"Listen"

One of the most wounding experiences in life is when people don’t listen to you.

It is my sporadically considered opinion that no one “listened to” ever ran seriously amok.

“Why did you run seriously amok?”

“Too many people listening to me.”

That never, ever happens.

“I’d open my mouth – Everyone stopped what they’re doing and listened.”

Not a menace to society.

“I’m just sitting there. They’d go, ‘What do youthink?’”

Someone you never need to worry abou…

“We get it.  Can we move on?”

What happened?  Nobody listened to you?

“I wonder if people write blogs because nobody listened to them.”

Whoa.  Now I’m ready to move on.

Let’s lighten things up a little…  

(And not a moment too soon.)

… without changing the subject.

The greatest scene about a person nobody listens to – on the money and hilariously funny – hilariously funny because it’s on the money.  It’s interesting how that works, isn’t it?

Let me start that sentence again. 

The greatest scene about a person nobody listens to comes from the Barry Levinson film Avalon (1990.)

Thanksgiving dinner.  (The movie concerns an ongoing seriesof Thanksgiving dinners.)  Three adult brothers, awaiting their eldest brother to show up because if they “cut the toikey” without him he gets mad.  (When they prematurely “cut the toikey” on a subsequent Thanksgiving dinner the affronted Senior Sibling throws a heart-threatening fit.)  

The three brothers bide their time, chewing the fat.  And somehow – I no longer recall how – they get to talking about this classic, old-time western movie.  

The exchanged dialogue goes something like this:

“What was the movie with the stagecoach?”

“Stagecoach.”

“John Wayne was the outlaw but he wasn’t the outlaw…”

“Stagecoach.”

“That’s what I’m saying, with the stagecoach.  What was that movie called, with the stagecoach?”

“Stagecoach.”

Did you notice they’re not listening to somebody?  And, dollars to donuts, he’s the youngest.  The burdening distinction of being born last?  Your older siblings act like you were not born at all. 

“What was that, the wind?”

“It was your baby brother, saying ‘Stagecoach.’”

A meaningless slight? Perhaps.  But I would keep thatguy away from the Thanksgiving carving knife, just in case.

(Theorized Historical Overview:  When people aren’t listened to, it’s like they are not actually there.  That’s why they run seriously amok.  “You know I’m here now!”  I might be worth studying just how many of them were born last.)

Okay, so here comes the jolting thematical “Turn.”

In my recent post “Defending The Magic” (8/15/2018), I (artfully) excoriated myself for prematurely robbing my grandchildren, Milo (six-and-a-half) and Jack (four) of their youthful and precious belief in magic, by explaining to them, after they excitedly ran in exclaiming, “The curtains in the bedroom are dancing!” that it was in fact a nearby floor fan causing the undulating curtains to rustle.  

I then regretfully felt my mistake.

I love magic.  And I feared I had torn the boys’ active belief in it asunder with my deflating logical clarification.  They had come to their “Pappy” with wonder, and I had answered with “a reason.”

Well, sir and madam, (and those decrying gender classification),

A few weeks later, the boys’ mother, Rachel, informed me that she had read my (more than usual) guilt-ridden blog post, following with a comforting, updating report.

Exploring upstairs at a recent gathering we all attended, the boys raced to their mother, proclaiming,

“Mama, the curtains in the bedroom are moving!”

Hearing those words, I felt a liberating sense of relief.  (Immediately releasing myself from “Wonder- Shattering” prison.)  Despite my intrusion on their illusion, the boys still believed bedroom curtains could dance.  

They didn't listen to me.

And for one time, at least,

I couldn't possibly be happier.

(Note To Readers:  Please.  If you run into them, no mentioning the A.C.  Better “All-knowing” grownups believing in more magic than innocent children believing in less.)