Week 3 Blog 2

When I was a child my aunt used to make up rules for us. You read that right. My mother was too busy being a mom to five of us to create arbitrary rules. My aunt only had two kids which meant she had a clean house, ironed clothes, and weird rules.

1. You can't swear until you are 18. Swear words are the ones we all know (and the ones she uses often), but also including fricking, frigging, and suck.  Jeezum was the only word approaching foul that we could get away with, and it usually got us a "don't push it" look.
2. You need to wait until you are 27 to get married, especially if you are a woman. You need to make sure you can make it on your own before you marry someone. Once you're married, you don't want to have to stay in an awful relationship just because you don't think you can make it on your own.
3. You can't sit at the kitchen table for gossip until you are in the fourth grade. This can be revoked if you 
1. interrupt
2. share their secrets with others
3. complain
4. disagree (you could do this within reason)

This final rule was my least favorite. The tradition of oral storytelling in my household took place at the kitchen table. It was here that my mom and her friends (usually my aunt, but maybe another of my mom's friends as well) would sit with coffee and talk. They talked about day to day life and gossiped about whatever seemed important at the time, while I patiently waited for the days they would talk about their childhood. The stories would be filtered by whomever was telling them. Thus, my mother's version of stories usually involved some jab at Auntie being her dad's favorite. Auntie's versions always had a line about how Mom was always glued to her mother, leaving no one but their father for Auntie to go to when she had hurt feelings or cuts and bruises. 

Before I was in the fourth grade I would try to hide under the table, or huddle down in the livingroom chair. They always found me. I would go upstairs and hide in my brothers bedroom. In the sweltering heat the upstairs was even more humid than usual, but I would try to wait it out. Usually I couldn't wait it out and tried to interject some sort of comment from above. I was ejected from the room and sent outside. Not under the window outside (which I tried every time) but outside. Far away from the stories. Stories of watching the Beatles on tv for the first time, of sibling rivalry, of the best ways to get a great tan, and of failed marriages. I would hear the stories over and over again (I still do) and never get sick of them. I know that their other sister pulled her hair when Paul McCartney came on the screen. I know that her ex-husband married a woman who looked like the blonde from the B52's. I know that she was Wiccan in high school and slept on a board, ironed her hair, and hated my grandfather. I know that she wasn't anyones favorite except her own. I know that they used tanning blankets to avoid light sides when they were laying out (apparently this is a thing). They were in awe of their mother who always had a deep tan just from working in the garden (this one is really popular now that they are older and apparently tan within an hour of being outside).

My favorite stories were about my dad, who grew up dirt poor but with so much freedom. His stories were of seeing Jimi Hendrix play on the street, of jumping on trains to New York City when he was twelve, and of raising bear cubs named Hokey and Pokey until they ransacked the kitchen. When I was a kid, we used to go to the Rumford Zoo (yup) and pretend the bear there was Hokey. He had the best of both worlds, a wild city life and an even more wild country life. When my dad passed away these stories were still here.

I used to be really sad about my dad's death, and had a hard time talking about it. While it is still difficult for me, I feel like I keep a piece of him alive as I share his stories with my children. I am so thankful that I had my dad for 24 years of my life and that he shared his stories with us. Mom and Auntie still bicker and laugh at the table whenever they're together. I don't want this to be lost to me, so I'm going to try to get a recording of it. We'll see how it goes :)

I talk about the tradition of oral storytelling with my students. I talk about the loss of my dad and how it's hard for me to remember what he sounded like, but his stories are still here. 

So what does all of this mean for my classroom and for a tradition of oral storytelling? We listen to stories on This American Life that connect to units we are working on. I have some of my students create their own episodes. When my students first got their computers they loved this assignment. Now many of them wait until the night before and throw something together. I wonder what is changing for them? Do they have things in their lives recorded already now that grandmas all around us have facebook? I'm uncertain. I am sure that I'm not ready to let go of the assignment yet.

I'm going to try to get a recording of my mom next week. Stay tuned to the blog for the recording. How do you upload audio to blogger? Dan?