What are Folktales?
by Glen Draeger

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Hello Dream Weavers,

As I was sitting at my desk trying to think of what to write you I suddenly shrunk down to the size of a mouse. My chair seemed like a small building. I looked down to the floor where who should I see but Professor Bartholomew Higginbottom, the Literary Mouse.

"Come down here!" he yelled.

Getting down from a chair that is forty to fifty feet high is no easy task, but I discovered that my small hands allowed me to grip the fabric of the seat. Slowly I climbed down the edge digging my fingers into the chair to get a good grasp. Next I grabbed the cloth underneath the chair, then swung from hand to hand to the middle leg and climbed down to the floor.

"Well," the professor laughed, "a mouse would have done that a lot faster and with more style. So, what can I do for you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you're small like me, you must need some help. Whenever you need help from me—you'll shrink and I'll know it."

"Well," I said, "I was writing my students—oh, I remember, I wanted to tell them about folktales because we are reading two folktales: The Weaving of a Dream, a Chinese folktale and The Magic Peach, a Japanese folktale."

Professor Higginbottom scratched his chin, pulled one of his long whiskers then looked at me through his tiny pair of glasses. I know just the professor you should talk to, Professor Junerjunker."

"Junerjunker?" I asked.

"Yes, she's a cockroach—"

"A cockroach!!" I yelled. "I'm not talking to a cockroach. I don't want cockroaches in my home!"

"She's the best folklorist around," he cautioned.

"What's a folklorist?" I asked.

"Let's go see her. She can tell you. Follow me," the professor said.

We proceeded through the small hole in the wall under my desk, said hello to Dr. Jitmiggle at his tuna can desk and after a number of left and right turns and nine different trips up and down flights of stairs we arrived at small door that I think was in the wall of our kitchen. The professor knocked.

"Go away!" a voice said from inside. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Professor Junerjunker, I have a guest who wants to talk to you about folktales," the mouse said.

"So what!"

"It's Mr. Draeger, the owner of this house."

The door burst open. "It's him!" she screamed.

"Who?" Professor Higginbottom asked.

"The monster stomper! The other night he chased me under the refrigerator. Twice, he nearly smashed me with his foot!" Professor Junerjunker stood on her back legs and was half my height. Her long, brown whiskers fluttered back and forth brushing against my chin. It tickled; I started to laugh.

"You are a cockroach," I said defensively.

"I am. But I am also a folklorist. Even folklorist have to eat!"

"I didn't know. I won't do it anymore." Neither of us spoke for a few seconds then I asked, "What is a folklorist?"

Immediately her personality changed. "We study stories that people from different countries or different areas of a country tell each other year after year after year. For example, a son might hear a story from his father who heard it from his mother who heard it from her mother who heard it from her uncle who heard it from his aunt and so on."

"Those stories are called 'folktales'?" I asked.

"Yes. Usually people do not write them down. They keep telling the same story sometimes over hundreds of years. The Weaving of a Dream is a story like that from China."

"How did you know we are reading that?"

"I saw you reading it the other night when I was hurry scurrying across the floor so your dog wouldn't eat me. Anyway, Mr. Draeger, all the countries of the world have folktales. There are tales from Japan, Mexico, Germany, America, India and Africa. Many other places too. There are different types of folktales. There are animal folktales like The Tortoise and the Hair and miraculous folktales like Cinderella."

"Wow," I said.

"And folktales sometimes teach you something—something that might help you live your life. Now may I go back to sleep?" Professor Junerjunker asked. "I have to get up at midnight."

"Please, Professor," the mouse said. "Go to sleep. Thank you for speaking with us."

"I'll leave some cheese out for you," I said.

Her long whiskers twitched quickly, "Make sure it's Cheddar cheese, I hate Monterey Jack."

Well, it's a strange house I live in, but it's a very interesting one. Have a great day and leave some cheese out tonight. Who knows? You might just be feeding a folklorist.

Regards,
Mr. Draeger

©2005-2008 Glen Draeger (all rights reserved)
Millstone Education: World Literature / http://www.millstoneeducation.com/worldLit