There are so many wonderful things I am discovering as I age, one is a definite appreciation for a good story.
Oh I have always loved stories, all my favorite gifts have been books, but the oral story is something that has taken time for me to really appreciate it. More specifically the true tales, the life stories told by those older then I, they lived in a time that is so foreign too me and the stories told are alien and exciting, and then there is something for the expression, the slow chuckle, the eyes looking back and you can see that the teller is there, once again, there, in a time I will never visit except in that moment.
These people I love lived, fully, richly.
I want to live like that. I want stories to tell.
But even more, I want to retell the stories told to me, I want my children to hear them, to hold them and wonder at there beauty.
I want them to cry at the sad parts, I want them to belly laugh at the funny parts, I want them to feel the pain of the rough parts, I want them to feel, feel deeply the happiness that is a life lived with purpose and love.
I want them to learn from the tales of their elders the true meaning of life and living.
This is what we are teaching, this is what I find important in an age of screens and texting and missed eye contact. The human connection that binds us together.
The stories of who we are.