Recently, while passing by an elementary school in my neighborhood, I saw children taking turns presenting something in front of the class through the window. One child held a toy robot, looking excited, while their classmates listened intently. It was a typical show-and-tell session.

If you grew up in Korea, that scene might feel a bit unfamiliar. When it comes to presentations, it usually involved tests or homework checks, and there weren't many opportunities to openly showcase my belongings or share my stories like that. However, in the U.S., this practice continues from kindergarten through elementary, middle, high school, college, and even into the workplace. Even a single line on a resume or an interview response ultimately requires a story. I was curious why storytelling is taken so seriously here, so I did some research.

Looking into the roots of show-and-tell, it turns out it hasn't been around for that long. It became established in American elementary education in the 1950s. This activity was created to enhance children's verbal expression and build their confidence, and it has solidified into classroom culture. The purpose was clear from the start: it wasn't about getting the right answer but rather practicing how to articulate my experiences and interests coherently in front of others.

This practice seamlessly transitions into presentation culture as adults. In company meetings, if you just list numbers, everyone tends to zone out, but I've experienced several times that starting with a short anecdote can completely change the atmosphere. This is also evident in the TED talk culture. TED, a conference started by Richard Saul Wurman in 1984, consistently opens with a personal story in almost every notable talk. The focus is on conveying a story before delivering information. Observing skilled speakers, it's noticeable that they put much more effort into the first sentence than the slides.

When considering why American society places such importance on personal narratives, the answer is surprisingly simple. This country was formed by people from various backgrounds, so there aren't many relationships that start with a shared context. Relying solely on educational background or origin is insufficient; I need to share my journey for others to truly understand me. Consequently, even a single line in a personal statement, a word in an interview response, or small talk at a local coffee shop tends to take the form of a brief story. Providing context rather than just listing facts builds trust much more quickly.

Within the Korean community, there is a significant generational gap regarding this aspect. The older generation often views humility as a virtue and may feel uncomfortable sharing their stories, while those who grew up here are much more accustomed to refining their personal narratives. This could be a natural outcome of being trained through presentations and essays in school. As a result, parents and children may communicate differently even in the same setting, and sometimes misunderstandings arise due to this gap. It's not a matter of right or wrong; it's more about each group learning different survival strategies in different environments.

Personally, while I find that an exaggerated storytelling culture can be exhausting, I believe it can be a useful tool when used well. There are things that numbers or resumes can't convey, but stories can capture. Ultimately, whether it's a presentation or a self-introduction, what people remember is not the list of facts but rather a unique scene from that person. I think I might start my meetings by sharing a scene before presenting any numbers. It doesn't have to be a perfect sentence; a genuine piece of my story is enough.