tell me a Story!
This is mine for the day!
I'm going to school to be a "real" librarian and this was one assignment that I was glad was over!
Library Project Case Study: The presentation went well! Thank goodness the girls and I had it together. I'm doing the finger snap! It is so hard to do group projects while working 40 hours and traveling to School.
As usual, I was "Flying by the seat of my proverbial pants" because I did my part of the presentation with only one good eye. Of all mornings to lose a contact lense! Really is funny when you think about it, me up there squinting. It got a big laugh after the presentation was over and I knew that I and the team had logged another (A). I just told everyone, gave a big sigh and adjusted my non-existant librarian bifocals. I think I'm in the wrong business; stand up comedy would probably be more fun!
Posted by: Emortal | March 04, 2006 at 01:02 PM
This is kind of natural storytelling I fear our county is losing. Neat that you're encouraging it.
Posted by: J. Dorfman | March 07, 2006 at 11:35 AM
This made me sad, because in the past few years, I had gotten both sets of grandparents a tape recorder, blank tapes, and a book called "Legacy" to try and encourage them to tell their life stories. Now three out of four of them are dead, and none of them used the tapes. Even when I showed up to the apartment to try and record something.
My mom's dad asked why anyone would want to know about his life, because he "hadn't done anything special." I tried to convince him that any story is a story, something others want to hear. Why else do we read novels or watch movies or tv shows? And to hear HIS stories, in HIS voice, would mean so much ...
"Like the time you put the cat food in the brownies to torment your sisters."
"Oh, you mean the laxative in the fudge."
"SEE?!? We need YOU to tell the story."
But now it's too late.
Posted by: meredith | June 08, 2006 at 07:00 PM