Young Writers Project is a creative online community of teen writers, photographers and artists, which has been based in Vermont since 2006. Each week, VTDigger features the writing and art of young Vermonters who publish their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for 12- to 18-year-olds. To find out more, visit youngwritersproject.org, or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org and 802-324-9538.
There is inherent magic in a child’s story time, regardless of setting or the lips a tale tumbles from. But when the yarn being spun is a cultural myth or family history, shared by the soothing tones of a loved one in a safe, cozy atmosphere, it’s enough to form the kind of memory that shapes us the rest of our days. This week’s featured writer, Mirah Lutsky of Waitsfield, lets us in on a precious moment between an all-knowing grandmother and still-learning granddaughter.
Dance of the Polar Bears
By Mirah Lutsky, 12, of Waitsfield
Late at night, my igloo is cozy and warm, unlike the Arctic outside. Grandmum tucks me into bed, but doesn’t leave just yet. She takes a seat on the edge of my bed and prepares her storytelling voice.
“What story will it be tonight, Grandmum?” I prod, impatient and excited.
“Tonight, my dear, on the eve of your 10th birthday, I have a special story. One that has been passed down through generations, on every listener’s 10th birthday.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “The Dance of the Polar Bears.”
Grandmum makes her hand into a fake claw, waves it through the air, and lets out a silly growl. I giggle at her attempted polar bear impression.
She waits till my giggles stop, then continues with her story. “This is a dance performed by two or more polar bears, plus their cubs, if they have cubs at the time.”
“Grandmum?” I interrupt. I know it’s rude, but the question burns in my throat. “How do the bears know when someone turns 10?”
Grandmum just smiles at me, like she has anticipated this question. “There is more of a story behind this, too, but I’ll give you the quick version. Long ago, polar bears were named Arctic Keepers. Their job as keepers was, and still is, to protect and care for all who live on their land. Dancing around one’s igloo at the start of their 10th year of life is meant to be interpreted as a symbol of their protection.”
When she finishes, I nod, silently signaling that it is OK for her to continue.
So, she does. “Someday, it will be your job to retell this story.” She affectionately bops me on the nose. “So remember it well!”
Grandmum stands, then plants a kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight, my dear, don’t let the howling wolves bite.”
“Goodnight, Grandmum,” I say sleepily.
Grandmum blows me one last air kiss, then leaves to go to her igloo. She takes the lantern, leaving me in the dark. I don’t mind, I’m about to fall asleep anyway. I drift off to dreamland while straining to listen for paws dancing through the snow.
The next morning when I wake and emerge from my igloo, I have to pinch myself twice to ensure I’m not still dreaming: There are polar bear pawprints embedded in the snow, all around my igloo.
