The Storyteller

“I was just a baby,” author Daniel Wallace writes in his best-selling novel, Big Fish: A Novel of Mythic Proportions, “Like any other – except, of course, that I belonged to him, and that made me special.”  And my goodness, did, and does, my dad make me feel like this; practically the next best thing since the formation of the Beatles, or the invention of the Fender Stratocaster. 

It helps to understand that my dad and I are alike in a lot of ways, and often find common ground within certain interests and niches. Since my arrival, my dad has been filling my head with nonsense – but only of the most important kind.

Never was there ever a man who knew so much about nothing.

Over the years, he has placed immense emphasis on nurturing connections with me. A thing, unfortunately, most children are lacking in terms of father-child relationships. Jack Brewer, writer for the America First Policy Institute, collected data on the difference between children who grew up with a father in the household, as compared to those who didn’t. His research spans a wide variety of interests, from how it affects their mental health, their futures, their world outlook, their criminal activity, and also into their schooling and overall life performance. Touching on the topic of school, a thing every child has to endure for nearly thirteen years, Brewer states, “Children with an actively engaged father perform much better in school, some data shows that they are 33% percent less likely to repeat a class and 43% more likely to get As in school” (Brewer). A disquieting statistic that would often fly under the radar, but one that speaks volumes. In its simplest form, in all the research conducted, Brewer found that children succeeded to even further heights when both parents were actively involved in their lives. Brewer also adds that, “Children from single-parent families are twice as likely to suffer from mental health and behavioral problems as those living with married parents” (Brewer). 

Through my dad’s simple, undeniable presence in my life, he formed a stepping stone for me that I am so fortunate to have been able to use. Through his simple presence, he gave me a leg-up in life. But he doesn’t just exist in my life, he is an active part. Throughout our relationship, he has spent countless hours and held many conversations with me about our shared interests, such as music, American history, and the art of storytelling. He introduced me to my two favorite bands (The Black Crowes and Extreme!) and even took me to see them…twice! He lets me raid his library filled with Wild West tales and books regarding the United States military, and then lets me pick his brain after, questioning all the philosophies of American politics. And he constantly introduces me to new stories; in various media forms, all the way from literature to films and even more music! In truth, he has introduced me to many of my greatest and most beloved stories; including, but not limited to, The Lord of the Rings, Big Fish, and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 

I get recommendations all the live long day; a simple, undeniable truth that is so dear to me: he cares enough to engage, connect, and share the simple pleasures of life … with me.

 A song comes on on Spotify he thinks I’ll like? He sends it to me, saying, “This is an Elizabeth song, if I’ve ever heard one.” He watches an interesting documentary, or a movie he deems worthy of a five-star review, (Trust me, the man thinks he’s a movie critic), I hear about it for the next week.  And the more I think about it, it seems odd to me that I am only now realizing this, but I believe I got my love for storytelling from him. 

I’ve always wanted to be able to tell stories the way he did, I’ve always wanted to be able to spot a classic the way he can, and I’ve always wanted to be able to make people laugh and feel connected and joyful and carefree in the few moments he takes to recall a story we’ve all heard a million little times.  

Words, what a weight they carry. 

In a way, he reminds me of that character from the movie About Time, the one who said, “We’re all quite similar in the end. We all get old and tell the same tales too many times.” 

But the thing is, this isn’t a horrible fate. 

And if there’s anything that comes to mind about a man who tells his stories one too many times, it’s the phrase that would always escape his lips at school drop-off: “Be a leader, not a follower.” 

I’ve written about this simple phrase before, but I feel it needs retelling, given it’s one of the things my dad most implemented into me throughout my adolescent years.

Deriving from 1 Timothy, my dad would paraphrase, “Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity” (1 Timothy 4:12). To him, it didn’t matter that I was seven years old with a lopsided bob-haircut and about three cents to my name. I had the power and ability and the opportunity to directly influence kids my age as well as the adults around me. But the best part was that he said it in a way that made me believe I truly could.

It wasn’t just a slip-of-the-tongue phrase for him. Every day I got out of that beat-up, sun-stained gray Mazda was a day for me to show the love and forgiveness and compassion of Jesus Christ to every single person in my life, big or small, young or old, Christian or non-Christian. 

I think that’s his greatest legacy: being able to show the love of Jesus Christ and encourage everyone else to do the same.

Maybe it comes from a heart too big for his body, or a long lineage of forebears known for showing up when another needed someone most. He is incredibly selfless and encouraging and easy to talk to and connect with and understand, and he can take the hardest of concepts and simplify them for you in a way that is not condescending but helpful. A trait, I think he inherited from his larger-than-life grandfather, Ben Merold. 

In its simplest form, he’s the world’s greatest father. And as I get a little emotional realizing that our greatest connection, his ability to artfully tell stories and make people laugh and forget about their worries and their strife, is what grew to be my biggest passion. I want to be a storyteller, like him. I want to make people believe the world can be brighter, even if only for a few more words. I love that he has shared how important and weighty words can be; that they are a gift not to be used unwisely.

Because I was never too young to understand the world or share in his hobbies and interests with him. I was never too young, in his eyes, to be of influence and make me believe that I could, and can, make a difference in this life. He has encouraged me to pursue my passions. And how sweet it is that the one thing we have found so much connection to; storytelling and the written word and a good laugh, are the things I ended up being most passionate about. He has shown me unconditional love and support, has guided me through the mountains and valleys, and dropped a few good jokes along the way, too. 

Thanks for the stories, Dad.

Maybe one day, I can write one as good as you tell one.

Love,

E.

Works Cited —

Brewer, Jack. “Issue Brief: Fatherlessness and its Effects on American Society” Americafirstpolicy.com, 15 May 2023, americafirstpolicy.com/issues/issue-brief-fatherlessness-and-its-effects-on-american-society.

Wallace, Daniel. Big Fish: A Novel of Mythic Proportions. Penguin Books, 2003.

Bible. 1 Timothy 4:12. New International Version.