I have started this post 452 times. And then I listened to the Active Voice on
about 3 crazy talented writers who are serializing their writing.I want to do that, too!
So…here goes. Installment, chapter, episode, phase, segment 1 of the kinda post cancer sort of launched children me.
I’ve been trying to write about the art of listening. It’s been clunky and bad. So I went to see Barbie.
Fucking brilliant.
And funny. And real. And sad.
There is a lot of listening to do while watching that movie. And while some (one) of the males in my life are quick to point out the irony of a movie about the “hardships” of being a woman in a movie created by a woman…I have to believe some of the things he “heard” soaked in. Surely I raised him better than that.
Personally, I think the real irony is that it came out precisely when we seem to be going back in time, but that’s just me.
I recently got a note from a parent whose son I taught years ago. She thanked me for listening when others had assumed his doodling meant he was in la la land.
I wasn’t the world’s greatest teacher. I didn’t win any awards. Didn’t really care as much as I pretended to about test scores. But I was a good listener. That child - the one so many others scolded - has a genius level IQ - but also a processing issue and Autism that have just been diagnosed. I knew there was more to that kid. He will do great things.
I always loved a good doodler.
I will never forget my first official evaluation. I had taken 19 years away from the classroom to raise my kids (of whom I still struggle with this listening thing but I am working on it). This woman sat in the back of my classroom, took copious notes, nodded along, and tried to look inconspicuous. When she came back to give me my “score” - she said I was good to great in every category except “knowledge of my students”. I was - and apparently still am - pissed.
I asked what she meant. She replied that I did not call upon, no do more than walk by and give a little soft shoulder squeeze, to a particular girl in the back of the room.
I knew exactly whom she was referring. And, no, I did not push her to speak that day. I did not force her to open her book. I did nothing more than show that child that I saw her. And that I heard her.
The day before, on a brilliant fall evening in Tennessee, her father, whom she had written about, whom she adored, had been indicted for tax fraud. He’d been arrested at their home. In front of her.
So, no, nameless educational expert, I did not force her to do anything that Tuesday. I just listened.
I saw that student just before graduation and all she said was say thank you.
I had forgotten all about that moment until I got that note…
And then,
Sitting in the Delta lounge at Laguardia, a guy came up and asked, “Are you Juli Brenning?”
Fucking crazy!
We went to high school together. I haven’t seen him in 35 years. Of course we made the obligatory chit chat one does with a human you haven’t seen for 35 years. He was on a layover from Rome to LA. I was drinking free chardonnay.
When he asked what I’d been up to, it didn’t feel like the right time to say, well, you know, cancer. What I did say, shocked me. I said, “I’ve been paying attention.”
Paying attention and listening. That about sums up the last few months.
Like this story about a chess playing pigeon.
Sometimes a pigeon is just a pigeon, other times it’s a chess player. You won’t know if you don’t fucking pay attention!
And…
Sometimes things just come out of my mouth and I’m as surprised anyone. Like the time I told a customs officer I was a writer when in fact, I was a middle school teacher. Apparently, I was manifesting. Or just delusional.
But this I’ve learned, listening is an art. And only has a teeny tiny bit to do with hearing.
To Be Continued…
Julie!!! I want more! Continue! CONTINUE!
Amen on those evaluations 😑 one day in our rooms doesn’t tell enough about what we do and don’t do!! 🩷🩷