The Storyteller

One of my most important roles every evening, besides trying to marry all the leftovers into something that resembles dinner, or packing up my daughter’s trail of destruction from her day of play, is to sit with my son and listen to him read from his reader.

I’m not the most patient of people. Jumping in on conversations, tooting the horn when I am picking someone up, and egging my slow eating family to completion. So when it comes to listening, I lack some etiquette. With the exception of story telling because I love to hear the narrative and see the expression on the face of the storyteller.

On the weekend, I slipped on my new wedge heels and mixed with the ‘just 30’s’ in trendy Port Melbourne. Apart from being flabbergasted at the cost of a social beer ($16 for a light and heavy beer,) I enjoyed chatting to my sister’s friends. One in particular, Jess, is a real character and a captivating storyteller

Jess is a city girl who enjoys her home comforts and I’m quite sure she originally backpacked with mascara and pumps on hand. After a trip to Queensland to visit a friend and a drunken night out with her friend’s friend, she ended up working at a remote cattle station in northern Queensland, three hours from Mt Isa.

Jess proceeded to describe a place where she was to live and work from 5am – 6pm for a year. A week’s salary was $200, but she was fed, loved and stimulated by her experiences.

She learnt to ride a motorbike, prod and herd cattle, break-in horses, work in the sausage making part of the abattoir and even help with cow’s birthing.

The lone pub was 38km drive and all the extended family lived within a 2km radius that made for some interesting times. Snakes lived in the roof to keep the rats under control and bugs layered the floor every evening.

According to Jess, the first week was horrific getting use to the extreme conditions and being under the suspicious eyes of the farmer’s wives who assumed she came to steal their partners.

Known to butt in on a conversation, I was absorbed in her story and observed the way she drew back on her cigarette, scrunched her eyes and expressed with her hands. She showed me her naivety and courage in the same breath, while making us laugh. Now that’s a talented storyteller!

My son’s reading is a little stilted as he learns to connect the sounds, make blends and self correct with the illustrations. However, he is also telling a story and his little face lights up when he manages a whole page unassisted. His voice even peaks with an exclamation mark.

I have mentioned before that my hub and I have read to our children since they were tiny babies. One of the funniest times was when my hub couldn’t find a book so he picked up a baptismal bible (he’s not religious) and was reading aloud about sacrificing and killing and Old Testament stories. My son just gurgled in his cot. My point is that it’s irrelevant what was actually read. The reassuring and calming storytelling voice of my hub was all that mattered.

If you’d like a bedtime story as well, why not visit Dog’s Bar, 54 Ackland Street, St Kilda on a Tuesday evening 8-9.30pm and for free you can listen to a selection of Melbourne based writers telling stories from an old arm chair. For those who dare there is an open microphone to spin your own yarn.

For now, I am happy to listen to my son tell his story and hang on every spoken word.