O
nce upon a time there was a storyteller, a very famous storyteller but also a very sad storyteller,
for he had lost his story. No longer could he wander from village to village entertaining and
informing people, and so he climbed a solitary hill, sat on a rock, and stared miserably at his feet.
Now, the hill that he picked was not as solitary as he had thought. It was the summer field for a
herd of grazing goats that were tended by a young girl who recognized the sad storyteller sitting on
a rock and staring miserably at his feet. She had sat at his feet in the village square, listening to his en-
trancing tales. Now she walked up and asked, kindly, “You look so sad, Mr. Storyteller. What’s
wrong?”
“I have lost my story,” came the dejected reply.
“How could you lose a story?” asked the incredulous girl. She could see how it might be pos-
sible to lose a goat or a school bag, but then she remembered how there were jokes she heard at school
from time to time and had forgotten by the time she got home.
“My master taught me all his stories,” answered the storyteller, his eyes still absently studying the
ground at his feet, “and I diligently learned them all, every one, word for word. The villagers have
heard them all now and want something new, but I have nothing new to tell them. I don’t have a
story of my own.”
“What are you looking at?” asked the girl as if ignoring what the storyteller had said.
“Nothing,” was the sad reply.
“Before your eyes, I see a glistening blade of grass existing in the dry summer ground,” she com-
mented. “Have you wondered what story it may have to tell? How it began life as a seed cast on the
ground, not knowing whether it would survive or thrive, powerless to control the rain and sunshine
it needed to live. Its roots had to search to find pathways into the harsh soil, its blade reached up for
the light of the sun, and it never gave up doing what it did best. Even if one of my goats ate it back,
STORY 101
Will You Be My Teacher?