I’m still trying to get over a traumatizing experience from yesterday morning. I was at the Weber Storytelling Festival, and the audience was eating up my every word about the scary ogre man that came out of my grandpa’s belly button. After the performance, a smiling little girl came up to me and asked, “Was that really a true story?” With a laugh, I replied, “No. All story tellers are liars.” In the silence that followed, I realized from the look in her eyes that I might as well have told her there was no Santa Claus and that soleynt green is people. Another storyteller tried to bail me out by adding, “It’s not that we’re liars, it’s just that some stories are more true than others.” But it was obviously too late. That girl’s eyes still haunt me. Neither of us will ever be the same.