When we were young, Dad told us bed time stories. They were always silly with us in starring roles.
Dad liked Spike Milligan and AA Milne. Sometimes he’d recite his favourite poems and direct them to one of us. Snatches of AA Milne come back to me at the oddest times, with his poetry of children whose parents run away and cautionary tales to not step on the cracks in the footpath.
Dad’s stories were funny and satirical but sometimes we protested about the way he portrayed us. We were unruly characters, tiny divas, jostling for bigger and more complimentary roles. We directed our storytelling Dad just so.
Our favourite thing was Dad giving us magical powers. We told him the names we wanted and what we should be doing.
‘No I wouldn’t do that.’
‘I should be taller’
‘I need to run faster’
‘I’d jump to … the moon’
We loved to take over his stories. Sometimes our diva listening ways were so out of control they would make our storyteller abandon his tale and he’d grab out the Muddle Headed Wombat book to read to us and do all the characters voices for us. Tabby Cat, Mouse and Wombat became our friends. I read all the books when I had mastered the art of reading.
Read the Rest of this story over at ABC Open
And catch up with Ali’s Posts on World Read Aloud Day
Gumboootspearlz 
Reblogged this on Following the Crow Song.
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A parent’s storytelling has a long-lasting effect on a child. In our family, too, we three children never went to bed without a story. It was my motherwho was our chief storyteller. She seemed to have so many inside her head, all ‘made up’ of course. In turn, I have passed many of them down to my own children. I really enjoyed reading your post – and the memories it jogged in me – so thank you for that.
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Great to hear your own memory was triggered, and thankyou for sharing it. My Mum told me stories too, but that’s another story.
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Perhaps another post for Mum’s stories …? 🙂
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Perhaps 😉
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