Preface:
When
we began telling stories in schools in the early 1980s we where sometimes
greeted at the door by a helpful
administrator who would tell us where we could pull up our car to unload the
props. When we explained that we didn’t
use props the administrator would direct us to a room where we could change
into our costumes. When we informed the administrator that we didn’t wear
costumes we could see a very nervous look creep onto his or her face. And
we knew what the administrator was thinking. “These two people think
they’re going to stand up in front of two hundred kids and keep them quiet
for forty-five minutes just by talking?”
We
understood the administrator’s nervousness, for initially we had had similar
doubts. Although we had both been reintroduced to storytelling (the process
of telling a story orally without a book) as adults, and had experienced
first hand the power that stories had over us as listeners, it was still
terrifying to be in the role of the teller. The first few times we watched
a throng of noisy, unfocused children parade into an auditorium we worried
that this time storytelling’s magic might not work, that pandemonium would
break loose. But time after time our fears were relieved as we watched our
listeners become bound up in the web of a story.
When
we told a participatory story the children would join in with only the
slightest encouragement from us. A humorous tale found our listeners beside
themselves with laughter. And when we told a quieter, more poignant tale a
hush would descend over a group of kids whom normally “couldn’t sit still
for a minute.” It was as if our listeners were suspended in time, barely
breathing, hanging on our every word. It is for these moments that we
continue to tell stories.
Eventually, we began to tell for middle and high school students as well,
and we wondered how our stories could possible take their minds from their
adolescent concerns. We were very careful to choose stories with which we
thought they’d identify. Again, the same stillness would settle over the
audience.
We
had always known that stories were powerful, but we began to understand the
magnitude of their power as we experienced these tellings. Stories
tap deep into the unconscious of listeners and hold them in a powerful
grip. As storytellers, we have the ability to make the here and now
disappear for our listeners, and take them on journeys full of wonder and
enchantment. Native Americans have always been acutely aware of the power
of stories. Many tribes forbid the telling of stories during the growing
season, fearing that plants and animals will stop their vital activities and
listen to stories instead.
The storytelling
renaissance in this country continues to grow. There is now much more
awareness of the power of storytelling and its ability to grab and hold
children’s attention. Stories are usually told in schools by invited
performers, and used purely as “entertainment.” We have written this book
because we feel strongly, that storytelling is a valuable educational tool
that can be an intricate, everyday part of the classroom. Teachers and
students should be telling stories, not just invited guests
