Storytelling

Storytelling has a long and honoured history, and we all do it. When we’re relating an event to friends, we’re telling a story. There are some individuals who’ve elevated this skill to an art form. My father was one of these. Over the years I watched him keep roomfuls of people spellbound for hours.

Even though I’d heard some of his stories countless times, I still found myself drawn into the images and emotions they evoked. Of course, many of the events were his continual narrow escapes from death, but others were simple descriptions like climbing a mountain, painting a mental picture of the climb, and how he felt when he reached the top.

I noticed how he exuded emotion as he talked. If he’d survived a two-hundred-foot fall from a cliff while riding a horse (true story), everyone in the room would be right there falling with him and experiencing the sensations.

Before each story, there was always a foreshadowing. For example, he might mention he’d broken an arm while riding a recalcitrant horse in the mountains, and that would catch everyone’s attention. Who wouldn’t want to know how that had happened?

A person doesn’t become a great storyteller without being a keen observer of minutia and human nature. Details added to a story paints a picture and draws the listener into the emotions of the event.

My father had a sense of timing and order. He’d look up briefly to gather the memories then set the scene – where the story took place and the approximate year. Sometimes he’d include little side accounts about the people or horses that were in the story. Perhaps that particular horse had a tendency to kick, or one of the local guides always walked rather than rode, because he claimed an extra horse could be used as a pack animal instead of his mount. In other words, he’d flesh out the story to add depth and interest.

When my father came to the end of a story, listeners seemed to come out of a trance often exhibiting the emotions evoked by the story. Sometimes it was sadness and tragedy, others, they’d laugh until tears ran down their faces. Most wouldn’t want to leave for even a moment for fear of missing part of a story.

I don’t know if my father ever realized how unique this ability was. It was his nature to want to share the events of his life with others in an entertaining way.

It seems I’ve inherited his desire to share stories, although most of mine are through writing these days. Growing up having adventures most people don’t even dream about has given me lots to share, but we all have events worth recording or relating to others.

I’ve met far too many seniors with fabulous stories to tell once they believed I was actually interested in what they had to say. Their tragedies, triumphs, lost loves, and adventures disappear forever when these people move on from this Earth.

We don’t have to be the best storyteller to record these fragile memories, and I encourage everyone to think about jotting down the stories they hear from friends and relatives. Maybe someday they’ll decide to become a writer, and those events will help create the local culture.

Storytelling will exist as long as humanity does, and it’s a great feeling to be able to add to the lore that affects our lives.