NOTES FROM THE FIELD: END OF YEAR WRAP UP

I think I am like a lot of people, in that I feel like now - as opposed to December 31st is the end of the year. For people who deal with the school calendar, June is the time for summing up, reflecting, and looking both back at what was, and ahead to what may be - to wince a little at plans that went awry, and marvel at the grace of having things actually turn as you had envisioned - and sometimes even better! For me, this school year, was one where, though in theory, I was the visiting artist, was all about what I was taught, more than what I shared with the students. While I ALWAYS learn whenever, and wherever I tell stories, this school year was particularly ripe with lessons. And, I would like to thank the teachers, students, schools, and organizations that gave me such a capital education, and reinforced my love of the art of storytelling, and the fascinating world of folktales. My school year started off with my AMAZING trip to Thailand. Having the opportunity to, in one trip, visit classrooms of children who are fluent in SEVERAL languages, in schools that were akin to college campuses, and had theaters to rival those on Off Broadway, AND, go into the classrooms of preschoolers, that an inspiring organization called the Mercy Center runs for children from the slums - blew my mind. In both cases the teachers were completely invested in trying to enhance the education of their students. For one group, my mission was to help unlock the creativity that is in us all - I believe, especially kids, and help them learn to express themselves, and for the other, it was to bring a little joy and laughter - something that could be done without any language at all. That trip taught me, all over again, the power, and importance of imagination, playfulness, creativity, and compassion -all things that are good to be armed with, no matter what classroom you are walking into. Back here at home, I had the opportunity to have an ongoing relationship with three classrooms - one an English class for 8th graders, who, while not "special ed", were kids who were, as I thought of them "tender". Circumstances in their young lives making the road to adulthood a bit harsh. It was in this classroom that I met, what I can only describe as a wunder teacher - Brittany Spatz - a woman that, in our meeting told me, "I think it's more important that I help these kids feel good about themselves, and learn kindness - after that, I can use anything to teach them English" And, she did! Since Brittany is a lover of yoga, I got to combine two of my loves as I used tales of yoga poses, India, and yogic philosophy to introduce the kids to the physical practice of yoga asana, which we did in each and every session. Another group of students I saw regularly were doing something I find incredibly daunting -learning to speak this crazy language we call English, as a second language!! The teacher here, Virginia Rodriguez was nothing but heroic in her work in trying not only to teach the children English (which really, REALLY makes no sense!) she also had to try and bring them up to their grade level even in Spanish. Because of immigration and family obligations, some of these children had missed years of schooling. But like so many of the educators I am honored to work with, she - in her first year in this school, and her own child at home, gave more those kids a stable place for them to learn. Because of the level of English, I called upon my background in theatre and clown, and found ways of using language and narrative that were fun, and the stepping stones to storytelling. It was such a GREAT opportunity for me to, every visit, not think about what I wanted to do, but what they needed, and how I could possibly provide that. I often think that sometimes, with all my interests, I am too diversified - thinking, if I just stuck to one thing, I'd be better at it. But, this experience ESPECIALLY taught me that sometimes it's good idea to have many tricks in one's pocket!! And, the third was the classroom in a Youth Detention Center, where, almost unbelievably really, the administration has sought to fund, and keep storytellers coming as part of the in house schooling incarcerated young people. I have written about my experiences here, and I have learned lessons about judgement, tolerance, respect, and compassion, and even on days when things are "picture perfect" - and the storytelling isn't like out of those movies, where the "good doer" reaches the "hard on the outside, but ultimately soft and gooey on the inside" kid, I am more than glad I was there, if for no other reason than to be a witness to whatever they wish to share with me - their thoughts, ideas, even there boredom - part of storytelling is listening, and by that I mean the storyteller listening to the audience, and on some days they have taught me that's it is THE MOST important part. But, even more than the students this year, I learned from the trio of other storytellers who I, thankfully, get to partner with in this work. Paula Davidoff, Julie Della Torre, and Jack McKeon. All three FINE, FINE tellers AND teachers, who understand the importance of folktales and storytellers, and who's analysis of deep stories reaches those kids in ways that are surprising and wonderful. Most days I don't feel worthy to be part of this little band, but - selfishly, I might add, I try to "ride their wake", and having to stand besides them has made me go deeper into my own work. Sometimes, I just have to marvel at how lucky I am that I found storytelling, and that I have the opportunities to watch such skilled people work, read and hear deep tales of our ancestors, and watch the effect of the magic of stories on children of many different ages. Who needs the lottery when you get to do what I do for a living???

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: STORYTELLING AND THE MIDDLE SCHOOL ROMANCE

I have to admit that even as a tween and teenager, I never got the allure of the type of boy I'll call "the pretty boy". You know the type - they are usually slight of build, but big of hair. Think Justin Beiber, before his spiral of lawlessness, or those guys from "One Direction" (although, if you put on their song "That's What Makes You Beautiful" I will dance EVERY TIME!) Even then I liked a guy who looked like a MAN as opposed to a BOY - not that any male at all was looking at me in those years!!! But, OMG - do the girls love them!!! In an English as a Second Language class I am telling stories in all this year, there is a classic "pretty boy" (from now on our refer to him as PT) - eyelashes that all the girls both want, and like to gaze at, a thick head of well cut hair, and a self confidence that makes the crowded halls of a middle school part like the Red Sea. And, of course there are the girls - lots of them - all wanting to sit by him, run their fingers through his hair, get him to brush their shoulder with his hand. In this particular class our PT had two girls vying for his affections - one a cheerleader - her long, long hair adorned with sparkly clips and bows. The other a scholar - in a class of students with limited English, it is she who knows enough English to help others, and tries hard to read a new language that mostly does not make any sense! For weeks I watched as our PT sat between both of the young ladies, gazing at the cheerleader, before asking the scholar for help with his school work. The girls seemed to hold each other no malice, and they laughed with each other at the adorable little things he did and said, but one day when I entered the classroom, I noticed something was VERY much different. It was almost like a boxing ring - in one corner it was the PT and the cheerleader, and, as far away as she could possibly get while staying int the classroom was the scholar - her arms crossed, eyes down, scowl on her normally sweet face. I would have had to be in a coma not to realize what has taken place since my last visit - the cheerleader had won. But what the cheerleader had taken in this little contest was not just the PT, it was the scholars self confidence as well. Where normally her hand would raise and wave to tell me she understood the story, or knew the answer, or would translate another students Spanish, so I could understand it, today she just almost laid there, present in body, but definitely not in spirit. My heart broke for her, and I wanted to yell,"Don't let this define you!! Do you know how many guys like that will come and go in your life?? Do you realize how amazing you are - having come to a new country, and having to learn a language from scratch??" But I couldn't, I could only hope that one day, she would see herself as I and her teacher saw her, and realize that the PT wasn't even worth her time. But then, a wonderful thing happen. My plan that day was to tell a "silent story", where I would mime a short story, and then have them tell me, in English if they could, what they thought the story was. The students did really well, clearly they were all able to visualize the tale, and most were able to , with help, tell me what is they imagined. The scholars take on the story was both imaginative and sweet - she not only captured the facts of the story, but the spirit and meaning behind it as well. I told them that I was going to take one of their versions of the silent story and enhance it a bit, and tell it to them the next time I came, AND I wanted them to vote who's story they liked the best. They wrote their choice on little pieces of paper, which I placed in a hat, and as I pulled scrap after scrap their was one name that showed up on all but two papers - the scholars!!! She smiled for the first time that day, as I announced her name, and I made her take a bow, as all the class - PT, and the cheerleader included chanted her name. Because of the snow, I have not been back yet, to enact the scholars story, but I look forward to it, and hope to give one of the best tellings of my life. Having me tell her story may not soothe the ache she feels when she looks across the classroom, and sees the PT and the cheerleader together, but maybe, just maybe, as she hears me speak her words, she'll be reminded of how much she has to offer, and what she is daily accomplishing in her new life, and that life is A LOT more than pretty boys!!!

Notes From the Field: No-Imaginationitis

In the world of clown, literal thinking is funny. You tell a clown to duck, and they start quacking, you say, “Split!”, and they try to do one; and we all know what happens when the words “walk this way” are used. Comedy like that plays on the fact that there are subtleties, that there can be more than just one meaning to a word or an expression, and that sometimes a phrase can have a connotation that seemingly has no relationship to the actual words used. How many of us have actually been in a ship, much less with someone else, and yet say, “I’m in the same boat.” The words and phrases are a stand in for something else, symbols that our minds de-code and then understand. Sounds complex - this “decoding”, doesn’t it? So how do those of us who don’t work in the military cipher division figure this stuff out? The imagination. That lovely little (or hopefully, not so little)e part of our mind that sees between the lines, interprets that there’s more than black and white, and creates what is not literally there. We all have them, but just like some of us have not been acquainted with our psoas muscle in a while (it’s the BIG muscle that wraps around from your lower back, into your groin, and connects the top of you to the bottom half of you, and is used in every step you take), they are woefully under used. And like a muscle which is not worked out, the imagination can wither. I wish I could say that I see this withering only in adults, but sadly, what moves me to write about this now is that I have seen it at younger and younger ages. Just today, I saw a child of seven or so not able to pretend to be ANYTHING they wanted. More, and more, I see a sort of deadness of the imagination, that makes me want to jump inside their brains and paint messy, out of the line pictures, OR dress up like a loin and ROAR!!!! What frightens me is not that, “Gee, this kid is never going to be able to imagine enough to be in their school play, or write a short story for a homework assignment.” It’s that without the ability to see more than what is evident and literal; these kids grow up missing so much of life. To quote the Little Prince “That which is essential is invisible to the eye.” To not be able to take the folktales that the ancients have blessed us with, and think just because they may not be “true”, makes them less real is a – and I know I’m using a heavy word for this, but I feel it – TRAGEDY! In our work at the Morristown Juvenile Detention Center and Shelter, we four storytellers, see it over and over again. We watch these young people listen to our tales, with more attention that I get any place else I perform – and that is no lie – but they are unable to understand that while there may not be a real mystical tree, or demon with ten heads, or a place where people’s wishes come true, it doesn’t mean that these stories have nothing to do with their lives. Time and time again, we are astonished that these bright young people, seem unable to make the leap that the dark woods may not be an actual forest, but perhaps represents a place inside oneself that is somber, cold, and sad, or that the old woman at the side of the road offering wisdom might be the voice you hear inside of yourself, called your intuition. Just last month, in THE MOST uncomfortable storytelling sessions I have ever had (and may it always stay the MOST uncomfortable), a young man – bright and articulate, could not see the metaphors and symbolism in the stories to such a degree, he was angry at us for wasting his time, and, I felt he was saying, lying to him. My fellow storyteller (Paula Davidoff), and I tried – she a lot more clearly than I - I have to say, to get him to understand the meanings and connections that could be found in the stories he had RAPTLY listened to, but the more we talked, the more he pushed back. For him there was no “grey” – all black and white. That conversation did two things to me – it saddened me, and then, in the same way I have always responded since I was a teen, and was told to do something I didn’t want to do – it made me more determined! It made me see, even more, the value of storytelling and folktales, and it reinforced in me a sense of purpose. I’m not a shrink, a social worker, a classroom teacher, or a guidance counselor, but I am an AVID user of my imagination, and I intend to use that skill to reach who I can, whenever I can. It may not always work, we tellers may not always break through, but as I watch this epidemic of “no-imaginationitis”, I know I have to do something, and luckily for me I have the ammunition of the fabulous folktales from a multitude of lands to use. And I know that out there, there are storytellers, librarians, teachers, moms, dads, aunties, and grandparents that take up this cause. So, here are my closing words to those of you who see the spread of “No-imaginationitis” in our fine land. Take the kids you can and reach in and draw them out – dance, paint, read, dress up, EXPRESS!! Imagination is not a skill that should go the way of the dinosaurs. Let’s help kids evolve into human beings with rich, colorful imaginative inner lives, that will lead them to deep, meaningful outer lives. (Got a little preachy there at the end, I know, but I believe it all. Thanks for reading!!!)

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: WRAPPING UP MY THAILAND ADVENTURE!

When I told my friend Peety I was going to Thailand, he looked at me, and said with an intense earnestness, “Stay as long as you can!!” While I had been excited to go before, I became intrigued as to what would make him, a man who has travelled A LOT, make such a statement, but now, as I write this, soaring in the air away from the “Land of Smiles”, I can truly say that I get it. How do I sum up my two and half weeks in this place of tuk-tuks (little motorized rickshaw-like taxis), wats (temples), night markets, and long boats? Do I tell of the humility and devotion that permeate this land that is so largely Buddhist, that every home, business, even taxi stand has a shrine, and where the sight of orange clad monks is as commonplace as the sight of people with their hands in a position of prayer. Every hello – sawadee – is said with palms touching in front of the heart, and with a bowed head, almost always with that sweet, sweet smile, that the Thai people are so well known for; instantly putting one physically in the beautiful position of being not above anyone, but of saying, “I wish you well, I wish you happiness, how can I help you??” Do I try to describe the serenity in each and every wat, which (along with 7-11s and, funnily enough donut shops in Bangkok) are EVERYWHERE! Glittering with gold, mosaics, and statues of the Buddha, Garuda - the king of the birds, and the elephant head god Ganesh pulling one’s mind towards the great stories behind these devotional works of art, and lifting ones heart to something greater than oneself? And then there are the children I performed for!!! In schools that have the buzz of learning emanating so powerfully from them that I felt inspired from the second I walked on the grounds. Children who are so kind, and, well “good” –and I don’t mean their behavior – which was VERY good – but I mean a deep kindness and sweetness, that all kids have, but sometimes gets lost at about age 10 or so. These students, from the two year olds I sang and was silly for, to the teenagers I worked with on their school play – were so willing to embrace what this lady with the short hair, and the fast talk from the USA had to offer. They let me into their world – and, heck, disrupt their world, as I asked them to get loud in their vocal and bodily responses (not something commonly done in the East, I quickly learned). Being someone who spends 90% of her time with kids, I am ALWAYS awed by the lessons they teach me – and once again, this group of young people taught me about humanity – that we are all more alike than different – the stories that hit home in NYC, hit home in Thailand, in Argentina, and in India – what makes us laugh is the same in Haiti, as it is in China. If only we could all remember that little fun fact. And, because this was “work” (and how freakin’ lucky am I that this is my job!!!) there was that lovely, intense what I call “cheese cake” feeling – when you are deeply immersed, and things are full and rich like even a small bite of cheese cake – for I was asked to perform my stories, multiple times a day to groups as young as three years old, and as old as eighteen year olds, give workshops in storytelling, creating character and setting, and in one instance giving an impromptu yoga class to a group of 11 year olds!! And as a bonus to this storytelling tour – I also got to do my other job – I got to clown without language (my favorite way to clown!!) for hospitalized children, adults, and for a group of preschoolers – some of which come from VERY impoverish communities. Oh the joy of doing a show with the beautiful imaginary of the language of folktales, and then switching to the chaotic playfulness of physical comedy – but the basis of these two art forms I love is the same – human contact and presence in the moment. Only with those two skills can I connect with an audience with words, or without. But, if I had to choose just one thing to say about my time in Thailand, it would be the people that I met along the way. There was Ellie and Dick – a couple from Kanas City, who, after spending three weeks doing work with an elephant conservation group north of Bangkok, were now taking some time to sight see. Then there is Edward, a clown from Liverpool, who has found a passion helping refugee children in Thailand by bringing them supplies regularly, and, making them laugh with his shows. (check out his foundation – gohappiness.org – you will be moved). There was Hal and Sue, who my husband and I met while at the Bangkok Doll Museum searching for my “gift doll” for my mom (can’t come back into the country without adding to her collection!), Hal, a long time doctor for the CDC, retired, but now back at work helping fight dengue fever, and Sue, a long time nurse. Angela, a full time volunteer for a group called icare Thailand (icarethailand.com) – who set up my clowning visits to pediatric and cancer hospitals, and then flew off to help flood victims. Grant, a young man from Australia, who, with his wife – who’s name I am ashamed I can’t remember, has worked for aids organizations throughout his college years. Joe, the manager of the hotel restaurant where we stayed a few nights – who just about cried when talking about his deep love for his country. Eric and Kevin, a deaf couple, who every single year make the time to travel for a month or more, finding ways to afford to feed their wanderlust, and use technology to help them communicate with a largely hearing world – and who this year, were happily celebrating their recent marriage, after being together for years!! And, then there’s the people of the Mercy Center (mercycentre.org) – an organization that has projects helping everyone from AIDS/HIV patients, to homeless kids, to the elderly, to giving scholarships to promising university students (one now works for them, and was my guide to their FABULOUS pre-school program!) I have been so inspired by the goodness, and commitment that I have seen in the people that I have met here, that I just want to run and give of myself as much as I possibly can! The two most special people that I encountered on this voyage were people who I already knew – one is my life partner, my best friend, my support system, my husband – who braved the heat and humidity he DETESTS, to join me from day one on this tour. He did my laundry, organized our sightseeing, strived to make sure I ate something other than my protein bars at meals, told me time and time again, “You’ll be great!” when I was nervous about any of the performances or workshops. I am always a little too proud of my independence, and on this tour, I was, once again, reminded I live my life with A LOT of help from the man, who for some odd reason, not only puts up with me, but loves me. I have saved my last comments for the woman who made all this possible – Sonia Zivkovic, who chose me to be the very first storyteller of her brand new company Pana Wakke (it means brother-sister). To create a company at all is a daunting task, much less one that deals with different countries, languages, schools, charities, and those weird beings called storytellers, and so what she has pulled off in a mere matter of months, is truly astonishing. The fact that she also wanted to include, not just performances for pay, but charity shows (the ones I did in the hospitals and the pre-school) speaks to who she is as a human being – she wishes to leave a positive impact everywhere she goes. She was constantly asking me if I was happy, and what she could do for me and my husband – when I am the one who should have been saying that to her! In asking me to be the first, in what I hope will be many artists to bring their tales to Asia, I was honored that she was entrusting her “baby” to me, and so I tried with all my might to give the best that I had to offer – they all truly deserve that, and much more. I will see my friend, Peety in a few days, and I will tell him he was very, very right, and to all of you reading this, if you ever go to Thailand, take it from Peety and me – STAY AS LONG AS YOU CAN!!!

Notes from the field: Opening the Imagination in Thailand

I have just come from a day where I fed, petted, rode, and was hugged by an elephant, and literally lay down with a tiger - if that sounds crazy to you - think about my brain right now! I have clearly, always had an active imagination - sometimes I wish I could be less interested in my inner world, and more enchanted by the outer realms - especially when it comes to cleaning and balancing checkbooks - but "seeing" things like talking animals, fairies, castles that float in the air, have, frankly, never been a problem for me. To be able to see what is not necessarily tangible is easier to me than to comprehend things like why people are so awfully mean to each other, or why drivers think honking their horns REALLY is helpful to anyone. So, it is coming as a surprise to me just how much Thailand is stretching out a muscle I thought was already well used. The colors here - vibrant and bold, give my brain something to chew on for the next time I tell a story of a market place or bazaar. The graceful sway of the elephant as they walk, will forever inform the way these pachyderms will live in my body. And tigers - never again will they be portrayed as evil beasts who just want to sneak up on and devour other creatures. No, now I will give them - even if in the story they are going to ear everyone in sight - the dignity, and respect, these kingly beasts truly deserve. And the temples - I have always loved places of worship, no matter what the faith. It seems that man is able to do his best work, when he is remembering that there is a higher power than himself - no matter what he may call it. The many Buddhist shrines and temples are a feast of color, and light, and serenity, that I not only need, but can infuse into many a tale. With all this at their fingertips, it is interesting that one of the things I have been asked to do at the schools where I am telling stories is to "open their imaginations". To help the children be able to conjure up magical lands and beings for their writings. I REALLY don't want to join the "modern technology is destroying our brains" band wagon - but in this instance - it's pretty true. The fact that the children here are so sucked into their devices that they miss what I, in only a week have seen, speaks volumes. Yes, of course, computer sciences are key in this day and age, and goodness knows that I hope these kids take to math better than I did - but not at the expense of the worlds that are to be found in their imaginations! But, of course, children don't need much help digging into those places where fantasy live, they just need a little prompt, and that has been my job. And, it is one I have been relishing!!! My time here has been filled with stories I haven't told much, but have been falling in love with, the story of three magical wishes - where the magic comes from fairies, but also from the love between a couple. The mystical happenings of objects that three brothers find, and how they can save the life of a princess they all love, but ultimately, only one can marry - with the backdrop of Thailand as my guide, I have found deep inspiration in my work. It has been a joy to watch kids laugh at, and be engaged by these tales, and it was AMAZING to see students and staff embrace Halloween - a holiday, because of the costumes, candy, and color orange I ADORE!! But, even more than the tellings, have been the workshops with the children, in which they visualized magical forests, and, after describing them to their groups, created them with their bodies. There were rocks made out of diamonds, cakes containing monsters, animal-eating grasses. Teachers were fairies, narrators, and loving guides in these fun filled, boisterous romps into the inner rooms of the mind. And speaking of these teachers, and their wonderful administrators - they get it- I mean they get that it's not just the traditional "in the box" schooling that children need. I have fallen in love with these teachers here, largely ex-pats, who see education as their calling, and see that teaching to a child in a holistic way is the road to a truly well educated student. I was thrilled to here them talk about Robert Coles, who said the thing I MOST agree with about education "Parents need to ask not is my child smart, but HOW is my child smart!" "Soft" subjects like the arts, give kids a chance to be intelligent, feeling, creative in ways that other subjects do not. Imagination and self expression are tools that everyone needs, and for this generation, who may grow up with the world a mouse click away, but never actually speak to a real in person "friend" - they are skills that need to be developed. One of the students asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I LOVED that question, because it meant to me that I didn't look like I was "working", that I was just at play - and I was! I try to be grateful for the gifts of imagination and creativity, and on this trip to Thailand, as I bow my head before all those altars, I have been offering up my most favorite prayer (as inspired by the writer Anne La Mott) "please don't let me be a jerk!" but also "thank you, Universe for the gift of IMAGINATION!!"

NOTES FROM THE FAR OF FIELD: THAILAND!!

You know, sometimes I have to pinch myself! I have just finished a day in a school where I did two performances, two workshops, and watched a rehearsal by a group of students in THAILAND!!! Yes, Thailand - land of elephants, Pad Thai, and from what I have experienced today - wonderful students, teachers, and schools. I am here on a two and a half week tour with the company Panna Wakke to tell stories in English to students here who are studying English, and in the case of two of today's groups - theatre. What a JOY to walk into the St. Andrew's school here in Bangkok, and see an administrative office, where you have to take off your shoes to come in! How amazing it is that this school so clearly prizes the arts there is a professional like "black box" theatre, and an equally astonishing dance studio, as well as an art room full of light, inspiration quotes, and the creative outpouring of students. But, as we all well know, pretty rooms, and the latest in technology do not an educated child make! Great learning can certainly be helped by many, many things - and in this age of technological advances, it would be foolish not to strive to give students the best possible supplies that can be provided. BUT still, and always, what makes the learning real, meaningful, and lasting, are the one thing, that no computer can ever replace - TEACHERS! The staff that I met at today's school were clearly dedicated - no one had been there less than 6 years, and every teacher was deeply and fully ENGAGED! Every moment they were present to look after their charges, try to help make things as best as they can, an actively listened and watched my performances and workshops. It was such a pleasure for me, to see their faces int the crowd - alert to put out any "forest fires" that might arise, but relaxed as they enjoyed the show. They treated me with such respect and friendliness that I truly felt like I was, as they say, and "honored guest". Anybody that know me, knows what I think of teachers - that they are a rare and special breed of people, who do the MOST IMPORTANT job there is - and what a delight for me to see these superheros for our children, our future, doing this tremendous job oh so well in this magical place called Thailand. More to come on this journey, I am sure

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: I DO TELL STORIES TO TEENAGERS!!!!

It is a question that I have now come to expect. It is usually accompanied by the most adorable looks, as people search, oh, so politely for a way to tell me I'm insane. I can just picture the images that are in their head. Of me, standing in front of a group of teenagers who are rolling their eyes, and laughing at me - not in a "she's so funny" way, but a "she is SOOOOO lame!!" way. And the more I try to assure them I'm okay, they only seem to get more worried about me! It's very sweet - and I get where they are coming from - teenagers can be, well, let's just say it - MEAN! The whole mean girl thing is not an urban legend - in those years when hormones are running wild, and being seen in the right clothes with the right people, doing the right things is the ONLY thing that matters - there can be some pretty nasty behavior - just ask my mother! But, despite that, and, in some ways because of it, I can ask the query posed to me with so much worry - YES, I do tell to teenagers - and, this may be a shocker - REALLY like it!!!! And here is one reason why: The past two school terms I have one of a team of storytellers who have gone twice a month to a Youth Detention Center - that's right, not just teenagers - incarcerated teenagers. But, before you too, either give me the "you're crazy" look, let me tell you that it has given me some of the most profound experiences I have ever had as a storyteller, and just recently, I saw that, not only did the stories make an impact when these young people were in jail, it meant something to them after they got out. I have written before about the intense attention, and amazing listening that I, and the other three storytellers have received during our visits to the Detention Center - how we are all able to tell long, complex stories, that have depth and meaning, and are ripe for discussion. And discuss we do, with these young people who are no different from any other teenager -they, like all of us are flawed - both kind and unkind, wise and foolish, human beings who are perfectly imperfect. It is just that their mistakes were larger than most. But, as attentive as these young men and women were when they were "inside" - I had no way of knowing if ms y stories, or those of the other tellers had any lasting effect. But, two weekends ago, as I was strolling through a country fair with my husband, a young man stood BEAMING before me - his baseball hat was pushed back on his head, and his eyes locked onto my face. "It is you!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!" As I smiled, he titled his head, "You don't remember me - do you?" I will admit, it took me a moment to place the face - he looked much younger out of his Detention Center jumpsuit, and with an open boyish grin, but I DID remember him, how could I not, he had been in the Center longer than most, and he had always been so responsive, respectful, and friendly. Jack, our lone male storyteller, called him the kid he first connected with. Instinctively, I did what I had always wanted to do with many of them - I reached up and gave him a hug. His smile grew, as he told me had a job, but was looking for another, how he was working on his GED - so he could be a high school graduate. He pointed out his mother who was close by, and gave my husband a hardy hand shake when I introduced them. When I said we were off for the summer, but headed back in the fall, he nodded his approval, and then with one last hug, we parted. My husband looked back, and saw him explaining to his mother just who the heck I was, but I couldn't look back, because I had tears in my eyes. I will NEVER forget the look on his face when he saw me - the brightness of his eyes, the hopefulness in his voice when he asked if I remembered him. The way he clearly wanted me to approve of what he was doing with his life now. I knew in that moment that I, and the other tellers, had made a difference in that young man's life. That, with the tool of folktales, we had been able to make a human connection in a place not exactly built on such things. I will always love the giggle of a six year old, or the way a pre-schooler, after hearing some stories will come up, and wrap their arms around my legs. But the hug I received that day, that was a treasure like in the stories I tell. One that was hidden, maybe even thought lost, but, ultimately, after some hard work, a little faith, and an open heart, was found.