The Lost Art of Listening

The world didn’t change when I got my first pair of glasses in grade school, but my view of the world did. Mailboxes suddenly popped up along the country roads. Leaves apparently had veins in them, and the teachers were actually writing something on the chalkboards even though I had not seen what it was.

Recently a similar metamorphosis occurred when my wife suggested a hearing exam. Julie was giving me the benefit of the doubt. Either I was not listening to her, or I was unable to hear. Since the recommendation for an appointment was firmly stated, I nodded as if I understood what had been said.

Two weeks later after pushing a button when beeps and buzzes sounded and a few times when no noise was evident, hearing aids were ordered. When they arrived, I walked around in a store and was a little irritated. The squeaky noises in my ear were unsettling. I started to complain but realized that it was caused by the wheels on grocery carts. That same evening Julie remarked that it was the first time in years that I hadn’t said “huh” during dinner.

Keeping our eyes open and having our ears to the ground are important. We all need to be aware of what’s going on. Glasses help. Our modern versions of the ear trumpet do as well. But sometimes I just want to get away from all the sights and sounds, from televisions and radios, and from stimulating conversations that require interactions and responses. I need to process and to wait for that special, inner voice.

I once worked with a third grader who preferred to read everything aloud. After a few sessions he was convinced to try reading silently. A few minutes into the assignment, he exclaimed, “I can hear the book in my head!” He had found his reading voice. Now that is truly a great voice, but it is not the one I’m searching for. I want to connect with an omniscient presence or at the very least with my own Jiminy Cricket. I’d accept a voice like Pinocchio had in his ear to provide me with guidance and support. I’m sure my wife would say, “You’d have that if you’d wear your hearing aids.”

I hear better now but fear that listening is not a personal gift. After coming across the website for the Nez Perce County Historical Society and Museum, I suspect my ancestors lost the listening skill generations ago. Our auditory gene pool may be defective.

The website shared that in days gone by the Lapwai Valley in Idaho was known as the “Valley of the Butterflies” or the “Land of the Butterflies” because of the wealth of the beautiful insects. “The name Lapwai actually comes from the Nez Perce word Thlap-Thlap, which refers to a butterfly and the sound that its wings make.”

The sound that wings make? Because of my glasses I can see well enough to tell the difference between a swallowtail and a monarch, but I have never heard them make a sound.

Sadly, if I can’t hear the fluttering of wings, I may never have the opportunity to tune into my special cricket or an inner voice. And, who among us can afford to miss an important message?

Thankfully, though, I have Julie to compensate for my inherited weaknesses. Her words and my “Yes, Dear” are ringing loud and clear thanks to modern technology …. when I listen.