Here’s a task for you. Open up your phone and ask, ‘Why do we need family story time?’
Your browser / AI would scan the internet for wisdom and share a few quick tips on how story time builds early literacy, strengthens emotional bonds and supports social growth.
All valid answers. I won’t challenge that.
Story time, as we traditionally know it, is for children, particularly the youngest of all.
But what about ‘family’? Why did the internet (and AI) overlook the ‘family’ and its role in story time?
A family story time is more than a parent-child story time in the library. That’s the idea I have been championing for over a decade now!
My stories, or the way I tell them, are for everyone. The child and the adult. They are curated and crafted to speak to everyone in the room. Everyone deserves a story that speaks to them in a language they understand.
Back home in India, one of my earliest and most successful programs was called Busy Bubs Happy Mums. Born out of my own experience of raising a toddler who responded magically to stories, my earliest target audience was toddlers (like my son) and their mums. We went on a lot of adventures. I crafted innovative and messy experiences. We made a lot of friends. Both my son and I, some of whom have lasted a decade!
Storytelling took me across the country, to cities big and small. To schools, libraries, festivals and communities. At most places, children were my primary audience. The grown-ups- parents, caregivers and seniors have accompanied children as guardians. To me, they were the audience too. Oftentimes, the more important ones, for they are the gatekeepers, decision makers, drivers and investors in everything that their children have to be taken to.
For this reason alone, I have worked ‘harder’ to give the grown-ups a good time. I make sure to weave in references, asides, analogies and slight metaphors that speak to adults in a code they understand really well. More often than not, grown-ups enjoy themselves. I can see their shoulders drop, their breathing getting natural, their faces lighten up with joy. I invite them to chant, move, sway with me. It only takes a few minutes for the children to realise that their grownups are enjoying the story too. They turn to them, delighted to see a version of them they rarely see. When I ask for grownup actors to join me in telling a story, I see children push their parents. They want to see them perform in ways they never have. Sometimes when they step up without a tug or a push, the children are delighted. They clap. They laugh. They become their biggest cheerleaders. I see them return to hugs, high-fives and kisses. For that moment, the grown-up feels as young as the child.
Of course, some things break the enchantment. The urge to take out the phone to record a story while it’s being told. To look at the storyteller through the eyes of a phone lens, switching off for the moment to tell oneself that ‘this is joy recorded for later’. It’s taken me years to overcome that sense of vanity. In that moment, I am no longer good enough for my audience. In fact, I am so good that I want to be replayed over and over again.
It’s taken me years to have the courage to stop a story midway. To ask for the phones to be put down. To ask grownups to be present in the moment. To open their eyes, ears and hearts for my story to step in. “I promise the story will stay in your hearts forever,” I make a daring offering.
Phones have always come down. Grownups and children gently learn to be present in the moment. They become present in their bodies, or at least try to do that for that day. In that moment, ours becomes a safe space. I have seen grownups weep, laugh and reflect. I have seen them talk to their children in ways they never have. I have seen them ask questions and share memories. “I enjoyed the session,” say parents to me. They confess to having a good time.
“Don’t apologise. You are allowed to have fun!” I assure them.
Storytelling here in New Jersey, I am replaying the steps all over again. I am trying to reposition family storytime about ‘families’, never for children alone.
When I first suggested the idea of an intergenerational storytelling event for families, the library and the community honestly didn’t know what to expect. At one of the earliest events I had an (almost) equal number of grown-ups and children.
“Is this for children? He is 4 years old,” said a young mother, tugging her toddler to the community room.
“Technically, this is for 5-year-olds and above. So yes, this is for you, and your son is welcome,” I opened the door wider for them.
“I have never attended a story session for me,” she said shyly, accepting my invitation.
“Then, I’ll try my best to make it a special one,” I smiled back.
The mother-son duo joined a family of 5, with three adults and two children. Somewhere between the lines of the story, a father and his daughter joined in. This was to be my largest audience at The Story Village until then.
The mother tried her best to get the toddler to sit beside and listen. He obliged. She remained distracted with his nudges and whispering. In sometime, she stopped responding. I could see she was now listening along for herself. Her child decided to find a better position for his viewing. He slid down, crawled behind and positioned himself for a view from the floor. We continued to make eye contact, the boy and I. The mother, in the meantime, continued to join me in my story, singing and making suggestions to the plot.
There is always room for everyone in The Story Village.
Grown-ups are welcome to be children again! (Being a grown-up is overrated anyway.)
Most families have become very good at doing things together while doing completely different things.
We eat together, but someone is checking a phone.
We watch a movie together, but someone falls asleep.
We travel together, but each person may remember an entirely different holiday.
Even when we are in the same room, we aren’t always in the same moment.
And then, when a story begins.
For a little while, the roles we carry around all day become less important.
The parent doesn’t have to parent.
The child doesn’t have to be the child.
The grandparent doesn’t have to be the grandparent.
We become listeners. We become players. We become curious. We become silly. We become moved.
And this is what I mean when I call family storytime an intergenerational wonder.
It isn’t simply that three generations can sit in the same room and listen to the same story.
We all deserve it!
Come join my next circle.
About The Story Village: A monthly intergenerational storytelling series hosted by Rituparna Ghosh, where diverse communities gather in themed circles to listen, share, and experience stories as a space of belonging.