The Transformative Power of Stories for Children
February 17, 2010
Annie: This is a beautiful story sent to me by Mike Blackstone a friend, colleague and blog reader of mine. He told some stories to his children with truly magical results. This really invites us to realize the transformative power of story. Thanks for sharing Mike. It really opened my heart.
Mike: A month ago I was invited to a lecture that was to take place last Sunday afternoon. I had completely forgotten about this lecture until it popped back into my mind 25 minutes before it was to begin. Interestingly, I had spent some quality time with my two little boys that morning, had all my “chores” done, so I told my wife Maureen I was going.
When I got to the lecture, I found out the speaker was an “ageless wisdom” guy which I don’t know much about. His theme was “Unfolding the Soul’s Purpose,” and among many things, he talked a little about reincarnation and astrology. I enjoyed it.
When I got home, I did a little research on the internet about him and about some of his subjects. I came across one little tidbit in an online astrology chart about focusing on “raising one’s children well,” and that struck a little heart chord. Hmm, could be a bit of a life purpose in there?
A couple of hours later I had this impulse and decided to tell my 6 year-old a story, and base it on the concept that we had lived other lives together. I completely improvised it. Here is the gist:
We were young brothers (Native Americans) in the 1800s. Out on an exploratory adventure, we were attacked by a mountain lion. It took all of our wits (mostly his) to both come out of it alive. Later we were attacked by a she-bear when we accidentally stumbled upon her cubs. Again our wits, mostly his, saved the day.
Several times during the story he said, with his head cocked to one side and his eyes narrowed, “Dad, you’re making this up, aren’t you?” Of course I denied it saying that that’s what I “remember.” But each time he asked me to keep telling the story.
About an hour later, my 9 year-old, Elliot, comes into my office and asks, very intently, “What did you tell Euan?” I said, “Why are you asking?” He replied, “Well, Euan said you TOLD him something!” “Do you want me to tell you something, too?” “Yes.” So I told Elliot a story, completely improvised, that went like this.
We were neighbor kids in the tenements of New York City in the late 1920s—best buddies who lived about a block apart. One day we were hanging out in the neighborhood, but I was about a block away around the corner with a couple of the guys. I heard loud voices and we came around the corner to see what was going on.
“I saw you (Elliot) surrounded by four rough guys from another neighborhood, and one started threatening you that they were going to beat you up. That kid turned, looked at his buddies to smile, and as he turned his head back, your fist lashed out, caught him square in the nose and knocked him clean onto his back.
There was blood everywhere. The other three were about to set on you but saw me and the other guys, grabbed their fallen comrade and beat a hasty retreat. They never came back.”
When I was done, Elliot floored me by saying, “Thanks, Dad, for telling me that story. And you know the part I liked the best? I didn’t need you to save me.”
I was dumbfounded in some wonderful way. The next morning, as I was taking them to school, Elliot said, “Thanks again for telling me that story, Dad, I really liked it.” And I wondered again what that was all about. He had never thanked me before for telling a story.
A few nights later I was tucking the boys in bed, I told Euan another story where we were both bridge builders, but he was a bridge designer. Right at that moment he nodded his head deeply in some sort of agreement, and he saved my life on a bridge-building site during an earthquake. Remember, he was the skeptic.
This time HE thanked me for telling him that story.
When he nodded his head it was pretty funny because he’s lately been into wearing a blindfold to bed—the kind you get on an airplane. So, I’m right by his face, softly telling him the story, he’s wearing his blindfold, and he starts to nod in agreement when I get to the “bridge designer” part. It melted my heart.
There have been a few more stories since, and, with how much they seem to love them, there WILL be many more.
I am still digesting all this, but I find it amazing. A couple of clues I’m looking at—Euan (6yrs) loves to build things and is a Lego maniac. Elliot (9 yrs) loves everything about the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) and is determined to make his living as a pro wrestler.
Annie: Don’t you love this story? Sweet, simple ways to make a difference in the minds of children. Thanks Mike for sharing the transformative power of story.
Yours in always sharing the stories that matter,
Annie
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