The Power of Story: Initiation into Vaultopia

The Power of Story:  Initiation Into Vaultopia

 

Stories are letters.  Letters sent to anybody or everybody.  But the best kind are meant to be read by a specific somebody.  When you read that kind you know you are eavesdropping.  You know a real person somewhere will read the same words you are reading and the story is that person's business and you are a ghost listening in.

John Edgar Wideman, Damballah

 

Let me tell you a story.  For all I have is a story.  Story passed from generation to generation, named Joy.  Told for the joy it gives the storyteller and the listener.  Joy inherent in the process of storytelling.  Whoever understands it also understands that a story, as distressing as it can  be in its joy, never takes anything away from anybody.  It's name, remember, is Joy.

Trinh T. Min-ha, Woman, Native, Other

 

                The other day (an evening in mid-January), a cadence tugged at my ears.  In the middle of a delightful conversation with other mothers sitting with me on the bleachers, I mentally shoved the tug away; I don't get many opportunities to be out and about because of my health, so I relish my time at the barn for yet another reason.  But the cadence became insistent.  I knew it represented something that matters a great deal to me.  Slowly, I shifted my attention from my group to find the source of that rhythm and all it signifies.  I found it out in the ring, surrounding the young vaulters as they stretched and did strengthening exercises on the mats.  It circled about their heads, tripped around the bobs of sit-ups and push-ups.  It enveloped them in something that could bring them together even more tightly as a unit, as a team.  I've written about the supportive nature of Technique as a whole as of the vaulters individually.  But this cadence, this voice, worked to create amongst them so much more.

                Storytellers used to hold one of the highest positions in all cultures--a position so vaunted and necessary that those who held those positions were considered to be the closest thing to heaven.  They literally held the future of not only each and every member of their society in their hands (or mouth, to be more specific) but the future of the society itself, as a whole, in the same breath.  They achieved this by knowing the past.  Without the stories of the past, without history, societies cannot continue as such--the absence of the stories which knit individual lives into a larger entity, a society, by connecting individual stories and moments together by offering paradigms that explain said experiences and give them context, meaningful context.  In my master's thesis, I wrote that stories function as a mother's comforting arms in the dark of night, shushing the fear and telling us to hold on, letting us know it is okay to hold on.  . .

                "And in the Land of  . . . " Jake continued in the cadence of story, story chanted and created orally, not read.  And I sighed with true pleasure, leaning back to hear how he planned to knit these kids together, allowing them to work in groups on horses and barrels instead of just individually.  Both Cambry and Jake come to coaching with insane natural talent for teaching, so I do not know if this storytelling, which has become a pattern at the beginning of class, is a deliberate choice to create in the team a sense of society, shared society, or if it seemed the right thing to do, but either way, the effect on the vaulters is palpable.  They perk their ears at certain phrases, at paricular parts of the story, and they show obvious delight when they are personally mentioned and woven into the story as themselves--the self perceived by the coaches.  Ari looks down, hiding the dimple in his upper cheek--the dimple that, when it shows itself, signifies true joy.  Dillon looks up, gazing at the storyteller with a grin that on every level shows his new zest for life, the absolute joy of not only being there but of belonging there.  Ian lifts his shoulders and tosses his head with pride, pride at succeeding at a younger age than the other boys but also pride in his social role in the group of cheer leader and self-designated assistant coach, a talent that comes quite naturally to one so young.  The girls, whose names I do not know quite as well, sometimes blush, sometimes giggle, and always look to each other for the return nod and smile, giving them permission to relish being singled out in positive and beautiful ways in the story. 

                The vaulters are too young to sit through a college discourse on the function of story in a society or a text-book explanation of the role story plays in a freestyle performance.  But this storytelling tradition Techinque uses teaches these crucial lessons in ways that will allow them to become part of the air these kids breathe without needing to explain why.  It allows Cambry to announce a theme for each of the trot teams and not have to explain the place the "story" plays in the theme and ultimately, therefore, in the routine.  But without that knowledge, I very much doubt the kids would connect to their part and its place in the whole as quickly as they seem to be understanding what the coaches ask of them.  This dynamic reminds me of an analogy Toni Morrison uses for story--telling a story is the act of excavating the site of memory and mixing "findings" or facts with imagination in order to find a truth--in this case, the truth is the routine, it's overarching storyline, the arc of its trajectory, as it were.

                These stories also create the coach-vaulter dynamic.  Every story in the world has at the very least two characters:  the storyteller (sometimes the narrator serves a double role and is the storyteller as well as the narrator, but not always) and the story listener.  Without the listener, the story could not exist as story.  It might exist as language, but not as story because a story MUST be heard (in most cases in a modern world, hearing comes through the act of reading).  Indeed, some argue (I among them, agreeing wholeheartedly with Jacques Derrida that the reader's/listener's role AS recipient lies in its role as signature, the storytelling situation being a contract, the last line of which is the signature of the listener/reader, signifying the reception of said story).  It is just that simple and so much more complicated than that.  But in this case, the storytelling establishes the coaches as the holders of knowledge, skill, and information necessary to success in this sport that combines the best of humanity and beast.  While the story is light-hearted and fun and told in a manner that connects to these young kids, Jake creates his own position as coach by being the storyteller, by BEING the storyteller, not reading a story or narrating another's story.  He gives the team the structure it needs:  it gives each vaulter a signficant role to play, and it gives the kids the structural paradigm that allows them to trust the coaches and their choices for them.  I think that Technique's relationship to story and its own story allows for the miracles I've witnessed in this barn and the events that originate in the barn.  I love, also, that the parents are invited to listen in, knowing that this story, this letter, is not addressed to us, but is addressed to someone specific, a someone dear to our hearts.   As far as team dynamics go, I believe this is one of the best ways to create a positive team dynamic, a finer way seldom seen.

                Keep the stories coming!