Listening In

One of my favorite activities as a child was lying on my parents' bed and listening to my mother talk to her mother on the phone. They lived only a town away from each other, but the day-to-day stresses of life made it easier for them to communicate via the phone. They used these nightly conversations as a way to stay in touch with each other, connect, and slough off the residue of the day.

I found listening in on these conversations immensely comforting. I would put my head on the pillow next to her and let my thoughts wander round my head. I liked to hear about my life: my town, my school, my sister, etc. from a familiar but slightly different and more grown up perspective. I would curl up next to her on the bed and listen to the familiar words and stories and it made me feel safe, important, and a part of something larger than myself. I was often the topic of these conversations, and I quietly basked in the unconditional love and comfort that I felt moving back and forth along the telephone lines.

I often slightly disagreed with my mother's take on a particular story or interpretation, and occasionally I would decide these disagreements were important enough to warrant an intervention in my mother and grandmother's conversations. I was usually only pushed to intervene when I felt that my side of the story wasn't getting told quite correctly or I was being somehow negatively represented.

My mother generally humored these interruptions, but it was my vanity that usually caused me to break into her conversation, and it would always break the quiet comfort I felt otherwise. My mother did not take to vanity very well. I would get slightly embarrassed, and then return my head to the pillow and begin the listening again. I would try to regain the comfort I felt, but it wouldn't fully return until the following night's conversation.

Something about the silence and uncommented upon stories was what both my mother and I needed--or at least were more comfortable with and was more familiar. We both seemed to need to have that silence there in order to feel connected to each other.

I'm not sure what that says about us, but I do know that I still make my mother call my sister in California when I am at her house and I even though now I typically listen from the couch instead of the bed, I've still been known to curl up next to her and listen to the two of them talk about life in Boston, my mom's job, my life, etc. Old habits die hard.