Why Would I Ever Do Anything Else?

 

I had forgotten why... 

I forgot the feel of getting up at o'dark-thirty, grabbing a quick breakfast, and getting in my car.

I had forgotten the craning of my neck around as I drove through a neighborhood trying to find my location.

I had forgotten that smell of school in the morning.

I had forgotten that for some people, I'm a rockstar.

The staff - including the principal geeked out when I entered the building.

The staff came out of the office, and we took socially distanced selfies with our masks on. They were excited to see me. I hadn't been there since 2019.

I have been bumping elbows during flu season for more than a decade.

 The staff was so excited to bump elbows with me and tell me that every time they have done this over the last two years they've thought about me because I was the person who introduced them to this concept.

"You are a prophet!' the secretary informed me.

The students had been watching videos of me for weeks. They were also excited.

"Is it today, Mrs. Nifong? Is she coming today?" - The librarian told me about this second-grader who came into the library before I arrived.

I got ready. You know, get in the space, check the space, check the mic, find out how they meant to seat the kids, Figure out which group I was seeing first. Take off my shoes.

They divided the grades into much smaller groups. Pre-k, K, 1. Most of the teachers came in with their classes. They were wearing normal teacher shoes...except one kindergarten teacher. She was rocking white stiletto boots. I. Kid. You. Not.

My quick pic doesn't do them justice. Those things are almost 21/2 inches high! She was also statuesque and goddess-like. 

I didn't have any glamorous teachers when I was a kid. I would have fallen in love with this woman!

Then, I started telling.

I remembered.

The children move through story like music through the air or water over stone. 

Their comments, their laughter, their dreams, their imagination, their laughter. Their laughter. Their laughter....

I was part of that. I was part of that and I was there to feel it.

The children are different. 

I looked out at a sea of little people with their masks on their faces. It hurt my heart...but then...

Somewhere in the telling, it was as if I couldn't see their masks. I know they were wearing them, but I could only see them. I can see their little faces as if they had been unmasked. I don't remember any of them wearing those masks. 

I was asking for ideas for ingredients to make a magic dragon shrinking powder. One of the ingredients was orange peels. They suggested watermelon, chicken wings, water, powder (obviously, because it is a magic - dragon - shrinking - powder)  It is a 45-minute story. At the end of it, I was exhausted!

My next set was for the second and third grades.

I asked, "How many of you have parents who yell?"

One boy in the front raised a hand and said, "My mom cusses too."

When Epaminondus' momma said, "You ain't got the sense you was born with," one of the second graders said, "That was hurtful."

A little later on in the story, after Epaminondus had successfully destroyed a piece of chocolate cake, melted butter all over himself, and almost drowned a puppy, he was at his grandmother's house again. She says, "I have a special treat for you today."

The kids all groaned or said, "Oh no!"

One girl in the front yelled. "Is it air? She should just give him air!"

It was everything I could do to keep telling. Inside, I was laughing so hard I could barely hold the story together.

I took myself off for lunch after that set. When I got back, a Kindergarten teacher stopped me in the hall.

"I have a kid in my class," he said. "He isn't very social, but he's very bright. He had is lunch, and then brought me his paper bag. It was the orange peels from his lunch. My student said, "Please give this to the story lady so she can make more dragon powder."

I forgot how real the stories are.

I forgot that that imaginary pot full of imaginary things is real when we make it together.

After my 4th and 5th-grade set was supposed to be over, Mrs. Nifong asked if I'd do at least one tongue twister. I did Peter Piper.

The kids loved it.

After the set, the students needed to be near me. They crowded a bit too close to tell me they loved the stories, share what they wanted to be when they grew up (we were talking about that during the story), tell me they'd watched me on Youtube, tell me that I'm good at my job, and all sorts of other things. They needed to touch me. They needed things I could not give them. 

We settled for elbow bumps. 

It was enough.

Then, a student-teacher came up to me and told me that right up to the end of the program he was certain I had a synthesizer or computer up on stage because he didn't believe I was making all of those sounds myself. 

The classroom teacher said, "I told him. He didn't believe me."

That young teacher said, "I am going to learn to tell stories! I have to tell stories like that. I'm going to do it!"

I had forgotten the power of this art form outside of my workshop discussion or through a screen. I had forgotten how amazing it is to stand in front of someone who has just found storytelling.

After the kids left the space, the librarian, Mrs. Nifong, said, "Sorry about springing that tongue twister on you, but the kids didn't believe it was real when they saw it online."

Ah. They thought it was manipulated. Like the teacher who thought I had a computer on stage somewhere and I was somehow using it for sound cues.

Virtual telling gives you lots of tools to enhance the experience. They were not expecting the real thing to be....real.

I know this. It has always been true.

Still...

I had forgotten.

I poured my exhausted self into my car and drove the hour home.

Why would I ever choose to do anything else with my life?

Happy telling!