Just be quiet and listen

Like most kids, growing up we had to do a lot of listening. Some of us did it better than the others. Mom used to say we needed to listen twice as much as we talked. “That’s why God gave you two ears and one mouth. You can’t learn anything if you’re talking.”

It was just one of many hand-me-down-advices. Jewels of wisdom my parents received from their parents that now I’m trying to pass down to The Boy. So far I’ve been unsuccessfully.

But Mom sure was right. Take it from someone who talked all through two years of pre-Algebra and one of Colonel Baker’s tenth-grade chemistry class, you got to stop talking before you can start listening and learn something. And unlike most kids nowadays we even listened to our dad. We had to; if we didn’t, he’d yell at us and knock us on the head with his Auburn University graduation ring. We listen to Mom also because – well, she was Mom. And if we didn’t, Dad would hit us on the head with his ring for being disrespectful. Have I every mentioned that he had a very hard ring?

“Son, will you just listen?” was a phrase heard around our house almost daily. It was always directed toward the one being obstinate at the time, and came with something else — a few reminders with Dad’s ring. It wasn’t long before we all became good listeners and good duckers. In fact I got so good at listening during the daytime that I would still be listening when I went to bed. I listened to the sounds of the night.

Sounds like the little green tree frog with the sticky webbed feet stuck to my bedroom window. Crooking to his brothers in the nearby trees – a sure sound springtime wasn’t too far away. I listened to brown long-legged crickets — the ones we use for fishing up at the lake just below the haunted forest – singing as they rub their legs together. They told everyone that fall was near. And sometimes, if I lie perfectly still and listened really hard, I could hear the cold winter wind as it screened through the tall pines down by the swamp. Causing the frozen limbs to rub together, bend and break. A sure sound we were in for a harsh winter.

Growing up on Flamingo Street we even heard some things we weren’t supposed to hear, like loving parents arguing. There were arguments about lack of money, how to raise five kids and prepare for college. The most common argument they had: What was the best way to discipline one of us? An argument I was the root cause much too often. All of the arguments took place from behind closed doors so we couldn’t listen. Aha, but listen we did, for Dad had taught us well.

Arguments weren’t the only things I heard beyond my parents’ door. I heard something else. A love and respect two people could have for each other while working through the difficult times. Something just recently I’ve had to pause, remember, and give thanks for. Our parents taught us well, but even they weren’t aware they taught us when they argued.

Many years have passed since Flamingo Street. The night sounds are different to a parent. Now I listen for the train whistle as it announces its arrival at some distant location and wonder who is going on a trip. On rainy nights I listen to the sound of rain as it pounds the roof and washes the leaves down the gutters. Much easier than I can wash away the fear of receiving a late night call. Dad taught me that any calls after ten are not good news. Once again Dad has been proven right.

I listen for the green tree frogs, but their sticky webbed feet have yet to find their way to our bedroom door, and the creeks is too far away for us to hear the brown long legged cricket’s song. The night’s sounds have indeed changed for me, however the lesson I learned of the importance of listening twice as much as you talk never has.

You can learn a lot of stuff from your parents – no matter what their age. That is, if you only listen. I got a lesson from my father just the other day. He was at our new house for Christmas and took time to help organized the basement with me and The Boy. After an hour of arguing about what goes where and how things should be done Dad said to me, “Just be quiet and listen.”

The Boy laughed so hard I thought he was going to die. Turning to him trying to regain some of my manhood back I said smugly, “See and you thought I make this stuff up. Now you know where I get it all from.”

Listening is something we’re still trying to get The Boy to do. Unfortunately of late he seems to have gotten it backward – he now talks twice as much as he listens. That’s why he’s gone to Florida with his granddad for a week. If anyone could get him to listen it’ll be my dad. But just in case he doesn’t, I’ll be bring a large bottle of aspirin down with me next week. I’m sure Dad’s college ring hasn’t gotten any softer over the years.