Stories We Tell

Thanks for dropping by for this historic event!:  Today I'm posting my 52nd weekly post.  

Thanks for sharing in the fun.  
Happy Anniversary!!  

"People think that stories are shaped by people.  In fact it's the other way around.."  - Terry Pratchett

      I'm fascinated by the little tales we repeat throughout our lives.  You know the ones; the conversation goes somewhere your little tidbit will fit in and you gleefully launch into that dusty anecdote.  (Hint:  It's often the one that makes your spouse's eyes glaze over.)

     It's also why meeting new people is such fun.  Those oldies, but goodies, become shiny new.

Here are a few of the nuggets I've been toting around the longest:

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I got to pick the restaurant for my birthday when I was about 8 years old.  I chose El Rancho Grande.  (This was back when the entire restaurant was contained in the squat brick building next to their current location.)  Since it was my special day, I could order whatever I wanted and opted for the sampler plate, which included an obscene amount of food.

My three brothers were eating machines at the time and were thrilled.  They figured they'd get to eat at least half of my meal.  One look at their faces and I, stubbornly, said I'd eat every bite myself.

I ate every bite.

From then on my brothers liked to say that their little sister ate like a bird...a big, hungry, buzzard.  

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One year my dad took me to do my back-to-school shopping.  I heard dad talking to the attendant outside of the dressing room where I was trying on clothes.

At the time those white rabbit fur coats were very popular.  They were sort of aviator jackets done in rabbit.

I heard dad tell the girl "Those cat coats are nice."

She told him they were made of rabbit.

He says:  "Oh no.  We raise cats out in Wise County and sell them to make these."

She pointed out that the label said "rabbit".  I heard Dad saying:  "Do you believe everything you read?  People are squeamish about wearing cat.  Trust me - these are made from cats."

"No!"  She squealed, sounding completely horrified.

My dad went on to give her facts and figures about how much space it took to raise cats, how many cat pelts it took to make a coat, etc.  By the time I came out, she was actually believing him.

(She probably works for PETA today.)

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     There must be some rhyme or reason to the stories we most enjoy sharing.  Writing some of these down has been a funny process.  In my head the take-away from the Mexican food story has always been that if I say I'm going to do something - I'm going to do it.  I thought the story about my dad illustrated what a good sense of humor he has and what a good story-teller he is.

     When written down in black and white they seem more to show that my dad lies and his daughter is gluttonous and vindictive.

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     What's really weird are stories we tell that didn't even happen to us.  Some you're not even sure where you first heard them anymore.  Those friend-of-a-friend...of a friend stories that you get second and third hand, yet somehow become part of your regular rotation.

Here are a couple I love to share:

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A friend of a friend...was working a flight from New York to L.A.  Yo Yo Ma was in First Class.  He'd bought the seat next to him and had his cello strapped in beside him.

Mr. Ma was carrying on an animated conversation.  Blue Tooth technology was a very new thing at the time, and the flight attendant thought he was actually talking to his cello.

Years later she sees him on another flight and tells him what she'd thought.  He thought that was hysterical and kept pretending to talk to his instrument when she'd walk by.  

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A friend of a friend...was looking at a nativity scene with his young son. 

"Who's that?" the dad asked.

"Joseph." his son said.

"Who's that?"

"That's baby Jesus."
"Who's that?"

The son shrugged.

"That's Mary, Jesus' mom."

The son looked at his dad with a puzzled look.
"No," he corrected his dad, "Mary had a little lamb."

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A flight attendant told me about a woman she'd flown with.  She said the lady was pretty senior and seemed to be losing it a bit.  Apparently, she talked to herself.

If someone asked her for a Coke she'd talk herself through it:  "Okay, Debbie".  (Not her real name.)   "...let's get a cup.  Put some ice in it.  Fill it with Coke..."  She'd talk herself through every move she made, then say under her breath:  "Go Debbie Go!"

(Can you say:  retirement?)

I told this story to my step-kids when they were little.  To this day, if I walk into a room talking to myself, ("What did I come in here for?") they'll whisper:  "Go Susan Go!"

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     I suppose, for the most part, these are stories we find entertaining in some way.  Even if we don't know where they came from or even how true they are; they ring true for us.  There's something in them that reflects how we see ourselves and the world.

     If that dressing room attendant had asked my dad point-blank if he was telling the truth he would have delivered his standard line:

"No.  But it makes a good story."

And who doesn't love a good story?

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     What stories do you tell?  
     If you'd like to share some of your oft-repeated stories, but don't like the blog sign-up, send me an email (click on my profile) and join the conversation over on Facebook.
     Thanks for listening to my stories this year!