My third grader teacher, Mrs. Welsh, taught me the power of a good story.
Every week we sat on the floor as Mrs. Welsh got out a book. She chose chapter books, from which she’d read several chapters every week. This rhythm created in me a sense of anticipation, much like getting immersed into a riveting television show. And better than a show on a screen, we relied on the power of our imaginations. She read Where the Red Fern Grows, which made many of us cry. She made us laugh with the colorful dialogue in James and the Giant Peach. She expanded our minds with fantastical imagery from A Wrinkle In Time.
Those afternoon story times became a fertile foundation in me wanting to become a storyteller. Later, I would go on to acting and directing in theatre, using storytelling to shape college students, spinning tales for my children, and writing my own stories.
Thanks for the gift of storytelling, Mrs. Welsh. I’m forever grateful.
Every week we sat on the floor as Mrs. Welsh got out a book. She chose chapter books, from which she’d read several chapters every week. This rhythm created in me a sense of anticipation, much like getting immersed into a riveting television show. And better than a show on a screen, we relied on the power of our imaginations. She read Where the Red Fern Grows, which made many of us cry. She made us laugh with the colorful dialogue in James and the Giant Peach. She expanded our minds with fantastical imagery from A Wrinkle In Time.
Those afternoon story times became a fertile foundation in me wanting to become a storyteller. Later, I would go on to acting and directing in theatre, using storytelling to shape college students, spinning tales for my children, and writing my own stories.
Thanks for the gift of storytelling, Mrs. Welsh. I’m forever grateful.
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