Storyteller

I cannot even imagine what my mother went through having a grandiose storytelling child because I was that girl. My storytelling came to be the lament’s that I made to mother and then accusing me of tattling even before a situation even happened. Perhaps I was getting ahead of myself at the time and just knowing how it was all going to play out. At home I was the one that got it faster than the adults and for that I was accused of sneaking around and the question, “How did she know that?”  We had two phones in our home and did always sneakily pick up to listen when there was something going on in the family. Of course I would get caught and Mom always figured that how I was getting my information. Well some of it was because of that. Some of it was just to be nosy.

Always writing long stories and passing them around to my friends just to get a laugh. My dream then was to be a writer. Reading was my passion and I always had a book in my hand albeit not a math or science one but the one’s about travelling all over the world. Book’s about faerie’s, angel’s, troll’s, animal’s, love, people from other countries and friendship. The library was my haven and I would walk the five blocks just to see and read as many as I could. Losing myself in that big world of imagination and wonder. It seemed as I was in a dream state and wanted to be like that all the time. My imagination or rather my intuition got me through my childhood.

In school I can remember sitting at my desk looking out the window and daydreaming and would have done this if they had a class for it. I am sure I would have been a A+ student. Math was always a hard one for me as we had to work out everything on the board and yet I knew the answer and couldn’t find the in between or details to write it on the chalk board. So instead of being encouraged for being right which I knew, the accusation of cheating would come up. I just didn’t know at the time how the answer came to be. It just was! I always felt I had to defend myself from questioning teachers, my mother, friends and later on my world. Like that little fish swimming upstream. It was so tiring.

And now I see that the gift of writing and imagination, reading and storytelling really had great meaning. Think about it. Perseverance is another one of mankind’s greatest strength. You keep at it and it pay’s off. I understand and see it all, my life in a different light. Storytelling has become a big part of my life as well. I am comfortable when I am at the forefront. Not to show off but to drive home a point or to bring humor. No longer do I seek people to shove my views down there throat. That serves no purpose. And my friends I have many, many stories about my past history to tell so that you may relate and possibly learn or laugh.