Ruminations of an Old Goat

Six and a half years ago, I attended Meet the Teacher Night to meet my son's second grade teacher. She had over 20 years of experience, so her presentation was concise and to-the-point. Everything she said sounded good and she turned out to be one of the two best teachers my son has had thus far. But what really piqued my interest was her Friday afternoon Story Time. A parent signed up for one date during the year to bring snacks and read a couple of books to the children. Now that was the kind of parents-in-the-classroom activity I loved! I couldn't wait to get to the list and sign up for the earliest possible date. The line moved slowly along until I finally got to the sign-up sheet and discovered the earliest open date.

December 5.

That was four months off! I felt like a kid who is told Christmas is just around the corner at the beginning of September. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And eventually December arrived. On Monday, I started going through my son's books, narrowing down the selection pool. On Wednesday, we had a parent-teacher conference, after which I asked the teacher some questions about my Friday reading.

"I'm so proud of you for remembering!" she said. "All of the other fathers who do this have to be reminded again and again by the mothers."

"You don't understand my husband," my wife told her. "He's been looking forward to this since the day he signed up!"

On Thursday, I still had a bunch of books I was trying to choose from. At that point, I sought expert advice; I asked my son which books he thought I should take. He looked through the books and pulled out The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. He liked the story well enough but knew if was a particular favorite of mine (though I admit I would have preferred a more traditional approach to the artwork).

"You want to read this one, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, "but only if it's okay with you."

He looked thoughtful for a minute then said, "Okay, you can read it. But only if you tell I'm in Charge, too."

I'm in Charge is an original story of mine. I made it up when the Boy was four as a bedtime story. I have no idea how many times I had told him the story over the previous three years, but it was (and still is) a particular favorite of his. What parent/writer can turn down a request like that? I agreed.

Friday afternoon, I arrived at the classroom carrying juice pouches and snacks. Seeing I had brought only one book, the children made sure to tell me that parents were supposed to read two stories, not just one. As I was passing out snacks and drinks, I told them that my son had asked me to tell a story I had made up as the second story. That really seemed to intrigue them.

I took a seat at the front of the room, with my son seated next to me, and read The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish. Apparently, my son's opinion of the book was more in line with the typical second-grader than mine was. Oh, the kids enjoyed the story just fine but the artwork was puzzling to them and not easy make out when I turned the book so the students could see the pictures. In other words, there was the typical rustling and squirming you get when a bunch of second-graders are asked to sit still and be quiet for ten to fifteen minutes.

After finishing the story, I let the children get the wiggles out for a minute or two before starting I'm in Charge. Prior to this, the largest audience I'd had while telling the story was three; my son and the two children of some close friends. I wasn't nervous but did hope the story would appeal to this much broader audience.

I launched into the story and made the discovery all modern storytellers eventually make. There was no longer a barrier between me and my audience.

I know we don't like to think of a book as a barrier, but in this situation it really is one. The book occupies at least one of your hands, limiting the gestures you can make during the story. Worse, while reading the words you can't really make eye contact with your audience. You can flick your eyes up briefly, but then you have to look back at the book so you don't lose your place or stumble in your reading. Without having to refer to a book, I had the luxury of extended eye contact. I could make the story truly personal for the children just by focusing on each of them for a few seconds. Without the book, I didn't have to worry about stopping the story every two pages to show pictures to the children. The flow of the story was not interrupted. As an added plus, without pictures to rely on, the children's imagination took over, creating their own pictures and making the story even more personal.

Looking over faces filled with shining eyes, watching them laugh or gasp or simply smile, I knew I had discovered something special. I had made a direct connection with each child that day; something I could never have done had my story simply been read to them.

This one event changed me, broadened my perspective. While I still wanted to write stories for children, I had another dream to pursue. I wanted to be a storyteller even more.

And that exactly what I became.

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Henry Vogel really is a professional storyteller and he has finally even setup a website for his storytelling business (comments and criticism welcome). He hopes to add video of him telling stories in the near future. Henry's column, Ruminations of an Old Goat, appears every Monday morning here at the Friday Challenge.