Let Me Tell You A Story

     Grandpas like to tell stories.  I read to my grandchildren often, using different voices for different characters in the books. I just wish my grandson Owen’s favorite book wasn’t about Elmo, from Sesame Street.  Elmo has a very high-pitched voice.  I don’t, and it strains my vocal cords to try.

     But I thought I might put my story-reading to use as a volunteer reader at a local elementary school.  I’m already a volunteer pen-pal writer there.  Not much more effort involved in being a reader.

     So I’ve done it twice, reading to separate classes of young five-year-olds.   Of course, in this day and age, I had to go through a background check.  Then I arrived the first day to find the front door to the school locked.  Somebody told me to go around to the back door.  I did that.  Once in the back door you had to press a button to be let into the school office where you had to sign in and state your purpose in being there.  Sad to see schools so locked down.  I remember when I was in school as a kid it wasn’t that unusual to see a dog walking the halls.  Wonder how that could happen now.

     The first class I read to peppered me with questions afterwards.  The usual biographical queries:  who’s your wife, do you have any brothers and sisters, where are your parents, do you have a pet?  I told them our dog died 15 years ago, which triggered a few follow-ups:  why did he die, are you going to get another pet?

      Then today I read another story to a different class.  Since this week is Halloween, a very favorite time for me, I brought a Halloween book to read:  Henrietta’s Halloween.  This was a book my son enjoyed so much 30 or so years ago that I had to check it out of the library more than once back then.

      But now it’s no longer on my local library’s shelves.  I had to special order it through their interlibrary loan system.  When I got the book, it looked its age, over 35 years old, with a few blemishes, rips and ink stains.  Still, I felt the story would keep the kids’ interest.

       I sat in a rocking chair as the kindergartners sat all smiling and wide-eyed, waiting for me to start.  They turned out to be more critical listeners than I had figured on though.  When I described a scary dark night with clothes blowing on the clothesline, one child interrupted, “What’s a clothesline?”  Doesn’t anyone have them anymore?  I showed them the picture in the book.

       Then on another page, I described a mouse and when I held up the book, one of the kids said, “I don’t see a mouse.”  True, it was tiny on the page.  So I pointed to it with my index finger.  “I thought that was a hole in the page,” the kid said.  C’mon, this book isn’t in that bad of shape.

        Then to the climax where a group of trick-or-treaters come up to Farmer Gray’s house yelling, “Trick or treat.”  The farmer answers the door and gives them each a treat after which the children say, “Thank you” and leave, heading to the next house.  I showed the kids the picture of each of the trick-or-treaters walking away from the farmer’s house with an apple.

      “Apple?” another child questioned.  “He should have given them snack candy.”

      Maybe they don’t give out apples any longer at Halloween either.  Sheesh, I didn’t think this Halloween book was so old and out of date.  I did take comfort in knowing that the kids not only enjoyed the story, but apparently my telling of it too.

      “Can I give you a hug?” one of the children asked as I was nearly to the door.  Before I knew it, I was surrounded by eight or so kids all giving me a group hug.   I hope that’s a sign that they appreciated the story and the story-teller, even if both were a bit dated perhaps.