Love of Storytelling
My love of storytelling was passed down to me by my mother. During her childhood in Calabria, Italy, poverty was a harsh reality. No one in the village had a TV or radio and books were a luxury. Storytelling was entertainment, a way to pass away the hours with family and friends while seated around the fireplace. The adults would take turns telling stories and my mother would listen in awe and wonderment as the fire crackled. She told me that she’d sit there for hours until a racy adult story came along, and then she and all the other children would be sent off to bed.
As a child, growing up in Canada, I too would listen to my parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts tell stories and tales of Italy or the “old country” as they used to call it. And when a racy story came along, I too would be sent off to bed. I was not pleased for I was a curious child and wanted to hear what kind of stories adults told when children were not present. While in my room, my curiosity would peak. My imagination would take over and I’d create all kinds of storylines and scenarios in my head of what I thought they could be saying. Of course, when I got older and learned what adults actually talked about when children were not around, I realized that my version of their stories was way off.
I learned at a very young age, while listening to the many stories while seated at the kitchen table, that like my mother, I too love storytelling. I love to hear a good story and I also love to write a good story that people want to listen to.
Thank you mamma!