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Mouth open, story jump out was a phrase that I grew up hearing in Anglophone Caribbean cultural and linguistic contexts. It described an experience where the avoided topic of conversation somehow, in spite of our best machinations, managed to insert itself into the narrative, often awkwardly. You might say to yourself in advance that you are not going to discuss a particular topic or idea for any of the following reasons: it is controversial, it might seem rude or uncouth, it might be shameful to oneself or others, it could stir up deep emotions for which one may be unprepared. In other words, having the conversation will undoubtedly upset the status quo. However, as the phrase warns, as you begin to speak with the intention of uttering the carefully prescribed words of avoidance and subterfuge, it is as if the story has a life of its own and the suppressed topic comes tumbling out. Typically, the subject matter which was being carefully avoided is one which needed to be addressed. And despite the discomfort, there is a very real possibility of transformation for oneself and others through honest dialogue and careful inquiry.As I mentioned in another blog, “Story Bones,” my older brother and I spent our early childhood with our maternal grandparents in Antigua. They were born about a century and a quarter ago in Caribbean colonies, of the then British West Indies, when the British Empire arguably was at the height of its power. Household items and technologies for preparing food and washing clothes from the nineteenth and earlier centuries would have been in daily use. We, the current generation living adult lives in the early decades of the twenty-first century, were not there as living witnesses. However, those who lived during those earlier times raised us, fed us, taught us how to cook, and told us their stories using what poet and literary scholar Kamau Brathwaite terms “nation language,” a creole expressive language created by Caribbean people. We learned about descriptions of a variety of qualities of speech and oral expression including how bodies moved in motion or held postural positions. These descriptions told us a lot about the speaker and how to listen to whatever they were saying with discernment. For instance, someone who was dicty was fussy and ostentatious in their personal style. From my Trinbagonian (Trinidad and Tobago) friends, I learned the term mauvais lang to describe those who relished gossip. I also grew up hearing the term speaksy-spokesy used to describe deliberate, careful speech which indicated the user’s self-conscious striving for upward social positioning, often through avoidance of common, everyday language use including creole. From my experience, mouth-open-story-jump-out speech challenged controlled speaksy-spokesy utterances and lived into the postural, audacious style of the dicty. Mouth open, story jump out was outspoken speech which offered an invitation to radical truth telling. It held the promise of a path to engagement with the challenging work of personal and social transformation.Mouth open, story jump out is an observation about the power of stories which can transform our own consciousness and that of others in their utterance. Teaching can involve moments like these which surprise and jolt us out of expected conversational routes, especially those designed to avoid what we might consider topics that are too challenging, or for which there just does not seem to be enough time to adequately address. We teachers might pause believing that students may not be adequately prepared, but the topic intrudes on the planned lesson. Popular cultural texts, world events, and changing cultural landscapes can prompt what might seem like impromptu expressions. My suggestion is to embrace them as they come up. They might be the entry point to creative ventures, new research and curriculum ideas, and collaborations and collaborative problem solving. For instance, when I opened my mouth and dared to listen to some of the half-whispered stories, my work as a short story writer jumped out. They were the hidden stories, fragments of which lurked in archival documents. Speculative fiction was the genre which enabled me to blend historical research with imaginings about what the lives and thoughts of people living in the colonial era in the Caribbean may have been like as they grappled with theological and spiritual themes about the nature of liberation. In other words, these stories explored many of the same themes as my scholarship and course development. Speculative fiction enabled me to reimagine the life worlds of Caribbean people using Caribbean folklore to explore themes such as intergenerational trauma, liberation, memory, and invisible branches of family trees. Incorporating opportunities for students to examine challenging topics through written reflections, creative writing, facilitated conversations, and other creative projects holds great potential rewards for transformative learning. What stories will jump out, if we dare to open our mouths authentically in our teaching practice?Suggested ReadingBennett, Louise. Jamaica Labrish. Sangsters, 1966.Brathwaite, Kamau. History of the Voice: The Development of Nation Language in Anglophone Caribbean Poetry. New Beacon Books, 1984.