Tall Tales, Short Tales, and Everything Inbetween

My father is a storyteller.

Pop tells stories at the drop of a hat.

No, not as his profession. For one tour of duty, he was a U.S. Navy mechanic, keeping the planes flying. He spent most of his adult life in construction--a profession chosen for him by his father--first in pipe-fitting, them onward and upward through the ranks over the years until he ran large industrial projects, like power plants. When those began to take their toll, he switched to commercial projects. Finally, when it was past time to retire, he worked for my sister, marketing her business. As he traveled, he picked up more stories, and told his own to ever more people.  

My father is a storyteller.

In his 80 years of life, he has spent a lot of time talking, conversing, and telling stories. And he’s quite good at it. He can make you swallow the most outrageous lies embroideries, exaggerations, and legends. He comes by it honestly, I suppose. If science can prove that we pass along fear memories in our DNA, then certainly other cultural memories and traits can be passed through the generations. And if that is true, then my great grandparents gave my dad no choice but to be a storyteller.

Telling stories to a captive audience: the grandkids.

You see,Tony, my dad, is an intriguing mix. His father’s father was Hungarian Romane—Gypsies, you know, with their legendary entertainment skills, and abilities to win any argument, bargaining, or tall-tale swap. Forget what you’ve seen on TV, or run into in railway stations across Europe. Romanticize them, if you please—roaming at will, not tied down to any land or king, living off wits and talent.

His mother’s father was Irish. Blarney, anyone? A tradition of epic tales told around the hearth to keep out the cold, and stories, that grew in the telling, of leprechauns and other magical creatures tricked by a glib human tongue. Many a myth and legend and fairy tale were birthed here.

You see? Dad had no choice. Stories are in his blood.

Of course, stories are in everyone’s blood. If the human machine developed to record, store, create, share, and re-create stories, we cannot possible escape the need to do so. Sociologists will tell you this is how we form our culture and communities—through shared stories that pass along values and ideals.

Psychologists say we create our sense of identity through the stories we tell and those we keep inside. The tales we tell let others know who we think we are, even as they allow our listeners to better understand who they themselves are, what they believe and believe in, where they stand, and what they stand for.

There's always a story.

Story scholars will teach you that stories change. They change in the telling, as we choose the words or experiences to share, find the exact words to create the impression we strive for. They change through the telling, as the listener absorbs the meaning and filters it through their own experiences and memories. They change with the telling, be it oral, written, danced, or drawn, for each art imparts its own glow of interpretation. And they change those who tell it and hear it, in ways often hard to measure.

My father is a storyteller.

I am a storyteller, too, but here I am just the scribe. He has 80 years’ worth of stories. And he loves to share them. I invite you to listen, lest they be lost, but be forewarned. He, like most of us, is a product of his ancestry. 

  

These are tall tales, or “based on a true story,” whatever that really means. But what is the truth, after all? It’s often found only in our perception of it. While I firmly believe that there are Absolute Truths in this life, these stories seldom encounter those, but instead dance around true memories, lifting a corner here, a fragment there, twirling it around, and giving it new life. In other words, don’t take these tales as anyone’s Truth but Tony’s.

Enjoy, be entertained, and while away a moment with me. Wend your way through the Tall Tales of Tony Trock. See if they change you. And maybe, while you’re here, you can share a story with me.

It's hard to find a picture with his mouth closed. This one comes close.