I have done two performances in the past two weeks. The first at Tice Elementary School in Tice, Florida. The second at Books and Books in Coral Gables, Florida. Both were fun. And each time I learned something -- well, I always learn something. But at both events I re-discovered the power of mime. Mime is something I learned from my father who, most of the time, was a serious man. But he had his odd, loose moments when he'd break into outrageous, footloose comedy.

My dad used to do a really funny little dance and he'd embarrass my brother and me in public by kicking up his heels and occasionally actually kicking us while walking along beside us. His left foot would come out of nowhere and -- thump -- kick our butts. If he was in a ridiculous mood and we were in town walking on the sidewalk, he might step off the curb so that his left foot was in the gutter and his right foot was on the sidewalk, and he'd hump along foolishly like Lon Chaney in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Down deep, my dad man was a big clown and I picked up on his clownishness when I was very young.

As a storyteller I weave my dad into a number of little stories he used to tell and quite often I do his foot kicks and funny facial poses. I like to think he's out there in the audience, seeing me horse around, laughing with or at me, I don't care which. Or maybe, better yet, he's right at my side making faces and walking on air. I know one thing. He'd love to see the kids imitating my actions when I do storytelling. There's always one or two little mimers who give me a reflection of every move I make. Little do they know that their hoofer kicks go back to the days of Vaudeville when my dad was a kid. That's four generations of hijinks. Living history.