I was talking to a couple teachers yesterday after school and I was reminded of a funny story. I shared it with them. I was explaining a new assignment and sharing exemplars with my class. “This is what an ‘A’ would look like, and this is what a ‘B’ would look like.”
A student blurred out a silly example, “What if I did _____, would it be a ‘C’?”
I responded, “No, that would be a C-R-A-P.”
Just as the class broke out laughing, I looked over to movement in my doorway to see a parent I’d never met before waiting to talk to me. The joke was funny, the timing was awful.
I started to write about this 15 minutes ago, and stopped to look back at my blog. Sure enough, I already shared this in a post, A-B-C-R-A-P, almost 4 years ago. The post is actually better than what I was going to share today because it examined criteria, exemplars, and creativity. Today I was just going to share a funny memory.
But seeing that I’d already written about this incident made me think about the stories we tell. How many of us have the same stories that we tell and retell? We have friends that generously listen as we share a story for a 3rd, 4th, 7th, even 15th time. We listen without interjecting, without sharing that we’ve heard it before. We generously listen as someone hears it for the first time, and we laugh at the appropriate time, and with sincerity.
My wife and her friends sometimes do this cute little thing. If one of them starts a story and it has been told before, the people listening will touch their nose. If someone doesn’t touch their nose then they know it’s new to them and the story continues. If they all touch their noses the person telling the story stops…. No hard feelings, they even have a little laugh about it.
A few of my friends will tell it anyway, even if they know everyone’s heard it, but some stories are just so fun that the rerun can be more enjoyable than the first viewing.
I do wonder though, what are the stories that define us? What are those memories that stick with us and revisit us, and invite themselves in like old friends? Would I even have remembered that silly joke if a parent hadn’t been in the classroom doorway? Or was that necessary to make it a story I’ve shared and reshared?
How has the story changed over time? Does my retelling create a new memory? How much has the memory changed as a result of my resharing? Or, how has it remained the same and been emboldened and reinforced from retrieving it many times?
We are an accumulation of the stories we tell. Old stories shape our view of ourselves, and of our friends. As we get older, we don’t add significantly to the stories we share, we get more selective. Maybe it’s because we have more stories to choose from. Maybe it’s because we get to hold on to moments in our past that would otherwise be lost. And maybe it’s just fun to reminisce and to share fond memories with the people we love.
Tell me a story, and I learn something about you. I get to share in your experience, and we are both richer from the experience.
