Engagement Night Champions Storytelling & Community
Engagement Night Champions Storytelling & Community
3-minute read
Years before he arrived at Durham Academy this summer as the school’s new director of diversity, equity and engagement, Andrés Galindo read that storytelling represents the world’s oldest form of education. It is through storytelling, as Galindo and scores of other educators have long known, that we learn best, or at least most enduringly. Stories strengthen our community. They awaken our empathy. They deepen our understanding.
It’s why Galindo and the Office of Diversity, Equity and Engagement made storytelling the centerpiece of Engagement Night on Oct. 14. For 90 minutes in Horton Hall, an assembled audience of parents, caregivers, students, faculty and staff took in stories of hope, resilience and belonging from six fellow DA community members.
The night doubled as a showcase for DA’s commitment to storytelling in all of its forms. Upper School a cappella group XIV Hours kicked off the event with a performance. Dr. Michelle Rosen, the Preschool and Lower School librarian, shared audio excerpts and photos from the third grade oral history family portrait project. And the audience even had a chance to get in on the fun: Engagement Night concluded with “DC3” — members of the Upper School’s Dance Composition, Choreography & Community class — teaching the steps of the cumbia, a Colombian folk dance.
“As someone new to Durham Academy,” Galindo said a few weeks later, “my intuition quickly confirmed what I suspected: There are powerful stories waiting to be told within our community.”
There are more, still, to be told, so much so that Galindo and his team plan to host another Engagement Night in the spring. Until then, enjoy the following snippets from three speakers at this fall’s event, testaments all to the unmatched educational might of a moving story.
“It was 1997, and it was an important year for my family. It was my last year of college. My sister and I were the first ones to go to college in my family — out of 48 first cousins and 16 aunts and uncles. It was the year my little brother, Ricky, was born. And it was also the year my dad lost his job. He had been working at a bank in Peru for 29 years and 11 months, and he was let go a month short of 30 years of service. …
“In 1998, I was looking for jobs, and I got into a program. I applied to come to the U.S. for one year. Everything was included except the plane ticket, which cost $1,000. I was telling my mom, ‘Too bad. We cannot afford that.’ My mom said, ‘Take the money. It’s your chance to go to the U.S. Here’s the money.’ I came to the U.S. in 1998, and my journey from Peru to teaching at Durham Academy began.”
Liliana Simón
Upper School Spanish Teacher & Parent of Former DA Students
“A huge part of my story starts with my grandparents, and the story that I prepared to tell is about their survival during the Holocaust. …
“While most people tend to focus on the generational trauma that is a huge part of my grandparents’ story, they like to focus on the upstanders and those that stood up for them. They also like to focus on legacy — and their children and great-grandchildren.
“At the time of my grandmother’s death, she had six grandchildren and four great-grandchildren, one of whom is a student here — an 11th grader, Joely. While her demeanor was always very reserved, her reaction when meeting Joely for the first time lit up the room. A huge part of my story and my grandparents’ legacy is their grandchildren, and it’s very important for third-generation survivors like myself to tell their story. We’re really the last generation to have heard their stories directly from them, and there are very few of them left to tell the story themselves.
“But I see my grandparents’ legacy in my children and my nephews. My daughter and my nephew have auburn hair like my grandfather. My grandmother’s humility and work ethic are shown in my son, Miles. My grandparents’ legacy lives on, and telling their story sends a message of hope and resilience even when they’re no longer here to share it.”
Stephanie Cohn
Upper School Parent
“One afternoon after school as we walked to the car, my son turned to me and said quietly, ‘Mom, can you please not talk to my friends next time?’ I asked him why. He hesitated for a moment. And then he admitted it was because of the way I speak — my accent. That hit me hard. My son was embarrassed, but he was not embarrassed of me as a person: He was embarrassed by the sound of my voice. It wasn’t his fault. He was just a kid that wanted to fit in.
“But it showed me how powerful accents are — how they shape not only how others see us, but also how the people closest to us see themselves. So that night, I told him a story. I said, ‘You know: An accent is like a bag. Every word I say carries the places I’ve been, the people I love and the things that I feel. It’s my history. And it’s your history, too.’ Over time, he began to understand. Now he’s very proud of having a mom who speaks differently, who sounds like the journey she took.
“My accent used to make me feel small. Now it reminds me of resilience, courage and connection. It is the sound of adapting without losing myself. I look American, except when I speak. But that’s exactly what makes my story worth telling. My accent is not a flaw to fix: It’s proof that identity can have more than one home.”
