 In 1941, I was five-years-old, just back from living with an aunt and uncle for almost a year. I didn’t know any of the kids on the block so when a girl from across the street invited me to play with her, I skipped to her house, filled with excitement.
She invited me to go down to the basement where a group of girls was waiting. The smiles on their faces didn’t make me feel good. The girl who invited me said, “We’re going to play a game. We’ll make a circle. Go into the center. You’re it.
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 In high school, I applied for and was accepted to Leaders, a club for athletes and dancers who taught part of the huge gym classes while the teacher stood on a kind of pedestal and watched. After being in Leaders for a time I decided to try out for Varsity, a prestigious club that accepted very few people.
 In 1953 I was a first-year college student, rooming with seven girls in the attic of an old Victorian house. One day, while lying on my upper bunk bed, I heard the housemother speak to two girls inquiring about the remaining two spots. “It’s a nice group of girls even though there are two kikes and two n.....s in the group.
That night, I told the other girls about the housemother’s comment and that I needed to find another place to live. When I asked if anyone wanted to come with me, one of the Black girls said she would. I was relieved, yet I wasn’t naïve enough to believe landlords weren’t prejudiced.  The principal’s normally calm voice on the phone was unusually dramatic. “When I took this position, I was warned about the 4th grade teacher. She disciplines the class through fear. In the past, parents put up with her, but now a vocal group of parents want her fired or fixed—their words, not mine. I can’t fire her because she has tenure; yelling at students is not cause to terminate a contract. I’ve tried to suggest alternative ways to discipline her class but nothing’s worked. I’ve run out of ideas. Can you come? If anyone can help her, it’s you.”
 In May 1983, funded by a university grant, “Have myth, will travel,” I wove together a program of workshops, seminars, and courses, for faculty, students, and staff. When it came time to leading a workshop for faculty, I found myself unusually nervous. Faculty can be very critical and those who signed up let me know it was mostly out of curiosity rather than an interest in stories. Usually when I lead a group I don’t do the activities—it’s easier to focus on what the participants do—but the faculty asked that I join them and I agreed.
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Nancy King is a widely published author and a professor emerita at the University of Delaware, where she has taught theater, drama, playwriting, creative writing, and multidisciplinary studies with an emphasis on world literature. She has published seven previous works of nonfiction and five novels. Her new memoir, Breaking the Silence, explores the power of stories in healing from trauma and abuse. Her career has emphasized the use of her own experience in being silenced to encourage students to find their voices and to express their thoughts, feelings, and experiences with authenticity, as a way to add meaning to their lives.
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