The Storyteller and the Listener Online
Story helps disadvantaged children adapt when their school is displaced by a magnet program
posted Monday, 14 November 2005
by Susan Kaplan
Copyright © 2005 Susan Kaplan. All rights reserved.
DENVER, Colo., USA -- As the resident storyteller social worker and Spellbinders volunteer for Ebert Elementary School in Denver, Colo., I had watched the students grow up with my stories. For more than six years, I had been telling stories once a month in each classroom. But I had no more notice than they when word came in the spring of 2004 that the students were going to be displaced by a gifted and talented program. The next fall, they would be scattered among three different schools. Sixty-five percent of the students had already experienced homelessness in their short lives; now they were experiencing the loss of a school identity as well. What could story do in a situation like this? What was my unique role as a storytelling social worker in helping these students face the anguish of being displaced once again? How should I focus my stories?
Instead of addressing the pain and emotions of this injustice, I decided to focus on stirring hope and a pathway to their own inner resources. Because this news came only one month before the end of the school year, I had only my one regularly scheduled day to use storytelling as a bridge builder from the students’ school as they knew it to their new schools in the fall. On this day, as on my other storytelling days, I had one session in each classroom, one right after the other, one chance to see what story could do.
Erica Helm Meade’s story “Grandfather Ape” from The Moon in the Well
started my program. Grandfather Ape rescues an abandoned newborn and raises her, eventually returning her to human life. One student asked, “Who is our Grandfather Ape?” “I do not know,” I began, “but is there perhaps a Grandfather Ape who will come into your life or is already in your life?” A boy exclaimed “Oh! Oh! That is my brother: he helps me!” A fifth grader said, “Our teacher is like the ape, but younger.”
As they expressed their experiences, the story came alive for each of them. They talked about their own personal stories --- where they were going, whom they would miss, what they had learned. Their personal narratives wove into a group story as they heard wisdom from each other. One homeless fourth grader shared, “The people at the shelter and here at school are nice to me, so I know I will meet nice people wherever I go. I used to be really scared about going to new places, but now I am not.”
For my next story, I used the framework of the tale, “The Man Who Had No Story” in Jane Yolen’s Favorite Folktales from Around the World. The story starter was simple: There was a man who felt sad because he had nothing -- not even an interesting story. Each class was invited to tell story pieces of his travels. Weaving these stories together, we took the man around the world and back home. Every class added humor, a wide range of emotions and symbols of what they were hoping for in their own journeys. We laughed together and gave voice to our shared hopes.
Through their stories, the students identified their own strengths, family pride and anecdotes of friendship and love, and even school legends. They shared how to regain hope when one feels hopeless. Each child seemed to transform from being a victim once again, to being empowered with and through story.
The students were fond of my storytelling rituals, which framed each storytelling session. We always began with a series of deep breaths. The students always shared their own special stories. Tibetan bells always started and ended the sharings. These rituals had become very important to them.
“I’m not sad”, a girl proudly stated, “because I have all those stories - inside of me - in my heart and my special story place!”
“Me, too!” others chimed in.
My stories and their story place were so alive in each of them that my eyes filled with tears as I listened. I realized they had learned much more than just the direct story experience. One teacher cried during one of the sessions because of the inner strengths the children shared through the stories.
A transformation occurred that day on many levels, as each child:
• owned my stories as his or her own stories
• had their personal narratives woven into a group story
• learned from others
• realized that there were choices
• became stronger by naming their challenges and strengths
• understood that it’s OK not to have answers and to wait for their story to unfold
• listened deeply to each other
• was given a voice for their hidden, yet shared emotions and fears
• joined with a community and a larger sense of shared hope
• felt more personal power.
Copyright © 2005 Susan Kaplan. All rights reserved.
DENVER, Colo., USA -- As the resident storyteller social worker and Spellbinders volunteer for Ebert Elementary School in Denver, Colo., I had watched the students grow up with my stories. For more than six years, I had been telling stories once a month in each classroom. But I had no more notice than they when word came in the spring of 2004 that the students were going to be displaced by a gifted and talented program. The next fall, they would be scattered among three different schools. Sixty-five percent of the students had already experienced homelessness in their short lives; now they were experiencing the loss of a school identity as well. What could story do in a situation like this? What was my unique role as a storytelling social worker in helping these students face the anguish of being displaced once again? How should I focus my stories?
Instead of addressing the pain and emotions of this injustice, I decided to focus on stirring hope and a pathway to their own inner resources. Because this news came only one month before the end of the school year, I had only my one regularly scheduled day to use storytelling as a bridge builder from the students’ school as they knew it to their new schools in the fall. On this day, as on my other storytelling days, I had one session in each classroom, one right after the other, one chance to see what story could do.
Erica Helm Meade’s story “Grandfather Ape” from The Moon in the Well
started my program. Grandfather Ape rescues an abandoned newborn and raises her, eventually returning her to human life. One student asked, “Who is our Grandfather Ape?” “I do not know,” I began, “but is there perhaps a Grandfather Ape who will come into your life or is already in your life?” A boy exclaimed “Oh! Oh! That is my brother: he helps me!” A fifth grader said, “Our teacher is like the ape, but younger.”As they expressed their experiences, the story came alive for each of them. They talked about their own personal stories --- where they were going, whom they would miss, what they had learned. Their personal narratives wove into a group story as they heard wisdom from each other. One homeless fourth grader shared, “The people at the shelter and here at school are nice to me, so I know I will meet nice people wherever I go. I used to be really scared about going to new places, but now I am not.”
For my next story, I used the framework of the tale, “The Man Who Had No Story” in Jane Yolen’s Favorite Folktales from Around the World
. The story starter was simple: There was a man who felt sad because he had nothing -- not even an interesting story. Each class was invited to tell story pieces of his travels. Weaving these stories together, we took the man around the world and back home. Every class added humor, a wide range of emotions and symbols of what they were hoping for in their own journeys. We laughed together and gave voice to our shared hopes.Through their stories, the students identified their own strengths, family pride and anecdotes of friendship and love, and even school legends. They shared how to regain hope when one feels hopeless. Each child seemed to transform from being a victim once again, to being empowered with and through story.
The students were fond of my storytelling rituals, which framed each storytelling session. We always began with a series of deep breaths. The students always shared their own special stories. Tibetan bells always started and ended the sharings. These rituals had become very important to them.
“I’m not sad”, a girl proudly stated, “because I have all those stories - inside of me - in my heart and my special story place!”
“Me, too!” others chimed in.
My stories and their story place were so alive in each of them that my eyes filled with tears as I listened. I realized they had learned much more than just the direct story experience. One teacher cried during one of the sessions because of the inner strengths the children shared through the stories.
A transformation occurred that day on many levels, as each child:
• owned my stories as his or her own stories
• had their personal narratives woven into a group story
• learned from others
• realized that there were choices
• became stronger by naming their challenges and strengths
• understood that it’s OK not to have answers and to wait for their story to unfold
• listened deeply to each other
• was given a voice for their hidden, yet shared emotions and fears
• joined with a community and a larger sense of shared hope
• felt more personal power.
Susan Kaplan, M.S.W., M.P.A., of Denver, Colo., USA, uses storytelling and listening to teach skills of empowerment and nonviolence to children and youth, dovetailing her role as a social worker. In addition, she is a resident storyteller with Spellbinders and a staff member of The Conflict Center, where she pilots a family peace program funded by the National Storytelling Network. Her programs include Walk Your Talk, a classroom story and peace skills program; An Alternative to Suspension Class, which gives voice to students’ perspectives; The Third Side of Peace, which builds common ground and coalitions; and Living Between Two Worlds, which focuses on family relations. Visit her website by clicking here
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