The Storyteller’s Chair: On Identity, Imagination, and the Spell of a Good Story
Earlier this week, I returned to the storyteller’s chair.
It’s been a while—juggling school, running my branch, and managing everything in between. But finally, I got to sit back down and do what I love. I even had my mentee with me, observing the rhythm of storytime and preparing to step into her own storytelling role.
As parents and children arrived, our 90-inch screen lit up with Gracie’s Corner—a vibrant YouTube channel blending lullabies with hip-hop. Quilts were laid out on the floor, and chairs were placed gently behind them. The room buzzed with anticipation.
At exactly 10:30 a.m., I saw a sea of smiling faces waiting for today’s stories.
You know what caught my attention most? All the children, every one of them, were white.
But here's the thing: that moment still mattered. Immensely.
Because right there, in that one hour, subconscious seeds were being planted. And for me—a Black, race-loving Librarian who dreams of seeing more children of my culture in these spaces—I understood something more profound: in that moment, I was the living reference of “storyteller” to these families.
A safe presence. A voice. A memory is being formed around imagination, music, and a story about a moose.
A smile passed between me and my mentee, and I told her: this is where the spell of reading takes root—not just in the words but in the space we create for wonder.
We remember we are part of the human family through literature.
I get it—honestly. I understand the urge many of us feel to see our people reflected, centered, uplifted in books. After centuries of being excluded, misrepresented, or ignored, that hunger for representation is real and valid.
But the answer isn’t to swing the pendulum so far that the story becomes secondary.
We don’t correct the imbalance with reciprocal exclusion. We correct it with inclusion without compromise. With stories that are good, not just good for you.
I do my best to bring Black characters to the page, especially in spaces where they’re rarely seen. But I also strive to champion stories where everyone belongs—because the ultimate goal isn't to win the identity Olympics.
The goal is to tell unforgettable stories.
And maybe, just maybe, let the next generation fall in love with reading for the magic, not the metadata
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