What's your favorite storyette

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 2:55pm

A storyette is a little story. Here’s a little story as told by Joseph Cambell:

There was a herd of goats eating grass in a valley. A pregnant starving female tiger approached the goats atop a nearby hill. She pounced down on the goats, but overdoing it, she gives birth and dies. The goats had scattered but when they came back, they find the baby tiger and raise it as their own. One day, when the tiger was a teenage boy, a male tiger happens along. He sees the young tiger and is appalled! He goes to the boy and asks, “What are you doing among these goats?!!!” The boy replies, “Baaaah.” The male tiger shakes him then slaps him, “Snap out of it!” He takes him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him to a pond. The pond is perfectly still. “Look,” he says to the boy, “you have a face like mine. You’re no goat!” And the boy, indeed, sees for the first time, he’s NOT a goat." The older tiger takes him to his den where he has a freshly killed deer. He tells the boy, “Eat!” The boy backs up and says, “But I’m a vegetarian.” The tiger, loosing his patience, takes meat and blood and shoves it into the boy’s mouth. The boy sputters and gags. (Here Joseph interjects, “As we all do when we first hear the truth.”) As the young tiger tastes the meat, he experiences for the first time what the real food for tigers tastes like. And he takes a stretch and a little roar comes out of his mouth.

Thequietone · May 7, 2008, 3:22pm

Snow White, was’nt.

Paul

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 3:45pm

This is my favorite. I always cry when I hear it.

A certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.

Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 4:04pm

I first read this story in the book “Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna”, by Swami Nikhilananda.

A snake was devastating in his attacks on villagers in a region of India. He did not bite and kill just to protect himself or to get food for his young. He did it out of the compulsion of a vicious soul.

The people were at a loss as to what to do. They decided they send for the master of the non-violence faith, a man who understood all things living or inert and the concept of non-injury. He arrived, found the snake and started to teach the snake. “If you want other beings to like you, you have to stop biting them.” The snake saw the error of his ways and decided to live under the strictures of non-violence.

So the snake goes down to the village and hangs out waiting for someone to talk to him. As he sits there so quietly, some kids start to get curious, and after time, when they see that he’s not going to strike, they start to kick him, and then they throw garbage on him, and pick him up by his tail and swing him around then fling him back on the dirt. He’s a wreck.

The wise man walks by sometime later and sees the snake all beat up and exclaims, “What happened to you?” The snake says, “Well when I stopped biting people, they saw me as weak and started pushing me around.” The wise man shook his head with great compassion in his eyes, and said, “My dear friend, I never told you not to hiss!”

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 5:00pm

All these little stories can be read at two levels. The naive level and a deep level. The deep level has the power of changing our lives.

“Every story you tell is your own story”–Joseph Campbell

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 7:36pm

A woman dying of cancer grabbed the sleeve of a cancer researcher and said, “Live your life, every delicious moment of it”.

From the book “The story of you”, by Steve Chandler.

MarcustheBlacksmith · May 7, 2008, 9:20pm

MarcustheBlacksmith · May 7, 2008, 9:25pm

I’m also fond of this little story by PKD:

vic-k · May 7, 2008, 10:02pm

Bob!! can`t you anything with this guy?

He`s in need of some kind of guidance!

There must be something you can do for him! [size=50]or to him[/size]

bobueland · May 7, 2008, 10:29pm

Hehe, no need

vic-k · May 7, 2008, 11:10pm

Well all I can say then, is, Providence look after the kangaroos, when hes around.`

MarcustheBlacksmith · May 8, 2008, 5:56am

Heh heh, I wish I was capable of such casual insanity, but alas that’s a story by California’s own Philip K. Dick, called ‘The Story to End All Stories’, written for one of Harlan Ellison’s anthologies in the 70s.

I suspect it was scribbled off on the outro of his famous ‘21 short stories, 3 novels’ year, driven mostly by the two-pronged barbs of divorce and amphetamine addiction.

vic-k · May 8, 2008, 11:50am

Msieur Clangy B tis not the tales provenance that the fool Vic-k questions, but the state of mind` of someone who would choose it as his favourite short tale! Hence his fear for the well being of the innocent roos.

Food for thought M`sieur…Oui?..Non?

Sincère amitiés
Le D

bobueland · May 9, 2008, 6:40am

I read this story in Dale Carnegies book “How to win friends and influence people”

FATHER FORGETS
W. Livingston Larned

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Goodbye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive—and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding—this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bed-side in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: “He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!”

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.”

bobueland · May 9, 2008, 7:04am

This story has been told in countless management books, but it’s so good I’ll tell it again.

In the 1930’s a management consultant Ivy Lee was presenting to Charles Schwab of Bethlehem Steel how to increase his productivity. After the presentation he said, “With our system you will know how to perform better”. “Hell”, answered Schwab "we do not need knowing, but action. Show me a way to get more things done and I’ll pay you anything within reason.” Iv Lee answered, “OK, in fifteen minutes I’ll show you a system that will make you act.”

Lee gave Schwab a blank sheet of paper and instructed him to “write down the most important tasks you have to do and then number them in order of importance. When you arrive in the morning, begin at number one (the most important) and stay with it until its completion. Once you’ve completed the most important task, begin number two and continue through the list all day long - only working on your most important task. If at the end of the day you have not completed your entire list, then don’t worry. You couldn’t have done so with any other method. Make this your habit every working day. After you have been convinced by the power of the method, show it to your people and ask them to apply it. Then send me a check for what you think its worth.”

Weeks later Schwab sent Ivy Lee a check for $25,000, an incredible amount in the 1930’s. When asked by his associates how he could justify such an enormous amount for such a simple idea, Schwab posed the question, “Aren’t all good ideas basically simple?” Schwab stated that the $25,000 was his most valuable investment. He said that, that idea turned Bethlehem Steel into the largest independent steel producer of that time.

MarcustheBlacksmith · May 9, 2008, 11:53am

Ah, I can, how do you say…live with that

M’sieur woofy, your concern is a compliment in a twisted sort of way, and that I love. Fear not for the Roos, they are far from innocent. Mean bastards they are, with a kick that could put a hole through a car door. Any, shall we say, amorous intentions from any sort of fellow would likely result in, ah, deserved injury.

rhacer · May 9, 2008, 4:54pm

bobueland:

I read this story in Dale Carnegies book “How to win friends and influence people”

FATHER FORGETS
W. Livingston Larned

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Goodbye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive—and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding—this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bed-side in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: “He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!”

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.”

I hate it when I cry while I’m sitting in my office.

This is priceless. As the father of three sons, I hope I can learn this lesson and NOT forget it.

Thank you.

vic-k · May 9, 2008, 5:09pm

amen! truly, amen

Take care
vic