My grandfather was a great storyteller. My father was a great storyteller. And I want to be just like them. But the stories I tell are boring. I dont have an active imagination. I dont have a talent for storytelling.
I remembered clearly the first time I stood in front of crowd and told a story. My listeners were bored. Some of them yawned. A few of them left before I finished my story.
The talent of storytelling has been passed from my grandfather to my father and I keep asking myself why I failed to get this talent from my fatherWhat crimes had I committed that God had robbed this talent from me. I was miserable. I was restless. I was a tortured soul. My life has no meaning if I cannot become a storyteller.
HIS GRANDFATHER:
I became a storyteller out of desperation. A big flood hit my village. Many people died including my parents. I was only 14 when I was sent to an orphanage.
The man who ran the orphanage was not a good man. He sold boys from the orphanage to rich men who enjoy molesting them. The man who bought me was Charles Siderberg.
His house was full of boys. The world believes the boys were his adopted sons. But they were his lovers. I did not want lose my virginity to a paedophile.
On the first night, when Charles entered my bedroom, I begged him: Please sir, I would do anything if you dont touch me.
Laughing loudly, Charles said: There is only one thing I love more than sex. I love hearing stories. If you can tell me a good story, I will not touch you. I stared him, blankly.
Dont waste my time, boy, begin your story immediately Charles said.
I told him a story that was dancing in my head. I had no idea where the story came. When I finished telling my story, Charles gave me a standing ovation.
You are a good storyteller, Charles said.
If every night you tell me a good story, I will not touch you. The night that you stop telling me stories is the night I will stop being a gentleman to you.
Desperation became my motivation to churn good stories night after night. After two years and 730 stories later, the man who bought me died from a heart attack.
His wife had never liked the boys that her husband had adopted. She had loved her husband with her all heart. She worshipped the ground that her husband walked on. But her husband only has eyes for the boys that he adopted.
Theirs was a marriage of convenience. He married her so that no one would suspect his fetish for young boys. She can never be angry with the man she loved. Instead, she directed her anger at the boys he adopted.
She said: All children are innocent and pure but not the boys that my husband had adopted. They come from the gutter. They have no class. They are manipulative. They had seduced him. They had corrupted him. They had turned my husband into a paedophile.
She is a walking example that love can make you irrational. In her eyes, the man she loves can do no wrong. The moment his funeral was over, she threw the boys and me out on the street.
Your pampering days are over, she shouted at them.
May you have suffer for breaking my heart For stealing my husband away from meFor corrupting my husbandFor turning my husband into a paedophile, she cursed us.
I had nowhere to go. I did not want to go back to the horrible orphanage. I did not want to be sold to another sleazy paedophile. After days of walking, I arrived at a different town, feeling tired, hungry and thirsty. I did not have any money. But I was not going to steal.
I am dying from hunger, I said to an owner of a restaurant.
I need food badly. I do not have any money. I am a good story teller. I can tell you and your customer a good story. In return, all I ask is a meal.
The owner laughed and said: I have many bums who enter here and tell me sob stories so I can give them free food. This is my first time I heard this unusual request. Only if your story is good, I will give you a meal.
The restaurant owner turned to his customers and said: Now we have a young lad who will entertain us with a good story.
My story won the hearts of everyone in the restaurant. The owner did not only give the meal that I wanted, he hired me to be a permanent storyteller in his caf. My stories attracted more customers.
Besides food and shelter, I found love in this restaurant. The owner of the restaurant became my father-in-law. His daughter and I had fallen in love. We got married and had a son. When my father-in-law died, my wife and I took over the restaurant. My wife served the food and I told stories. Finally, the rainbow of happiness had entered my life.
