The power of a good story

An era of my life officially ended what now seems a very long three-plus weeks ago. That would be my graduation from Albion College, when I received that rectangular black leather book called a diploma.

But I didn't really feel like my undergraduate career was over -- in the books, you might say -- until this past Sunday. That is when a conglomerate of old people -- aka friends of my family but not necessarily my similarly-aged friends -- came to our stone house on Spring Street to bask in my glory.

I'm not one for ceremonies or graduation parties, or anything, for that matter, that puts the focus squarely on me. (That's why, I suppose, I chose journalism, in which I focus on the pursuits and actions of others). So, besides the display of food my mother ordered, I wasn't particularly looking forward to the four-hour Sunday evening event.

But, gauging by how fast the 240 minutes passed, I must have had fun (either that, or the cliché’s incorrect). As mom said later that night, once all the visitors had said their goodbyes and good lucks, she had never seen me talk as much as I did that night.

One of the great things about conversing with elder generations is the plethora of anecdotes they have to tell. To me, nothing's better than a story. If a person asks me whether I'd like to debate the fate of the 2007 Detroit Tigers or hear their story from Friday night's Tigers' game, I'm probably going to choose the story. For one thing, when another person is telling an anecdote, all I have to do is listen (and listening is one of my few strengths and, of course, another reason why I chose journalism). Additionally, many of the stories I hear are fascinating.

My favorite from Sunday came from a fellow I just met that evening named Barry. We were talking about the best sports movies we'd ever seen, when he brought up the story of his great aunt. According to Barry, his great aunt was at the 1932 World Series game when Babe Ruth called his shot against the Chicago Cubs. Barry's great aunt told Barry that one of the reasons Ruth pointed his finger toward the right-field grandstands before putting the baseball there was that Cubs fans had been hassling he and his wife all day, both on the way to the ballpark and once they arrived. Chicago's players had even joined in, not letting up on the insult pedal.

So Ruth jabbed his finger toward right field and said, "I'm gonna hit the ball over that stupid ivy fence."

And, of course, he did just that. It may have been 51-plus years until my conception, but Barry's story brought the day in 1932 to life for me. Images popped into my head as I imagined what it must have been like. Ah, the power of a good story.

On Sunday night I didn't just learn that it's good to invite a lot of adults to your graduation party -- mo people, mo money. I also learned how educational a good anecdote can be.

Maybe, in the years to come, I'll be the one telling the great story. Maybe I'll be telling of that one game where Magglio Ordonez hit a three-run homer while I was sitting in a hostel in Australia...

There's a new story to tell every day.