Launching a Career

Becoming a storyteller was an act of desperation. It started when I was fifteen, babysitting the neighbor kids. The first time his mother drove off in the car, three-year-old Roger ran down the sidewalk, crying, “Mommy! Mommy!”

Feeling like an idiot, I took off, chasing the chubby little guy. Across the street, neighbor boys sat on the front porch laughing their fool heads off.

I grabbed Roger, swooped him up, and walked back to the house. “Mommy,
mommy,” he sobbed. Cripes, this was my first day on the job; not a good omen.

Day two was a repeat of day one. Same scenario, same reactions. Even his
siblings could not comfort the forlorn child. Sigh.

Day three, the neighbor boys waited for their entertainment. Mom shut the car door. Would my plan work? Plopping Roger on my lap, I said, “Oink, oink.”

Intrigued, he looked up at me. “Oink, oink?”

“Yes, oink, oink. Do you know the story of The Three Little Pigs?”

He nodded no.

“Once upon a time, there were three little pigs…”

We never heard his mother drive off to work. By the time I finished the story,
other neighbor children surrounded me, listening, too. Well, I couldn’t stop with one story. That was the day my career was launched as a storyteller.

Many years later, my audience was an auditorium of seventh and eighth graders. When I walked up on that stage and said, “I’m a storyteller.” You should have heard the collective groan. I nearly laughed out loud. Oh, kids, I thought, wait until you hear this one. Moi was up to the challenge.

I shook a finger at them and said, “I know what you’re thinking, stories, that’s for babies. No, it’s not. Listen.” The audience stopped fidgeting. Throwing in lots of drama, The Debate in Sign Language, captivated the kids. At the punch line, they broke out laughing. All went home in a good mood.

As I started walking to the door, a teacher stopped me. “These kids were talking and ignoring you. They just wanted to leave. But when you started that story, you could have heard a pin drop.”

That teacher made my day. I’d come a long way since a toddler ran away from
me.