I am extremely excited to share with you the first post of my new blog, What’s Your Story? This blog will include personal stories from my life, the lives of my family members, friends, and many others. Why share stories? Sharing our stories creates a connection between us and we begin to know each other more deeply as a result. Stories give us hope and encourage us to be more courageous, causing us to grow in the most amazing ways.
Stories have always captivated me. I love telling stories. Whether they are true or purely fantasy, something magical happens when we share stories. There is a mutual exchange that occurs between the teller and the listener, and we become active participants in the marvelous tale that unfolds before us.
I attribute my passion for stories to my upbringing. My father was a second generation Italian, born with a paintbrush in his hand in 1918. He became an artist by trade which I imagine was a very unusual profession for that day. In addition to being a painter and commercial artist, he was quite the musician. He played violin, mandolin, piano and sang…a Renaissance man. Dad was well read and never let a question go unanswered. He was kindhearted, loving and a very gentle man with an extremely dry wit.
My mother was equally passionate in her own way. She was a stay at home mom until after I was married. It was then, she achieved her childhood dream of becoming a nurse and worked at the local hospital. But, while growing up, my mother’s profession was caring for our family. She was crazy about us…almost to the extreme. She loved deeply and her entire life was devoted to us. Her creativity found it’s expression in writing. She enjoyed writing stories about her kids and my father would illustrate them.
Our home was a celebration of the arts. Everyone played an instrument, sang, and a few even inherited my dad’s talent as an artist. We all were required to learn to play the piano regardless of what else we did. The piano teacher would come for hours to our home to give lessons. When we practiced beforehand, there would be two and a half hours of beautiful music resounding throughout our home. Some of us practiced more than others and became quite adept in the art. When we didn’t practice, there was a tortuous cacophony of noise that assaulted the ears of anyone in hearing distance.
I was the second in the line of five children, five years younger than my older brother. My younger brother followed me then my two sisters. Four of us were born in five years. It was “crazy town” most of the time at our house. Every day was a new adventure.
My dad used to tell us that if we could read about something we could learn to do it. He lived his life that way. He never let lack of knowledge stop him, he just read about the subject. He often took the “Rube Goldberg” approach to life. Rube Goldberg was an American artist famous for his cartoons. He was also a sculptor, author, engineer, and inventor.Rube was famous for his unorthodox inventions that accomplished the ordinary task. My dad was so convinced about the power of reading that he often used the example of the possibility of performing brain surgery just by reading a book.
Because of his thirst for knowledge, my dad was determined to teach us to research. I remember him answering our questions with “Well…why don’t we look that up”. And we would…together. The World Book Encyclopedia became a key reference in our home. Books became a primary source for answering questions.
Both my parents loved to read so we visited the library every week. My parents read to us often but each day we had the “quiet hour”. This was time set aside to read by yourself. I used to think it was because my mother needed some peace and quiet but I actually believe it was for our good. The peace and quiet was a secondary benefit.
As a very young child, not only did I love stories but I wanted to be actively involved in the story. Even the news on television would draw me in. I thought that if I could hear the voices coming out of the side speaker of the “big black box” that we called a television, that they could also hear me. So, I often attempted to engage the “man in the box” by shouting through the speaker. I was certain that I was being heard and my input was valuable, though most of the time, the man totally ignored me. I wanted to be part of the story.
When I got a little older, I found that my desire to tell stories took on a variety of expressions. I loved to sing, and told stories through music and drama. In elementary school, I sang most of the solos in the chorus and started acting in plays. Middle school was more of the same. When I got to high school, my life in the arts began to blossom. Music and drama became a passion for me. I danced and sang my way through high school. Theatre and music continued in college. I spent my first semester freshman year as a singer host for a television series at the local station. I rehearsed all day every Saturday and filmed on Sundays. It was a blast but the show lasted only six weeks. It was mediocre at best but an amazing experience. The cancellation was much better for my college studies, however. But, every summer, I found myself acting and singing in local theatre productions. I loved telling stories.
I, also, loved to write. I started journaling when I was in middle school and never stopped. People thought I was crazy when I would express that I hoped our tests in college were essay because that was effortless for me. Writing became a passion. I taught school for several years after I graduated, my primary focus was on developing a passion for reading and writing with my students.
When I had children of my own, I encouraged the love of storytelling by developing the practice of telling stories together as a family. Each person had a part in adding to the adventure. Stories started orally, then I began to write them down.
I have continued the storytelling tradition with my grandchildren. The oldest, encouraged me to begin writing the stories down again. So I did. I wrote a personal story about each grandchild and compiled them in a book, using photos from their lives. They were thrilled.
It gives me great joy when I watch my older son respond to his children’s request, “Tell us a story, Daddy!” He has continued the storytelling legacy.
I have always been drawn to people’s personal stories. They fascinate me, so much of my storytelling is drawn from real life events. You do not always need to create anything. Life is already an amazing adventure.
May each story encountered on this blog be an encouragement and give you a deeper capacity to love others. With that in mind, I ask you, what’s your story?
With thankfulness,
Carol