Storytelling. Lessons from my Grandfather
I’m thinking about storytelling. How we pass the word down about what’s influenced us; the places we’ve been, people we’ve seen, the odd, hilarious, occasionally scary, way-out and wonderful situations we find ourselves in.
I look at telling our stories as a vital link to defining who we are, what we’re made of, the things we stand for, what we choose to bring to the surface from the warehouse of experiences that make up our lives. The real stuff that humans and businesses yearn to tap into to be authentic and just maybe change the world.
Like a lot of things these days, the “storyteller” moniker can feel like an over used buzz word (yes, I use it too). But, if we peel off the hip factor, there’s something very real to look at and learn from.
My grandfather, Max Berliner, was an ace storyteller. In West Africa they call people like him Griot’s.
“The griot knows everything that is going on… He is a living archive of the people’s traditions…” — Francis Bebey
He had the history and perspective to tell great tales, having witnessed the horse drawn era give way to space exploration and landing men on the moon.
With the perspective of time, it’s obvious that the stories he told us as kids were made up tales designed to get young children to bed. We called them “bubbe-meises”, Yiddish for “wives-tales — not really the truth!”
It’s no doubt that he didn’t have a dude ranch in Wyoming and a cook named Pipsqueak who ran the place when he wasn’t there. But many evenings he brought us to that ranch and told us about his cattle, Pipsqueak and the oil wells he owned there.
God bless him. He was a Jewish guy from the Lower East Side, no ranch, cattle, cook or oil wells, but he could tell a damn good story, especially to wide eyed grandchildren.
Lurking beneath these made-up tales was the stuff that guided him, his sense of humor, inventiveness, worldly sage advice and ability to create his own universe, where he really had a dude ranch in Wyoming!
I got the bug from him and often find myself telling stories (mostly real) to friends, family, clients, to reveal something about me, pass along the tale, dredge up fond memories, give them a spiel they just might remember and tell again.
It’s cool to see eyebrows raise and the glow of joy in faces as listeners get hooked on the tale. Every telling causing a new reaction and prompting in me the wonder of what the retelling might be like for the next ones down the line.
Our stories make us memorable and real, they are the root of our beliefs.
We’re often faced with ice-breaker moments of introduction or the awkward, messy start of brainstorming the next big thing. Right then, if you paused for a moment, took a leap, changed the context, opened yourself up, told your story (maybe a bubbe-meise a grandparent passed along) the indelible power of the storyteller will be with you.
It’s likely that something marvelous will occur.
Give it a shot.
Let’s try this, pass along the tales your grandparents told you and see what we discover! I’d love to hear your stories.
