Dad's stories of his childhood and teen years were usually funny, perhaps not what you'd expect of such a serious and challenging time; yet they reflected the resilience of his generation to deal with suffering and deprivation.
To my brothers, sister and I, Dad's stories conjured up hilarious images of him and his friends getting into trouble or inventing ways of making a few pennies. As I got older and took up the study of history and literature, I appreciated that Dad and Mom, my aunts, uncles and grandparents were a living connection to past events that I was reading about in my textbooks or watching in film documentaries at school. Yet those histories focused on leaders, generals and dictators, while my Dad's stories were about ordinary people like me.
As a storyteller, I treasure the memories and stories of our elders. They are living history. Yet it saddens me to see so many of the old folk out of sight behind nursing home walls, often forgotten by our society so enamored with youth and celebrity culture. I'm heartened every time a caring nurse or volunteer organises a storytelling event or when a school sends its pupils into a nursing home to talk with or record the life stories of its residents. We need these stories. Not only do they link us to the past, but they are good for our health and mental well-being. Research reveals that sharing stories stimulates the brains of even senile patients, the neural pathways sparking to life with words, images, feelings and memories. And it's not only the elders who benefit. Research in America also suggests that adolescents who know the stories of their parents and grandparents are less likely to suffer from depression and other mental illness.
We need the stories of our elders.
Years ago, I remember attending a family reunion in Canada of relatives on my Dad's side. It took place on my Dad's uncle's farm, the same farm where our great-great grandfather had settled after arriving from England in the early nineteenth century. On the table in the dining room was a large birthday cake. It was dedicated to my ancestor: he would have been 200 years old! At the time, I thought my relatives were a little strange. Today, I can appreciate their sentiment. Without him, none of us would have been there. The stories flowed that day along with the iced tea and beer: stories of farming, storms, births, deaths, accidents, friendships . . . the stories of everyday life.
Yes, I miss my Dad and those who've passed on in our family. I miss their stories. But I am grateful for my memories. They live on in the stories I tell. Our elders' stories are out there waiting to be listened to. We can't afford to waste this natural resource. Our elders are a wellspring of stories. Make the time to listen and nourish yourself and them.
Michael Williams, Ph.D.
Storyteller & Education Consultant
Prestonpans, East Lothian
iamthestoryteller@gmail.com
