If you know my family, particularly specific members of my family, you know that we're storytellers. In order to explain how three voodoo dolls showed up unexpectedly on a nippy Colorado night in the early 2000s, we like to go all the way back to the 1950s in Baltimore and thoroughly lay the groundwork.
My conversational style in high school and college could reasonably be described as story on top of story on top of story. When I wasn't telling stories, the well was dry and I was listening attentively instead. That's why people think of me as a good listener. I think I am too, and I'll take the compliment, but I think the reason for it is slightly different from what people suppose: I do genuinely want to solve your problems, but I also want slice of life stories from other perspectives, and there's nothing like a particularly fraught or tearful rant to deliver those stories.
My conversations still run like that, although to a lesser extent now. These days, I like to have deep, introspective debates with those who know me best. Just last weekend, my friends P and M were staying with me in Chicago and we delved deep until two in the morning two nights running. I was in heaven...until I had to get up at seven to go to work on Monday.
The point is, I love telling to stories, and I love listening to other people's well-told stories as well. There's a reason I listened (and wept along with a good percentage of) StoryCorps segments in the mornings before I headed off to high school. In college, I made one unsuccessful attempt to sign up for an interview slot at the StoryCorps office in New York. Those slots go fast. I had wanted to get my parents to sit down and tell the story of how they met. I love it, and I've heard it a million times, and a corner of my brain is convinced that the whole world (or at least the NPR-listening public) needs to hear it too.
A year and a half later, and here I am in Chicago, still a fan of StoryCorps on Facebook and an occasional dabbler in their podcast. I'm heading out to work one morning when I notice that not only is the mobile recording booth coming to Chicago, but signups will be the following day at 10:00AM. I file it away and rush out the door. The next day I arrive at work at 8:50 as usual, turn on my computer, and wait. This, I thought, is one of the reasons why this job is better than my last job. Here I sit, with all of the modern world a few key strokes away (barring the eccentric web filter).
As ten o'clock approaches, I start to get anxious. My supervisor mentioned that she might push my weekly meeting with her forward a bit to accommodate another meeting. It's only my third week; I couldn't very well say, "Sorry: StoryCorps," and gesture at the screen with supreme confidence. I shouldn't have worried, though. At the stroke of ten, I log in, see the rapidly disappearing times, an nab an available slot in the first weekend of September. I feed them my information, agonize for a while over whether I should put a specific interviewee (name and phone number) to accompany me, and ultimately mark that I'll be coming alone. I click submit and, miracle of miracles, the next page tells me that my attendance is confirmed!
I do a little dance at my desk surreptitiously take out my phone to make a Facebook status. This is modern life, and I like it.
The question remains: out of a lifetime of my own and other people's stories, which one do I pick? These can be multi-part stories, of course, as all good stories told by members of my family are. I have some ideas, a couple two short and one probably too bloated. I have an hour slot all to myself, so it should take time, but not too much time. Or (always assuming I can change my reservation) should I grab someone from Chicago or Champaign and interview them? At first I assumed that's what I would do, but the more I think about it, the more I think I want the freedom to tell the story I want.
Suggestions are welcome, either here or via e-mail, with the caveat that I may not listen to any of them. Which of my stories (or the stories you know I know) do you think are particularly deserving of a spot in the Library of Congress? Do I tell my own story, or another's? It goes without saying that part of it will be funny, and part of it will be heartfelt. What do you think?
No comments:
Post a Comment