I recently read The Story She Left Behind by Patti Callahan Henry, the fictionalized account of a real author, Barbara Newhall Follett, who disappeared without a trace, leaving behind the sequel to her bestselling book, and taking with her the invented language she wrote it in. This novel struck a chord deep within me, not just because of its emotional depth, but because of its quiet testament to the power of storytelling. As I turned the last page, I kept thinking about how we pass stories down, how we learn from them, and how they shape who we are. And then, unexpectedly, my thoughts turned to fairy tales.
Everlasting Love
On my office bookshelf, I have first editions of Anderson’s Fairy Tales and Stories Children Love from the 1930s. They are beloved treasures that once belonged to my mother, a former first-grade teacher and avid reader. The spines are worn, but the illustrations are still stunning. Their pages whisper history, not just of stories, but of being passed lovingly from one generation to the next.
My earliest memories center on tea parties with my mother using a pink china tea set given to me by her mother, my grandmother, and sitting at a tiny wooden table with two chairs made lovingly by her father, my grandfather. My mother’s greatest gift was the time she made to read aloud to me every chance she had. From fairy tales to nursery rhymes to beloved children’s classics, my love of reading and books was fostered from birth.
New Work, Timeless Meanings
In The Story She Left Behind, generations of women are linked not just by blood, but by the stories they tell, or more importantly by the ones they withhold. As secrets are uncovered and long-forgotten truths are brought to light, the characters begin to see themselves, and each other, more clearly. The book beautifully illustrates how even a single hidden story can ripple through time, influencing identities, relationships, and choices.
The Story She Left Behind shows us the cost of silenced stories, and the healing that can come when we finally speak them. Fairy tales show us how storytelling is planted early and how it prepares the soil for later understanding. Put together, these two forms, the personal narrative and the mythic tale, form the foundation of our shared human experience.
There’s a reason we still read stories written hundreds of years ago, and why our parents’ and grandparents’ life stories still matter today. Storytelling is one of the few traditions that transcends time, culture, and age, and for many of us, fairy tales are our introduction to storytelling. Long before we understand the world, we listen carefully to tales of magic and danger, courage and consequence. These aren’t just simple distractions. They are moral frameworks, cultural blueprints, and emotional rehearsal spaces.
We need The Story She Left Behind and we need Cinderella. We need the whispered confession in a family letter and the dramatic warning of the Big Bad Wolf. We need truth and metaphor, memory and myth. Because they all do the same thing in different ways: help us understand ourselves and each other.
Relating to School Stories
In my role as Head of School I devour stories. Stories of the history of the school, stories of the journey of teachers, students, families, and donors. I recently met with a couple who had both been board members at one time in school history. I learned through the course of our conversation that he had been instrumental in creating the school’s endowment and selecting the investment advisors we still use today, a fact I did not know. You can be sure that the next time I speak with them about a gift, it will be for the endowment.
The best way to build relationships is by understanding personal stories, and there is nothing more important than listening, deeply listening, to a personal narrative, to help understand motivation, intent, and meaning. Even if the listening sometimes involves a person venting about a negative story. Often, a seemingly one-sided conversation can build a bridge and help connect someone with the school.
Families are complicated. Understanding a difficult divorce or parent health issues can help us educate students in a kinder way. Hearing stories from teachers about their own health journey, or that of a loved one, helps make me a more empathetic leader. I had a teacher in my office last week, devastated to miss graduation due to some pre-op testing that was necessary. I know from listening to her stories over time, how dedicated this employee is, and how much she loves all our students. If I did not know her stories about what the school means to her, I may not have reacted in the same way when she shared her graduation conflict.
Indelible Acts
In a world that often feels chaotic, storytelling is an act of bravery. It’s how a grandmother’s grief becomes a granddaughter’s strength. It’s how a fairy tale about a girl in a red hood teaches a child to trust her instincts.
And, one day, the story you tell, or the one you leave behind, may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.
