14 January 2008

I hail from a seasoned clan of story tellers. In getting to know my father I spent long car rides and early morning breakfasts learning his tales of childhood, basketball, love, family, and hard work. It wasn't until I was around a table deep in the heart of Kentucky for Jamie's wedding that I learned about my mothers childhood, the laughs, the beauty and the horror of growing up in her small town - all through long winded stories.

A long time ago when mid-terms and Amercrombie and Fitch where the first thing on my mind - I fell in love with Storytelling. Immersed in Native American Studies at UW I found my place - I identified with - the oral history tradition. I inherently understood the magic of history, life, and legends being passed down from generation to generation with words.

And I think, what I love most about all of this, is the idea that the storyteller herself is at the helm of recreating history. I've always known that words, the way we link them together, the way we put emphasis on certain syllables, the way we use our breath to create emotion is the most important thing we have to offer as people. And because,I can't be face to face with most of you, the written word sprinkled with my breath is what I have to offer.

A long long time ago, my dad followed his dreams. Because back then? Dreams seemed achievable, certain. And he's got story upon story upon story to tell. And now, just now after all the years of stories stacked well above his 7 foot frame, someone has asked him to share, publicly and in print. And he has asked me to take his stories and put them into words. And, I can't tell you how excited I am to put my breath behind them.

For more on my dad and a bit of history on "The Soups" please go:

A little tid-bit here
And here


Blogger Loosy said...

I would like to meet your dad and shake his hand...maybe give him a chestbump...maybe clear out the kitchen table and have him run me through some drills. :)

4:24 PM  

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