Nar.ra.tive (n.)
A spoken or written account of connected events; a story
Ask a young child to tell you a story and you better have cleared the rest of your calendar for the day, but ask that same child to tell you a story ten years later, and it’s likely that you’ll watch panic flashes across their face. It’s the same child and the same question, so what happened over those ten years that caused such an adverse reaction?
Storytelling is natural to the human existence. We tell stories in order to survive, to pass down lessons learned, to instill hope, to mourn and memorialize, to escape, to cope, and to leave something that will last long after we have passed. Children understand this. Once they have acquired the language skills to voice their thoughts, they spin stories from left to right; they tell stories about what they see and experience, they tell stories about what they wonder, they tell stories about everything wild and everything true—all with little hesitation.
But, between the ages of five and fifteen, something has caused many children to have suppressed this natural expression of themselves. Are they afraid of being wrong? Are they worried we won’t care? Are they self-conscious of their interests and curiosities? I don’t know. I don’t have the answer. However, I do know that the walls these adolescents have built up are a cry for help, so how do we go about breaking down these carefully constructed walls to free those voices and stories? I do have a few ideas about that.
1. Create a safe environment. Be vulnerable.
This seems like common sense. Obviously children are not going to open up if they do not feel safe, but this perception of safety has changed. Think about it. We have to teach young children to be cautious of strangers, and sometimes they will still chat up a storm in the grocery store line and tell the crossing guard all about what they had for breakfast that morning. In the high school classroom, we have to recreate a space where, even if we are more strangers than confidants, it is safe to open up. How do we do that? We prove that it’s ok to tell stories by doing so ourselves. We redefine brave as taking a chance at putting a piece of ourselves out there where it is vulnerable to others. Maybe this looks like designating a time in the classroom to just chat about the ups and downs of everyday life. In the writing process, this means modeling with our own experiences and creating an understanding that we won’t ask students to do anything that we aren’t willing to do ourselves.
2. Remind students that they are natural storytellers. Just care.
The mission is to find the innate storytellers somewhere within our students that has been lost over the years. Stories don’t have to be elaborate. They don’t have to be monumental. They don’t have to be impressive. Sometimes the most meaningful stories are the ones lost in the shuffle. What did you have for breakfast this morning? What did you do after school yesterday? Tell me about your pet bearded dragon. Why do you like this anime show over that one? What smell brings you the most comfort when you are away from home? Students may share about experiences that we have no understanding of, but in doing so, they are extending an invitation into their lives. We might not particularly like watching anime or have any interest in reptile pets, but we do have an interest in the student sitting in our classrooms. Encouraging students to talk and share about things that are special or interesting to them will help them see that they have material with which to work. They have experiences that are unique. They have stories to tell. And, more importantly, we WANT to hear those stories.
3. Disrupt the illusion that stories are a product of perfection. Make mistakes.
The school system as it is designed today places incredible emphasis on meeting standards, and being proficient, and mastering learning targets, sometimes so much so that the experience and curiosity and journey that is embedded within learning process is overlooked. Students learn that they will receive praise and positive reinforcement for doing things “right” and learning becomes reduced to a product that is turned in for evaluation. Mistakes are bad. Feedback is dreaded. The assignment handed back with the fewest notes is safe. But this system is dangerous and only encourages students to retreat back behind the walls they have put up. We don’t want to graduate robots. We want to graduate individuals who are excited about what they have to offer the world. We want to graduate individuals who know that mistakes are foundational for growing. We have to disrupt the image that writing and storytelling is something only professional adults can do. We have to break the illusion that stories are only accepted once they are perfectly printed in books with fresh pages and unbroken spines. Perfection is a facade designed by those who are afraid of making mistakes and stepping out of their comfort zones. We have to celebrate the areas for improvement and reframe students’ mindsets about these areas. It is important for students to see drafts one, two, and three before the final. It is critical for students to seek constructive feedback so that they can grow and improve and shy away from settling for what is safe. Mistakes are often invitations for deeper discovery and room for improvement is just another way of saying “That’s interesting. Tell me more. Let’s look at that more closely.”
Our students have stories. They are natural storytellers. They just need a safe space, some encouragement, and gentle guidance to rediscover the magic their stories have to offer.
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