Tip #6 See strength.

The Tip:
Too often, society depicts older adults as weak. I believe differently. I believe in their inherent strength and believe that they can help us find ours. Our storytelling group environment is built firmly upon the belief that older adults are our society’s leaders, not the other way around.

Same thing when you are approaching an older adult one-on-one. Try not to think of yourself as “helping” him or her. Try to consider how privileged you are to be in his or her presence, to be given access to the older adult’s hopes, fears, dreams. If you think this way, you will find yourself offering the older adult choices and freedom, you will find yourself backing off on instructions, you won’t feel the need to assign a story topic.

When you look into the eyes of an older adult, don’t see someone weak, see someone strong. Change your perspective. When the older adult sees how much you believe in him or her, he or she will let loose and have fun around you, and suddenly skyrocket in happiness, strength, confidence.

The Moment I Learned This:
For my 32nd birthday, my buds in the storytelling group pulled off the surprise party of the century for me… so far. (So far, because every year after that, they kicked things up another notch for all my birthdays and even through me two baby showers – all of which, have been mega surprises ;)

My buds couldn’t contain their own excitement. When I walked into the room, they already began singing “Happy Birthday.” I looked that our writing table, and it was filled to the edges with cakes, sweets, drinks, and fried chicken.

The cake was huge, and the drinks were heavy. I couldn’t believe my buds had carried all that from the store to their homes, and from their homes to the senior center. Many of them walk with canes. Our room at the time was on the second floor at the far end of the building – which meant my buds had to haul all the weight down a series of long, narrow hallways, after getting off the elevator. Plus, when did they plan all of this and delegate tasks to themselves? That must have taken a lot of work! If they could pull this off, I knew they could pull off anything.

A whole sea of happy emotions washed over me as they sang. And most of all, I felt grateful, surprised and proud. And I realized those feelings weren’t just my feelings at that particular moment, but something I feel when I am with my older adults buds every week.

I started thinking about all the little things they do for the group every week… tasks that they have spontaneously delegated to themselves over time… how really, they run the group, not me… Beatrice coordinates the reading sequence and keeps track of time; Aileen makes sure the table is quiet during writing time so everyone can focus; Norman stays after the hour to make copies of the handwritings for everyone; Mo stays after to straighten out the room; Robert asks if anyone has a birthday that week, and if someone says yes, Joe leads us in singing a song; and all of them take turns walking Joe, who is blind, downstairs to help him catch the van after the session.

I started thinking back, to the first field trip I ever took them on, to Philadelphia’s NPR affiliate station WHYY. We were invited by the station to give a special presentation to their reporters and staff. I was so worried about all the logistics, like how my buds would get on and off our van. And they turned out totally fine, beyond fine. We had a blast presenting at a state-of-the-art conference room with a huge screen, and just as much of a blast singing goofy songs on the way there and back. Laughing and singing with everyone on the van, I wondered why I had worried so much, for so many weeks before the trip. I realized that they were capable of great things and all I needed to do was to let them be, and motivate them.

The seniors burst into Happy Birthday song mode 4 more times during the hour of my surprise party. One time Robert started it, giggling; one time Joe started it, with a jazzy vibe; one time Greta started it, laughing out loud. And one time, just everyone, somehow, altogether, spontaneously, at the same time.

A Story to Help Remember the Moment:
Beatrice Newkirk

7.19.2012

Our Writing Teacher



Our writing teacher’s birthday was last week. She went away so we had to have something for her this week. She is a good person. We love having her for our teacher. We have learned so much from her and she is learning a lot from us. Everyone in this class enjoys her. We all hope she has lots more birthdays to come. We want her to know we really love her. We all look forward to seeing her every Thursday from one o’clock until two. Madi (our teacher’s teen intern) has been helping out a lot. We love her too. We all love to work together.

Tip #5 Take 10 for yourself.

The Tip:
It's almost crazy to suggest this, I know. We are all so busy, rushing everywhere every day. And reaching out to an older adult is one more thing on our schedule. How can you find 10 extra minutes to give to, gasp, yourself? This is something I personally still struggle with. I make my appointments back to back more often than not, and when one thing spills over into the next, it's the opposite of a 10-minute cushion that I am left with. That's why I find it important to schedule into my calendar a 10-minute cushion BEFORE every time I call my grandma on the phone or attend a storytelling session with my older adult buds.

It's different for different people, but for me, it helps when I take a walk. The time I walk to the storytelling group is when I clear my mind of all my other concerns or responsibilities from the day, and quiet my heart to receive whatever it is that the group will offer me in the next hour. After that hour, more often than not, I find myself returning to my personal concerns or responsibilities with fresh eyes. Sometimes my older adult buds' stories may offer a specific solution to something I am struggling with; without exception every time the stories offer me hope and motivation that it is possible to come up with a solution.

The Moment:
This tip is inspired by the moment I read a personal blog post by one of our volunteers, Jen McGhee, especially this part: “The Best Day of My Life So Far provides a place and a space where people across generations can connect on a deeper level that can be tricky to find in our super busy, hyper-productive society, especially for older adults. For an hour each week, we get to come together to laugh, write, and share stories about our human experience or whatever happens to be of interest to us that day. Around the same time that Best Day came into my life, and partially influenced by the organization, I made the decision to stop letting my busy life get away from me and rededicate myself to spending quality time on a regular basis with my grandma.”

People who volunteer with The Best Day of My Life So Far program come from all walks of life, from teenagers to people who are proud older adults themselves, with different personalities, interests and backgrounds and the most dedicated and passionate ones have one thing in common. They tend to be the busiest people, with great careers, social lives and other interests and responsibilities. Counter-intuitive, right, that the people with the least time to spare give others the most time? Besides sitting with our older adults to hear and record their stories every week, Jen also works behind the scenes on Best Day’s fundraising efforts, while balancing a demanding full-time job, fun life, and takes art history and ceramics classes after work. I am so grateful for Jen not only as a volunteer but as a friend.

The Story:
Jen McGhee
12.1.2015
Reflections

Growing up, my two favorite places were the home of my grandparents, Gramagee & Grampagee (a hybrid of gram/p and our last name, McGhee, which inexplicably lost the H when combined) & Aunt Ellen and the library. Time spent with them in their old Victorian home and reading made my young world go round. I was the kind of kid who'd trail behind my mom in the store, tears running down my face as I finished the last pages of a particularly poignant story. From conversations with my grandparents to books to documentaries to podcasts and radio shows, I became enamored with the ability to experience another's narrative.

I've spent the past few years reflecting on this power of storytelling as a medium to transform self, others, and society as a whole. One night, while having one of these introspective moments, I simultaneously decided to research volunteer opportunities. On the first page of the first website I went to, Storytelling Facilitator for The Best Day of My Life So Far was listed. Up until that moment, I had no idea such a thing existed and was intrigued by the serendipity of it. I emailed Benita right away to express my interest and heard back from her almost immediately.

After our initial conversation, I did some research on Best Day and in keeping with the theme of 'bests', discovered that my best friend from middle school, Cara Scharf, was on the Board of Directors and head of the Development Committee. When I mentioned the connection with Cara to Benita during our first phone conversation, she responded that she was literally supposed to be on the phone with Cara at that exact moment and had to call her as soon as we got off of the phone. While we laughed about the serendipitous connection, we decided to confuse Cara by having me send her a text out of the blue to tell her that Benita would call her soon. From the get-go, things clicked and the energy within the organization was great.

I've been working with the group for three months now and feel grateful for the existence of Best Day and for the opportunity to work as a facilitator and development officer. Two of my overarching goals in life are to effect social change on a macro level and create opportunities to share our humanity on a personal level. Best Day accomplishes both of these in a real and lasting way. Each week, I am blown away by the words shared by the older adults. The depth of beauty, insight, and pure poetry that comes from a sheet or two of paper exquisitely written in the span of 30 minutes is stunning. One of the stories that sticks out from our most recent session was a story about parakeets. Who knew that a three minute short story about a group member's children's pet birds could leave you with tears in your eyes?

The Best Day of My Life So Far provides a place and a space where people across generations can connect on a deeper level that can be tricky to find in our super busy, hyper-productive society, especially for older adults. For an hour each week, we get to come together to laugh, write, and share stories about our human experience or whatever happens to be of interest to us that day. Around the same time that Best Day came into my life, and partially influenced by the organization, I made the decision to stop letting my busy life get away from me and rededicate myself to spending quality time on a regular basis with my grandma; there is no one else like her on earth and as the old song says that she lovingly sings to us time and time again, we belong to the mutual admiration society. I'm excited to be a part of Best Day and look forward to watching our organization grow and impact the lives of countless older adults and their communities.

… And below is the parakeet story that inspired Jen’s personal story, of course ;)

Liz Abrams
11.19.2015
Two Birds

Adam and Eve parakeets, the children’s intro to the wild life.

Yes she henpecked him

At night he would pick the lock on the cage, ease out of the cage cove
Out he would fly- 

He hung out all night
Daily
Day in and day out

She always squaked, squabbled, nagged
And cleaned his feathers

Each night, he made his grand escape

Before returning home in the morning to his cage
He, Adam, would fly to each room
And pick our hair, our cheek
And wake us for the new day

Then Adam returned home to his henpecked environment

This ritual continued for almost a year

Our family commented one day, 
One day, we are going to find Eve, flattened out
And Adam will be out of his misery

And then, it happened

One night, Adam and Eve, both out of the cage, walking on the living room floor and conversating

She fell over and died
The next day the children shoe-boxed her, buried her in the backyard facing the kitchen window

Adam stood duty on the kitchen window facing Eve’s grave

Never moved or ate anymore food-
Just looked out daily, without movement

And one morning, Adam lay on the kitchen floor, dead of a broken heart

A henpecked man does not mean an unhappy man if she’s the Love of his Life.

Tip #4 Choose happiness.

The Tip:

Life is a weaving of good and bad days, small and big moments. I believe that there is always a positive lesson to be found in our past experiences, even if they were devastating and something we have bottled up for decades. I was inspired to start this organization because of a series of phone calls with my grandma. These calls taught me that when an older person speaks from the heart, and a younger person slows down to listen, stories can lead to genuine conversations and a genuine friendship. Many of my grandma's stories are about difficult situations or complicated emotions, but after sharing them, she would laugh in the purest, deepest way because she realizes she has just confronted something that has held her back for years. 

The Moment:

Some of the most devastating stories I have heard over the years led to some of the happiest moments. This set of stories from Millie did exactly that for both her and me. Millie opened up a little more, week by week, story by story, and after every group session she and I stayed after to chat more privately about what she had written. Every week, I could see a greater strength and happiness in her eyes, until one day, she had a total breakthrough. She did the impossible. She broke free from a traumatic childhood experience that had held her back for decades. She said this: "This experience caused me to lose my voice. I am regaining my voice through writing about it."  She wrote down these feelings for me and let me take a picture, so we can both remember it, word for word, spoken in her voice. After showing Millie the picture on my phone, we looked at each other and we cried tears of joy. 

The Stories:

Millie Lilly

1.30.2014

Newfoundland

The cold and snow have limited my ability to get out as much as usual.  I am one of many who really struggle with the conditions.

A lot of my time was spent in cold climates.  When I was four and a half years old, my Air Force family moved to St. John’s Island, Newfoundland.  My older sister, younger brother, father, and pregnant mother lived in a house at the top of a hill.  We lived in the basement without a refrigerator.  The family who owned the house lived upstairs.  They had a son.

The wind blew off the frozen water bringing icy cold along with the sounds of the seals being clubbed to death in the early morning.  My father tells me the seals sounded just like babies crying.

I don’t think there was much thinking about the effects of hearing that crying on the adults or young children.

Newfoundland was a harsh place in many ways.  Some countries sent people they no longer wanted.  Surely some of those people did nothing to deserve it.

Millie Lilly

2.20.2014

The Beginning

One of the hardest things about being far from S. Carolina was being away from my Grandmother. When she looked at me I could tell she loved me and I always felt safe with her.

St. John’s Island, Newfoundland was a long way from my nanny. I believe she would have seen something was going on that neither of my parents could see. My mother was pregnant with 3 children under the age of 6 years old. She didn’t have much time nor was she inclined to encourage her children to talk to her. My father was hungry for an older man to pay attention to him. The man who owned the house lived upstairs from our basement apartment and was more than willing to play the part of the older man in my father’s life. 

Harold was his name. His wife and son Tommy – who was around eight – lived with him. They were from England. It turns out Newfoundland was a hot bed of pedophiles. People expelled from their country of origin…

Millie Lilly

2.27.2014

Just Tell Someone

I sat on the ground playing so it must have been during the summer I turned five years old.  The ground would have been too cold any other time of the year.

A few feet away my father and Harold were talking.  They stood in front of the house Harold owned and my family lived in the basement apartment.  A police car siren could be heard going by.  Harold said to my father, “You don’t want the police to get you, do you Ken?”  “Oh no”, my father said, “you don’t want the police to get you.”

Harold had been telling me how if I told anyone what he was doing to me, the police would do worse things to me.  Even at five years old, I knew he was jerking me around, but I couldn’t hold on to it enough to figure out to get help.

Harold was always thinking of ways to drive home I couldn’t tell anyone.  He was afraid about my father and my sister who was a year and a half older.  He knew I didn’t have a voice with my mother.  He never worried about me telling her.  He would threaten me with telling her I had done something wrong whenever he wanted to force me to do something.  When the baby was born dead, he said more people would die if I told.

Tip #3 Feel the love.

The Tip:
The Best Day of My Life So Far spirit is fun, friendly and feels like family, and can be felt every week at sites nationwide where we gather older adults and younger listeners around a table for an hour a week. I believe the best way to beat isolation for everyone, especially older adults, is to create and nourish genuine friendships by sharing life stories in a no-pressure, no-judgment environment. While the Best Day spirit is felt most strongly in person in our storytelling groups, it's a feeling and state of mind that you can easily experience from the comfort of your own home by reading our participants' stories and volunteers' reflections via social media. So, open your heart and fill it up with some L.O.V.E. and let it spill over naturally as you start a conversation with an older adult in your life. Don't overthink it. Just follow your heart.

The Moment:
Over the years, I have heard many different participants from different groups describe their Best Day groups as "family" - it makes me so happy every time I hear that. But Beatrice took my happiness to a whole new level when she said, "We are like a family. Or like a rainbow." I never thought of it that way before, but when I heard her say that, I thought, Wow, she's so right. That's precisely it. No matter who you are, where you come from, you are accepted, supported and valued here. I originally called the program a writing "class" when I started the first Best Day group. I didn't know I was actually starting a family.

The Story:
Beatrice Newkirk
2/3/2011
Our Writing Class       

Our writing class is the place to see and be.  We do things together.  Everyone has a good time.  We listen to everyone’s stories.  Some are read out loud.  Some members talk about what they had written.  After everyone reads or tells their story, our pictures are taken.  We missed last week but we always make up what we missed.  Because of the storm, we were not here.  Everyone who comes to our class is from different places.  They come from different neighborhoods.  The stories I hear are very interesting.  We are like a family. Or like a rainbow.  To the writing class, I love all of you.  I miss everyone until the next meeting.

Tip #2 Honor the older adult’s version of the truth.

Today’s Tip:
Try not to worry if parts of the older adult’s life are missing between stories. What he or she has chosen to tell you are the episodes of the life that matter to him or her, the moments that contain his or her emotions, values and dreams. Whether they are exaggerated on purpose or by accident, they are the older adult’s version of the truth, which is more real than fact itself.

The Moment that Inspired This Tip:
At the end of my second ever call with my grandma, I distinctly remember her saying this to me in Chinese: “A lot to tell. A lot happened. As I start to think back, one thing blends into another, probably hard for you to understand, right? But you are patient. You ask me. You are very thoughtful. You want to know. This kind of deep, deep memory doesn’t usually come up when you are just talking about daily routines.”

At that point, I was already in love with her stories but I didn’t understand how to listen the right way. For the first couple weeks of our conversations, I felt this impulse or obligation to play family historian, to uncover every fact in her past. I would get so mad at myself for not being able to bullet point all the things that happened in her life and fit them neatly into a timeline. Then something shifted. I began listening with my heart, not my mind. After getting off the phone one night, I had an epiphany. I realized my grandma’s voice is more precious than any fact in any history book. I finally understood what it meant to be a granddaughter. That was when our friendship I think really began.

The Story that Inspired This Moment:
Mei Chiu
06.27.2006
Bound Feet

My grandma had bound feet – did you know? She also lived in Guang Zhou in the same house with Old Li and me. Oh no, not my real grandma. My real grandma, I didn’t meet until I went back to the village and by then she was very old. When I was young, I didn’t know her; when I went back, she was already blind, so she never knew me. Gou Ma visited her and brought her food, and brought me along. Gou Ma was already sixty herself when she took me back from Old Li, and living by herself by that point. I never met her hushand, who had passed away by then.

And so, to be clear, the one I call “Grandma” was actually Old Li’s late husband’s mom. I can see how that could sound a little confusing, and am glad you asked! She and I spent many hours together in the house, most of which I spent watching her feet.

Sad for me – no school to go to and stuck inside. I wanted so badly to go to school.

Old Li was out a lot, and her mom was a nurse, or training to be a nurse, so she was out of the house too.

Grandma wouldn’t let anyone see her bare feet, so I had to use my imagination. It was pitiful, painful to imagine. Her four small toes were bent backwards under her feet. Her big toe was really the only shape in her cloth shoe you can see. She wore these shoes that had holes just for the big toes. I don’t know how she took a bath. I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t wash her body? But what I could observe was that she tipped her weight to the front of her feet when she walked.

Traditionally, the ladies had bound feet; poorer people had normal feet. But it was just going out of fashion by my time. Good thing!

I will show you a photo of my grandma next time you visit. I will find it. Back then, there weren’t many photos taken, so ones showing bound feet are very rare. It is they kind of picture they make many copies of and sell in Chinese arts and crafts shops – Americans like to buy pictures like that to decorate their houses. They must think the way Chinese people dressed is cute or special.

You know, rumor had it that Grandma was the first woman with bound feet who came to America. But how she hated it here! Because Americans wouldn’t stop gawking at her. She got here all the way by boat and rode all the way home by boat. The rides must have been unbearable, so the ridicule must have been even worse.

Grandma’s feet are really the main thing I remember about her. And I remember he singing. She sang to herself, staring into a book. You can listen if you want but it was intended for herself. Besides that, she spent her time reading the paper, listening to the radio (which had been invented by then and was pretty popular), and sang along to Chinese opera songs.

The Li family had a live-in maid. They had enough money. So Grandma just sat at home. And I was told to just sit at home. With no books to read. They said to me, “Girls go to school for what? You tell me?! Not like you will make money any way.” That is what Old Li said to me. I was very mad at for saying that but what could I do?

Meanwhile, Grandma would try to convince me to be a Chinese opera singer so she could go to shows for free. But I didn’t want to. I couldn’t tell if she was just trying to be funny, because she mentioned the idea often. If so, I didn’t think it was funny. I didn’t even like Chinese opera. I just couldn’t get into it.

What I loved was movies because they are about real life. In Chinese opera, you wave a flag around which symbolizes this or that, but it is not true. I didn’t understand. And besides, I was too short. I couldn’t see past people’s heads. They built low temporary scaffolds out of bamboo and threw wood planks across them. That was it – simple way of making many rows of benches, wasn’t it? The problem for me was that they were all the same height.

When I was twelve, Gou Ma brought me back to the village, where I finally got my wish – to go to school! Can you imagine my happiness? The sad part was, it did not even last a whole year. The teacher was old, and taught all the same classes in the same room. She tried to teach everything, but really only knew a little of everything. Now one good thing was, after I got out of classes in the afternoon, I sometimes went with other girls to the movies. Not too many times, but every time the movies gave me a mixture of real feelings, and I liked that.

Years later, when the Japanese came to fight in Hong Kong during the war, I went to movies a lot. There was nothing to do during wartime. And because of the war, movies got very cheap, only five cents. Your grandpa had a steady income so we had enough to eat and a little extra to spend. You ask why I had this kind of  freedom during the war, why I didn’t have to hide? You see, the Japanese kids were dropping bombs, yes, but just once in a while. You were as safe in the movie theater as you would be at home. We were ok, so why sit at home and be scared? You need entertainment to have a meaningful life. And for me, movies were very exhilarating. Of course, when peacetime came, life was easier in a sense. At that point the family grew, and sometimes we brought all the kids to the movies including you mom when she was little.

A lot to tell. A lot happened. As I start to think back, one thing blends into another, probably hard for you to understand, right? But you are patient. You ask me. You are very thoughtful. You want to know. This kind of deep, deep memory doesn’t usually come up when you are just talking about daily routines.

Tip #1 Stay a little bit longer.

Today’s Tip:

The moments that follow a genuine story are often the most amazing of all. Don’t just listen to an older adult’s story and rush out of the room. The process of telling a story from the heart will unleash all sorts of emotions for the older adult. Stay a while and give these emotions a place to go – keep your heart and ears open to receive them, and receive them gently. These emotions are often delicate and raw. Having another human being entrust his or her deepest feelings with you is not something that many people get to experience. Sticking around for a few extra minutes is nothing compared to the powerful human connection you will get to feel. 



The Moment that Inspired This Tip:
I discovered this tip years and years ago but it still feels like yesterday. I still remember thumbing through the notebook pages as Hattie walked back in after our group session. I was the only person left. Besides the sound of paper, the room was quiet.

"Hey! You're back," I said.

"Yes, I just came back to say... I want to come back to tell you this. Just now, in my story, I ended so abruptly with my grandmom, but there was more that came back to me, and I want to tell you."

"I'd love to hear more."

"So we were at the hospital. I was saying something to Grandmom. I don't remember what it was about. She smiled. Then she took a breath, like this," Hattie took a deep breath. "And her dentures slipped out a little. Her mouth softened, you know. I said to her, Grandmom, you aren't dying, are you? You know I am scared of dead people. And Grandmom looked at me and smiled. That was how she died. I cried. I told her I love her. All these years... and I've never been able to talk about it like this."


The Story that Inspired This Moment:
 
About Grandmom
October 15, 2009
Hattie Lee Ellerbe

On Friday afternoon it was time for Mr. Ferguson to come to our house. He was our music teacher. For $2.50 a week, per household, he taught all of us.

Grandmom was determined to have us all learn to play the piano. Growing up we always had a piano in our house. I never really learned to play but three of my sisters did.

Grandmom was so proud of us; she had us playing at church and anytime we had company at home. I am the middle child of five sisters. I admit, I was different. Grandmom wanted us all to be little ladies. I was a "Tom Boy" and was always having accidents by falling down or hurting myself. I was always on punishment.

Everyone, including myself, thought Grandmom "picked on me" and whipped me the most.

We had sufficient clothing and Grandmom worked very hard as a factory worker to see that we never went to bed hungry. She stressed education and religion. I never missed a day of school in 12 years.

It wasn't until I became a grown-up that Grandmom and I became close.

In later years, November 26, 1974 approximately 8pm, Grandmom died in my arms, with a smile on her face as I tearfully whispered - I love you.