"Tell me a story"

 

Long ago and far away in that place called childhood, Sunday afternoons were special because my Dad would tell me stories, stories of his childhood, stories about when he was in army, and stories he had been told when he was a child. I would ask to hear them over and over, as if I was committing them to memory.  Now each Sunday afternoon I pause to stop and say "I miss you and I thank you ."  When my son came along, my Dad would read to him, and when we talk about Grandpa, the stories he told to my son and the books he read to him are  among the good memories we talk about. One day, years later, I chose to share a secret with Son, and that was that "Grandpa" had memorized the books he was reading to him, because  when "Grandpa" was a boy, in the early 1900s, school was a luxury.  He could read, though it was something he had to really work at, and memorization was just easier for him.  Son sat silent for a few moments and moments looked up at me and said "Because he loves me."

The day after my son was born I started reading to him, telling him the old tyme stories that had been told to me. Whatever I could find became a dramatic reading, Field and Stream, the newspaper, a cookbook, any book,it just didn't mater, just so it was reading.   Later there were children's books from the library and some of his own, it's not much of a stretch or surprise that when his class started reading to kindergarten and preschool kiddos, Son had the most "little ones"gathered around him. 

Reading aloud, even if you are not the best reader, gives the words the freedom to soar off the page and into the world, they have the warmth of a human voice with all of it's inflections, sorta magical ain't it.  The sharing of words like this is meant to be comforting, and It illuminates the imagination , and I think bolsters creative thinking.  On a purely selfish note, when the storytelling goes well the reaction of the listeners warms the heart of the storyteller.

My Fifth grade teacher, who lived to be 104, and usually wore jeans, was interested in almost everything, and as you might guess had a big influence on me and still does. Her story telling  skill made history come to life for her students.  I remember hanging on every word, try to remember because I knew learning this skill would be useful someday.   Many years later I saw her again, only briefly, and not long before her death.. She was seated in the back of a crowd at a gathering where I was one of many story tellers.

You’re never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child.”~~~