Musings of a story keeper

My job, to most people, is pretty unusual. I am a certified sign language interpreter.

As I worked it struck me that this profession fits distinctly into my vocation as a story keeper.

As an interpreter, I end up in situations and environments where two or more people who speak different languages and have different cultures are trying to communicate. MY job is to smooth out the differences so they come to some sort of understanding. They may not agree, or even like each other - that isn't the job. If one party is cussing out another, its my job to use just as colorful metaphors in the target language as I experienced in the source.

But as I sat there negotiating a conversation, it struck me that I am privy to some incredibly personal information. And even were there no Code of Professional Conduct or Code of Ethics, I know I could never share those stories with anyone.

These are stories that may entertain me, make me weep, or give me pause to reflect. Yet they were not mine to hear or mine to see - merely mine to interpret. If these two parties could communicate in another way, I would have experienced none of it.

They are not my stories to tell.

I don't know I could change enough information to protect the participants and share those which have touched me most deeply. I don't know it would be right anyway. The stories were not freely given, have I right to give them away?

I think not.

So while I have this repository of many a story freely given and so freely shared, there are thousands more that must stay where they reside - deep in my memory of people who trusted me to forget.

I may not forget, but I will never reveal.