In November 1998, Ernie Boxall’s wonderful partner and mother to two of his three daughters decided she was tired of being second to his desire to be a football coach. The years of raising two young daughters, while Ernie spent his free time coaching, proved too much, and he moved out while his partner began a new life with the girls. Ernie had to move out of the home and closer to his work at a local hospital. It was his darkest time, seeking to rebuild life in a new location while still keeping in contact with his daughters. The worst moment came when he arrived home to find that his daughter had been attacked by the partner of the woman who lived opposite, who, it turned out, was a known to the police. He felt a failure, and the pressure grew. The hospital was restructuring, and the change was too much: he was sacked (on a false charge), and the world crashed. The change came on the first day he went shopping after the sacking. He took the wrong turn at a junction and found himself driving past a university and a sign advertising Tai Chi. That wrong turn in the road changed my life. The Tai Chi led to an introduction to Shiatsu Therapy and, over three years, an introduction to the art of listening to people’s stories. Ernie became a Tai Chi and Shiatsu practitioner and set up his own business. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard either, because Ernie had a gift for listening and delivering good networking pitches. It gave him the platform to deliver his 60 second presentations with authority. It also gave him an insight into the number of business owners who leave money on the table because of the unwittingly mistakes many make when anxiety and dread hamper their impact. Ernie started a business working with them to deliver presentations with impact. He turned to podcasting to deliver “No Story Stagnates”, with guests from all over the world, and hosted a live “No Story Stagnates” event where storytellers, authors, poets, and musicians entertained the audience.

When I was nine or ten, my grandfather took up fishing. After supper, he and I would get in the rowboat and go out on the lake. He was teaching me how to cast my line as far as possible, and then slowly reel it in, hoping that a fish would bite. This went on for hours: sitting in the boat, each of us casting our lines and reeling them in. He was determined that I should have the thrilling experience of catching a bass, but I never even got a bite. Waiting and hoping was not really a thrilling experience for me, but I tried to accept my grandfather’s assurance that it would be worth waiting for. There was another job on the boat, and that was the net. As one of us reeled in a fish, the plan was that the other would hold the net on the long handle, dip it into the water and scoop up the fish. Finally one evening, my grandfather got a bite. He jerked his rod in just the right way to secure the battling fish on the lure, and started reeling it in. I made ready with the net. As the large bass became visible just under the surface, I slipped the net under it and lifted it up out of the water. It happened that some neighbors were out on the pier, and spotted us with our respectably big fish—five pounds! It was a small enough community, and a big enough catch, that the story was repeated for days. Every single time, my grandfather would gesture towards me and say, “My granddaughter here netted it for me.” I know he wanted me to feel that I had been an important part of the triumph, and I did feel important. I netted it for him! That was almost as good as catching one myself (which never happened). Thank you, Grampa. You were a sweet guy.

Oh, snap. I had written a long paragraph, but it disappeared when I closed the page. Where do you click to save something that’s not finished?

I remember waking up as a 10-year-old talking to my Uncle Joe who played for the New York Giants I was a big sports fan and was so excited to hear his stories. My face would light up with a smile every time we talked about football and how much funny had. He was like a rockstar to me somebody I can look up to and want to be just like him as a football player. To to the day he died we still talked about football at lunch at dinner at holidays whenever we got together we talked football. He left me a legacy of sports that I'll never forget and be so grateful and thankful because of my uncle Joe.

There was a man who grew up in a time when stories were told in the evenings, when television ended at 6 pm. Today, that man tells stories to the public and helps people tell their own stories to the maximum number of people without anxiety or dread. Introduce yourself and tell me what your favourite childhood story was...