I am a firm believer in storytelling as a way to bond, build connections and develop a sense of community.  In my elementary teaching days, there were few things as powerful as “Question of the Day”, which was a time when we would sit in a circle and have our morning meeting.   If they were not in a verbal mood, or simply did not feel like addressing the question they passed.  In grade school, the students were so eager that I added a tangible component in the form of a stuffed animal. The student in charge of the question of the day would select that day’s mascot, read the question, and then select the student who would share first.  When a student was in possession of the mascot they could share.  If it was not in their hands they were in listening mode.  In this way, I learned a lot about “my kids,” what they liked, their fears and their interests.  Children are beautiful in that you usually know what you are getting.  Their top layer of self-protection has not fully formed.  They are open with their comments and eager to share.  They tend not to hold back or filter too much.

Naturally, in my current E.S.L. adult classes I look for ways to build-in storytelling.  Until the community is strong, adult students are understandably a bit more guarded.  A lot of their storytelling first evolves through their writing.  In my Writing with Oral Practice class, I gave the students open-ended writing assignments.   Most of my students were beyond the book in their mastery of skills and grammar.  When they were given open-ended questions they wrote with abandon.   Some of the writing assignments I gave them were, to write about a person they admired, to write about a special memory, or a write about a time they were afraid.  The stories they produced were poetic and worthy of publication, often deeply personal and wrought with emotion.

Zayra, a very well put together woman who worked in an upscale retail store was sassy and direct. Once she told Leticia, one of her classmates, that her tote bag didn’t look good on her and that she would bring her a better one.  When Zayra said this to Leticia, it was not taken as an insult, it was simply a statement of fact and a sincere offer.  Several of us chimed in, “Bring me one too!”  Zayra was usually rushing to and from class, coming from work or from dropping her children off.  Often one of her children would call her, either needing to be picked up, just checking in or to ask her a question.  She was always well-mannered, excusing herself, calling me aside at some point to apologize for the interruption and explaining the urgency of her situation.

When present in class she was happy, enthusiastic and in good spirits.  Occasionally she brought in homemade dishes to share.  She was a giving person and it was evident that she received joy from sharing her cooking skills.  Her food was delicious and well- received.  For some, it was a taste of the home-made cooking which they missed.  For others, it was a special treat that we would then compare to food from our own culture.  This led to many discussions about the differences and similarities in different ways of preparing food. At times Zayra was quite exhausted, a few times she arrived at class, and I had to ask her if she needed to go home because she did not her beautiful polished self and looked either tired or ill.  One evening her work was completed in her usual manner of writing, a bit sloppy and appearing carelessly done. I did not comment on it, but it stuck in my mind.

In one of her later writings, she revealed that she had separated from her husband, who had been unfaithful to her.  She addressed the pain of his actions and the courage it took for her to move forward without him.  She was now the single parent of several children.   When I read her essay, I reprimanded myself for my unkind thoughts and then suddenly understood so much more about her story.  I now knew why she was exhausted, why her presentation about her family trip had included no pictures of her husband, and why she was always on call for her children.

One of the habits I developed was never to write comments on their original papers. I attached comments on another sheet, or I photocopied their writing and made comments on the copy.  Their writing felt sacred.  I was honored that they opted to share such personal stories and I did not want to be disrespectful by writing comments on their original documents.  I found ways to comment on what they wrote to let them know that they were special and that I valued their trust.  Whether it was an acknowledgment of something they shared, “The necklace that your mother gave to you is beautiful.” or “Thank you for sharing that picture of your children, they look like they had a good time playing in the snow.”

In a setting that can feel overly formal, we enjoyed hearing stories about each other’s lives outside of the classroom.  I included myself in the storytelling by sharing appropriate stories of my own when it was relevant.  This more than anything seemed to help the students feel at ease with me.  When they knew a little more about me they felt more comfortable.  I was surprised at the many commonalities between us.

Towards the end of the semester, Zayra and a classmate, Milla, one from Iraq and one from Iran, said to me, “Teacher you are like a sister to us” and they hugged me.  A trio of sisters from around the globe, brought together at a night class on the campus of GCC – just another night in adult education.

In one of her later writings, she revealed that she had separated from her husband, who had been unfaithful to her.  She addressed the pain of his actions and the courage it took for her to move forward without him.  She was now the single parent of several children.   When I read her essay, I reprimanded myself for my unkind thoughts and then suddenly understood so much more about her story.  I now knew why she was exhausted, why her presentation about her family trip had included no pictures of her husband, and why she was always on call for her children.

One of the habits I developed was never to write comments on their original papers. I attached comments on another sheet, or I photocopied their writing and made comments on the copy.  Their writing felt sacred.  I was honored that they opted to share such personal stories and I did not want to be disrespectful by writing comments on their original documents.  I found ways to comment on what they wrote to let them know that they were special and that I valued their trust.  Whether it was an acknowledgment of something they shared, “The necklace that your mother gave to you is beautiful.” or “Thank you for sharing that picture of your children, they look like they had a good time playing in the snow.”

Towards the end of the semester, Zayra and a classmate, Milla, one from Iraq and one from Iran, said to me, “Teacher you are like a sister to us” and they hugged me.  A trio of sisters from around the globe, brought together at a night class on the campus of GCC – just another night in adult education.