Story Corner
I spent spring break with my roommate at his house in Indianna. It was both a blessing to get out of Iowa for a while and a bit of a trial being away from so many of my friends for that long and being in a new place with new people and feeling like I was imposing on them every time I had to use the bathroom. (Hooray for run ons!) But I came away from the experience with a new appreciation for my roommate and a few cool knick knacks that now clutter my desk. My favorite part of the trip, however was when we took a detour on the way home and stopped by his grandparents house in Wisconson for one day and two nights. They treated us wonderfully--loading us up on all kinds of delicious homemade food and such, trying to make us fat with his grandfather's fantastic cooking and his grandmother's formidable baking, and letting us sleep in their apartment-like basement. But the thing that I liked the best was listening to their stories.
It's amazing how everybody tells a story in a different way. Some people sit there and take their time to remember every detail like what they ate that Sunday that Gladys said something funny, or how old the dog was when they took a trip to Washington. Others will just tell you the key points of the story with all the embellishments that their imagination will allow them. What's even better is when you have an elderly married couple that has one of each such storytellers. That was Adam's grandparents.
They had been married for well over fifty years and you could tell. They fulfilled each other completely while at the same time they remained two different people. When the news wasn't on or we weren't reading a book they liked nothing better than to sit with us and tell us the stories they had made over their liftime.
Adam's grandfather had been a pastor for many years. Before that he was in the navy and he had gone to clown school at one point. He met his wife at college and she supported him in everything he did. He, in turn, supported her with all the same love and respect that she showed him.
My biggest goal in life is to become a great storyteller. But as we were sitting there listening to them and they tried to figure out on what day of the week this particular story happened, I remember thinking, "Gosh, I hope I never get to where all I have to look forward to is telling my grandchildren what I did on the sixth of April, 2006. I want to be out making the stories until I drop dead on a set like John Ritter (hopefully I'll be a little older than he was) or I die while in the midst of making my very own rescue story in which I'm actually the hero." But as the stories progressed I realized that they were far from being finished with making their stories. For them every day held the potential of being an account of love, hate, excitement, fear, and hilarity that would be retold every Christmas with the same desired reactions from their audience each time. They were not done making their stories. They just couldn't wait until the end of their lives to tell the ones that they had. It was then that I did a complete one-eighty and said to myself in extreme excitement, "I want that to be me. I desperately want to be able to sit down with my wife and tell my children's children exactly what happened on the sixth of April, 2006." For an aspiring storyteller, what would be better than living a life that is one fantastic story after another? What would be better than sharing each and every story up until the very last one in which I meet whatever end God has for me?
The moral of this revelation is to remember your own stories and never take a single day for granted. Yes, it's cliche and it's said in every kid's book known to man, but when you are old and you have seen many things that others haven't, you will want to tell others with confidence exactly what you ate that Sunday that Gladys said something funny. You will use every bit of imagination and selective memory you have to embellish each story almost to the point of disbelief.
Now go make some stories, then come find me. I want to hear every one of them.
It's amazing how everybody tells a story in a different way. Some people sit there and take their time to remember every detail like what they ate that Sunday that Gladys said something funny, or how old the dog was when they took a trip to Washington. Others will just tell you the key points of the story with all the embellishments that their imagination will allow them. What's even better is when you have an elderly married couple that has one of each such storytellers. That was Adam's grandparents.
They had been married for well over fifty years and you could tell. They fulfilled each other completely while at the same time they remained two different people. When the news wasn't on or we weren't reading a book they liked nothing better than to sit with us and tell us the stories they had made over their liftime.
Adam's grandfather had been a pastor for many years. Before that he was in the navy and he had gone to clown school at one point. He met his wife at college and she supported him in everything he did. He, in turn, supported her with all the same love and respect that she showed him.
My biggest goal in life is to become a great storyteller. But as we were sitting there listening to them and they tried to figure out on what day of the week this particular story happened, I remember thinking, "Gosh, I hope I never get to where all I have to look forward to is telling my grandchildren what I did on the sixth of April, 2006. I want to be out making the stories until I drop dead on a set like John Ritter (hopefully I'll be a little older than he was) or I die while in the midst of making my very own rescue story in which I'm actually the hero." But as the stories progressed I realized that they were far from being finished with making their stories. For them every day held the potential of being an account of love, hate, excitement, fear, and hilarity that would be retold every Christmas with the same desired reactions from their audience each time. They were not done making their stories. They just couldn't wait until the end of their lives to tell the ones that they had. It was then that I did a complete one-eighty and said to myself in extreme excitement, "I want that to be me. I desperately want to be able to sit down with my wife and tell my children's children exactly what happened on the sixth of April, 2006." For an aspiring storyteller, what would be better than living a life that is one fantastic story after another? What would be better than sharing each and every story up until the very last one in which I meet whatever end God has for me?
The moral of this revelation is to remember your own stories and never take a single day for granted. Yes, it's cliche and it's said in every kid's book known to man, but when you are old and you have seen many things that others haven't, you will want to tell others with confidence exactly what you ate that Sunday that Gladys said something funny. You will use every bit of imagination and selective memory you have to embellish each story almost to the point of disbelief.
Now go make some stories, then come find me. I want to hear every one of them.
posted by Rabies at 4:51 PM
3 Comments:
Beautiful. So beautiful. Thank you for this story.
good words, my friend.
O my gosh I effing love you. I'm going to tell you a story as soon as I see you tonight.
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