How To Tell a Story

First I want you to know that these two stories are absolutely true from my memory.

THE BEATING

Warren Jeffs, the master over the innocent unsuspecting children of Alta Academy, commanded me to go and stand in front of the whole high school class. I was terrified with fright. At the same time he sent a red headed muscular adult man, who had a snarkey grin on his face, to face me and the three or four other soon to be victims; one of them being an innocent underage girl. The crowd was on the edge of their seats with sinister glee in that they were not forced to the front, and a sick curiosity as to what was going to happen next.

Then, just as we who were commanded to the front began to interact with one another in conversation, the red-headed muscular man pulled out an over sized club and began beating us! The club made its heavy effects upon my poor head and back. The other victims each felt the same effects. If we made any protest against the abuse the massive weapon crashed down upon our skulls with all the more reckless abandon.

And while we were here the most tender and vulnerable, moaning and groaning in poor anguish, the onlookers roared with sadistic laughter! Not the least of those entertained by the spectacle, was the ominous dictator of the class Mr. Warren Jeffs

THE SKIT

When I graduated from Alta Academy I and my brother of the same age were 18, legal adults. In our senior year we were both in the high school Chorus and Home Entertainment class taught by Mr. Jeffs. One day he called on us to perform a skit. One we would have to invent ourselves. He gave us a few days to gather props and costumes.

The skit, we decided, would be a United Nations Assembly. I was the delegate from England, my two other brothers and my sister for other countries. My red headed brother, the same age as I, decided to be an aborigine from Rwanda. The topic of our assembly was one of tremendous world importance, “What are we going to have for lunch”.

“As the head of this assembly, I would like to have you all realize the grave urgency that we must come to a conclusion! We must not spend days and weeks as we have so many times before, only to realize the fact that fish and chips are the only logical choice!” I said (in my aingleesh awksent). My red headed brother pulled out a foam waffle-ball bat and whacked me over the head. “No! Twinkies!” he yelled. So I sat down quietly. Each delegate stood to make their speech and they all received the same treatment. It ended with a barrage of argument out of turn and thuds of a foam bat. Mr. Jeffs stopped us because, well, it was dumb. “Give them a hand” he required the class so we wouldn’t feel so embarrassed.

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Both of those stories are of the same event. The first one I exaggerated the fear, pain, and most especially the laughter. The second one I exaggerated my speech giving ability.

The first one is how Carolyn Jessop and Elissa Wall would write it, or Kathy Jo Nicholson and Jaleena Fischer would describe it. The second version? The only thing that has going for it is…, well…, accuracy.