Leading or weaving

There are two ways to tell a story: my way and my husband's way.


My way is likely the result of journalistic training. Newspaper reporters are taught to tell the story up front -- the who, what, when, where and why first -- the "lead" -- and the details can follow for those interested in the rest of the story.


My husband, on the other hand, doesn't just tell a story. He weaves one.


He starts way back and fills in all the asides of interest (or not) and builds to the climax, with everyone sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for him to get to what finally happens.

Except me.


Because if it's a story I already know because I was there when it happened, I am positively apoplectic -- trying to bite my tongue and keep from getting to the end faster than he eventually will.


Take our Teton hike, for example.


If I were to tell the story, you would know right away that three miles into our hike to Ampitheater Lake, we ran into snow and had to turn back. If you were sufficiently amazed that this could happen in June, I would add that one of the kids just had sandals on, another thought he could hike two more miles in snow but stepped in one spot and sunk up to his thigh, or that we eventually noticed that everyone passing us had ropes and ice picks and crampons, etc. You'd get only as much of the story as you convinced me you cared anything at all about.


My husband, on the other hand, would more likely begin as we approached the park and noticed how low the snow was on the mountainside. He'd tell how we asked the ranger at the pay booth if the trail was open, and when she was unsure she asked another in the booth and both thought it was fine. He'd comment on the ranger we passed on the trail, who didn't mention the impossibility of such a trail for those dressed such as us, and on.


And you would be mesmerized.


Well, perhaps that isn't the best example of a mesmerizing story, and perhaps this isn't even one my husband would choose to dramatize, but we didn't see any bear so snow will have to do.


Perhaps a better story would be for me to tell about how when we entered the only restaurant overlooking the square in Jackson, which turned out to be a tavern, everyone was asked to pull out their drivers' licenses, but the guy at the door said he didn't need to see mine. And my husband could start with how I picked the restaurant based on its location and view (another way we two are different) and not its food or drinks or the sensitivity of its bouncer.

(I'll tell that story in detail if the picture my son took of me sitting next to a Budweiser sign shows up anywhere.)


There is no one right way to tell a story. I have very close personal children relatives that would make me very happy by telling more personal stories in any length or size or direction at all.

Stories are good, whether told with a lead or with a climax. Whether funny or interesting, profound or mundane.

And the people who tell the stories tell something of themselves in the telling.

Some of us just get to the end sooner.





















(Before it got deep.)