I have an eavesdropping problem.  As a child, my unique sense of self and fashion meant I was often talked about, and not in the way that any little girl wants to be talked about.  Quiet and bookish, I saved my saved my sass for my siblings and decided that if I was going to be talked about by my classmates and peers, at least I wanted to know what they were saying. I didn’t talk much, so it was often easy for me to listen to what others were saying.  Generally, when people have the gall to talk about you, they don’t value you enough to see you anyway, so they let their words fly indiscriminately.  Just listening wasn’t enough for me, though, and over time I developed the ability to hold a full conversation with someone while simultaneously listening to every word exchanged within my earshot.  

This skill has served me well as a teacher.  I am often privy to details about incidents inside or outside our school building because the teenagers in front of me have no idea I’m listening.  It’s also proven helpful in social situations.  I know if a man is showing interest in me or one of my friends, if a group of girls is judging my dance moves, or if the couple at the next table is having an affair.  I’ve eavesdropped for so long, and in so many situations that it has become automatic.  Once I was eating outside on a patio with a group of friends.  We talked, laughed, and engaged in our usual shenanigans, until the group of men behind us stood up and left.  I let out a massive sigh and exclaimed: “Those men were SUCH a-holes!”  My friends looked at me like I was a lunatic.  How could I possibly know that?  I had just listened to them spew misogynistic vitriol for a full half hour, and no one else at the table had noticed a thing.

A few months ago, I briefly dated a reporter, and let me tell you – reporters have serious eavesdropping problems.  I realized this fact when we were seated at a bar having dinner and, at the same moment, we rolled our eyes at a ridiculous conversation that the couple next to us was having.  “Did you hear that?” I asked.  He’d heard it all, and we went on to talk for several minutes about our thoughts on the couple.  I had never met someone with ears like mine, and I found it both attractive and unnerving.  He explained to me that, as a reporter, he always had to be listening.  He had picked up tips for stories on the train, in line for his coffee, or even eating dinner with friends.  For all his ability to listen, though, the reporter was a terrible communicator, and it got me thinking.

We’re going to take a bit of a left turn, but trust me, I’ll bring this around.  Last night, I went to hear Fr. Manuel Dorantes speak at a Theology on Tap event at Old St. Pat’s.  Fr. Manny, as he is called, is the pastor at Immaculate Conception parish at 44^th and California, a church located in one of the most violent neighborhoods in Chicago.  Prior to being assigned to Immaculate Conception, though, he served as pastor of St. Clement in Lincoln Park – one of the wealthiest, white-collar neighborhoods of Chicago.  He explained that, during his tenure at St. Clement, he would often read about the daily violence enacted within the gang-infested neighborhoods of the south side.  In print and news media, the incessant violence of these neighborhoods is almost universally explained away with the deceptively simple phrase –  “gang-related.”  As it does for most of us in more affluent, “safe,” areas of Chicago, that phrase allowed Fr. Manuel to dismiss what are, in actuality, brutal and often senseless murders.  Reading or hearing that acts of violence are “gang-related” allows us to blindly categorize the perpetrators and the victims as “bad” people.  During his time at Immaculate Conception, Fr. Manny has learned that the truth is never so simple.

When I dated the reporter, he repeatedly talked about the violence in Chicago – violence he reports on day in and day out.  I do believe that he cares deeply about this city and that he is fully committed to truth and authenticity in his reporting.  As I listened to Fr. Manuel last night, however, I couldn’t help but think that if I watched the reporter on TV (which I don’t because, well, I don’t want to), I would hear the phrase “gang-related” come out of his mouth.  Often. Perhaps even on a daily basis.  The bottom line is – words matter.  The way we use words to articulate, obfuscate, and even obliterate the truth matters.  If someone who has made a career out of broadcasting facts can (even unwittingly) turn a phrase that allows us to turn our backs on violence as he is reporting on it – imagine the damage we do with words in our own lives. I realize I’m skirting a much larger issue of truth in media here, but for me – today – it is a means to a different end. 

Think about the ways we use words to talk to and about ourselves, and others.  Think about the sly insults, the palliative phrases, and the half-truths.  Think about how we ask questions, how we answer them and think about all the words we allow to do unmitigated damage to our psyches and the hearts of others simply because they go unsaid.  When Fr. Manuel moved to Immaculate Conception parish, he physically stepped into the space of the phrase “gang-related.”  Rather than look away from the frightening thing, he walked into it.  What if we did the same?

Talking to Strangers is a blog about talking, and it’s a blog about listening.  It’s a blog about taking chances with words – both in the real world and on the (metaphorical) page.  It’s a project that has made me think deeply about the power of language, which, admittedly, I think about quite a bit anyway.  Truthfully, in the past twenty-four hours, I hardly talked to anyone at all…but I sure did listen.  (Ahhh, I told you I’d bring it back around).  What did I hear?  I heard the teenager on the beach ask a girl he was with for advice on asking out her best friend.  I heard two women in a coffee shop holding hands while they prayed (yes, actually prayed) that the younger of the two would find peace, healing, and a husband (yep, I wouldn’t make that up), and I heard the little girl in the changing room next to me at Nordstrom Rack tell her mom she should buy “that dress because it makes your thighs look short.”  “You mean skinny?” her mom asked.  “Yeah, skinny, “ the little voice replied. 

Today, I heard people being unabashedly human, and while just listening to strangers is certainly creepier than talking to them first, my introverted soul needed a day of rest, recuperation, and deep thought.  I’m feeling rejuvenated, and ready for another week (yes, I know it’s Monday.  Let’s not split hairs here).  As August dawns tomorrow and we enter the twilight of summer, I can’t help but wonder what adventure this new month will hold.

 

Until next time…