Liz Warren | Storyteller

I
am from a rather large family. I am the oldest of six, my mom is the oldest of
eleven, and my paternal grandmother was one of seventeen.  You would think that I would have grown up
with hundreds or thousands of stories, yet I heard none.  When I would ask questions, I never got any
answers.  When my mother was pregnant
with her first child, me, my grandmother was pregnant with her last child; I
was born six hours ahead of my aunt.  My
grandmother never took on the role of grandmother because she was still too
busy tending to her own children.  I had
aunts and uncles that were just one or two years older than me; somehow I
understood that as a child.  With all of
these children running around I got lost. 
I never had a sense of self, or of a family identity, or a communal
identity, I just felt like I was just there and did not matter one way or
another.  If I had heard family stories,
I would have at least had a sense of family, and possibly community; there was
nothing that could have helped with the number of children.

I
always felt that I was missing out on something. At the time I was not sure
what it was but now I know that it was story. 
I do think I would have been a better person, family member and parent
if I had heard family stories growing up. 
When I took my first storytelling class we had an assignment to
interview a family member; I chose my mother. 
I explained to her what I needed it for and finally she got it and
obliged me with stories.  I had a great,
great uncle who followed a wagon train from Iowa to San Francisco back in the
late 1800’s.  It turns out that this
uncle was one of the founding gardeners for Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.
He spent the rest of his life being one of the park’s master gardeners, and his
son followed in his footsteps.  I also learned
that another uncle sang with the Austrian Opera until he had to escape to the
United States at the beginning of WWII; my uncle was a Jew. 

I
think that my mom really does finally get it. 
I was telling her that I mentioned my stepfather in my last story. I told
her how I spoke of his compassion. Guess what? She told me a story.  She told me that when we were stationed in
Homestead, Florida, that he was heartbroken over the children whose parents
were migrant workers, and that they would not be having Christmas because the
workers only made a couple of dollars an hour if they were lucky.  She went on to tell me how he sold raffle
tickets for a complete Thanksgiving dinner for a dollar, and he was able to
provide for these children with the proceeds. 
I wish she would have understood how important these stories would have
been to me as I was growing up; the sense of belonging I would have had and the
sense of pride I would have felt knowing I lived in a family that was trying to
make a difference.  Unfortunately, she
did not understand that and so neither did I, but life is not over yet, and my
future grandchildren and great-grandchildren will have their fill of stories.  I will tell them stories about their
heritage, funny stories that happened at family gatherings, some hysterical
stories about their parents and trust me with twins I have lots of those, and
any other stories as they come to my mind. 
          

One
of the reasons I love Donald Davis so much was that through his stories I got a
sense of who he was and where he came from. 
He came from a family that was real: they had issues, they loved each
other, and they had battles and trials. I could identify with them; they were
not this perfect family.  I think that
stories even help with your mental health. On those gray days that we all have
at times you can you can always remind yourself of stories. They seem to always
help you feel the sunshine on your face, and make you aware of all the love in
your heart. They remind you of your history and give you a sense of belonging
to something more than yourself.

So,
you see that without story you will face many perils that will be so much more
difficult to rid yourself of.  Stories
add richness to our lives, they are treasures that no one can steal or take
away from us.  I was once told that my
latter years would be far greater than my former years. I now know why, my
former years were without stories.  As we
approach Thanksgiving, I want to express my gratefulness to Story and want to
wish you a Thanksgiving full of them.