Sunday, September 12, 2010
My father is a storyteller. The one who taught me that every character in a story has a voice of their own.
There's a story he now tells my children, that his grandfather used to tell him when he was a boy. About aviator Kalle Andersson. The best pilot in the world. This story was born in Boden in 1952.
When I was little I always wanted to know more about Kalle Andersson's girlfriend, the lovely Jessica Pelp (a secretary). Wilhelm and Blanka are more interested in the scarier parts, engines catching fire, lions attacking, mayday mayday!
"Tell me a Kalle Andersson, tell me a Kalle Andersson!" they'll beg him. And he will. If they're sick he'll do it over the phone. If he's not there, my mother will do it for him. When I was little he would tell me the story early Saturday mornings. I'd rest on his arm and dream that one day I'd have children of my own to hold in bed and tell stories on cold September mornings.
A family of storytellers.