Reflection Question Five

The Storyteller

When you speak of performance, it is known to happen naturally within daily communications and situations expressed in Chapter five of “Living Folklore.” It’s performed for certain reasons and certain ways in which it has meaning to members of a group. Performance to me is that of storytelling and how it can be some of the greatest moments anyone can share with other members of a folk group.

I come from a long line of storytellers that performed every opportunity they had. My grandfather would always tell of what it was like for him as a child growing up in the early 1900’s and always end with expressing to the grandkids how snow would be up to his neck. With books in one hand he mustard his way through an eight mile walk home, to and from every day from school all year long mind you.

I had an uncle who told meeting Elvis Presley once during the War. How they shared the same bunk rooms, ate the same food and was constantly was having photographers around him all the time.

Or when one of my brothers told of how he was being chased by a skunk one night after coming home from a bachelor party and was really drunk. The skunk sprayed him several times and he was too afraid to come home, so he went through a cornfield where he eventually got away from the skunk and passed out on the ground until morning.

Then there’s been stories my uncle has told about him and my dad when they were living on a farm. Putting pebbles in frogs mouths just to see how far they could sink them in the pond. Or of how mice were constantly being chased around the house by their grandmother until she was blue in the face. Even stories about how the brothers would pick up black snakes by the head and swing them around until they would break their necks. Yuck!!! (Yes, they were very strange kids.)

Heck, I’ve even told my own children and their friends of silly ghost stories that had them so scared they actually thought they seen ghost in our backyard one night. But, the funniest story I think is one of my dad's who use to perform his own storytelling all the time.

His grandmother was on the porch one day breaking up beans sitting comfortably in her moo-moo dress when natured called and she made her way to the outhouse. Dad and his brothers were working and plowing the fields with horses that kind of had their own mind to them. Suddenly one horse is having problems. He kept bucking up and whimpering like a child. It turned out that a large copper-head snake cross his path and scared the poor horse so bad he took off going right towards my great-grandmother.

Dad tried to steer the horse another way but the horse was too stubborn and began to run right to the outhouse. Before he knew it was running right towards my great-grandmother with him in the back on the horse hanging on for dear life.
She sees the horse coming and lifting her dress up where you seen everything jumps up on the fence so fast, my dad swears up and down she never move so fast before in her life.
She screamed and was shaking so badly, she began to dance around in her black heeled shoes with her hands still holding up her dress on that fence post, that dad couldn’t help but laugh. A few seconds later the horse still running with dad trying to slow it down, ran right through the outhouse and dabre was flying everywhere.

By now, dad was so furious over this horse he finally was able to get up and guide the horse to go down towards the hill where it finally started to slow down.
When dad looked up at the mess, he found that his grandmother was so shaken up she use the restroom right there on the fence and was dirty from head to toe. Her dress was soiled and stained but had the strength to yell out “You stupid mule.” And poor dad didn’t know if she was yelling at him or the horse.

Dad’s three brothers seen the entire thing and was rolling on the ground with tears streaming down their face. Shortly afterwards everything began to calm down and dad and his brothers managed to put the horse back in the barn. The brother’s were called in for suppers, while steam began to form from the pond where dad and his grandma were cleaning themselves off and cussing to the air in hopes the clouds would be understanding what misery they had to put up with.

Of course, I don’t tell the story as well as my dad would have, but you get the idea. These stories were always fun and some what educational because it told of their past and how they could take the strangest events and turn it into some of the funniest stories I ever heard.

I guess that’s why one day I hope to be a feature writer and tell stories about people. No matter what the experience is to that person, be it funny, sad, joyful or just giving their own performances of every day life can have an impact to anyone who will listen and leave a lasting memory for future generations to come.

Thanks Dad……………