The best teachers are also often the quietest. If we direct others to "hush" by placing a finger to the lips, then silencing ourselves, or keeping "mum" is turning an invisible key on our lips, indicating that they're locked. (TL:DR recording below)
The past couple of years have taught me a tremendous amount about childhood, adulthood, what divides the two, and the bridge that joins them. Or perhaps it's a rope swing or a zip line.
33 years in, and I'm hearing my dad's voice. "Slow down and pay attention."
If that's not an engineer talking, I don't know what is.
I had no idea how right he was.
Slow down and pay attention.
-Dad But it wasn't the play or the energy that needed to slow, it was my mind and my incessant need to narrate. And so I turned my gaze inward. This was not an easy, conscious, or obvious decision, but as it happened I became intensely aware of, and curious about, my journey. And a newfound appreciation for childhood emerged.
The way a cry can overcome a child's entire body is a magical event. From a scraped knee to the feeling of inadequacy, we shed tears to heal wounds. A good long cry later, and a child is ready to get up and try again. When provided the opportunity to listen to their body, kids can consider the circumstances around the mishap. Learning from a tumble or a hurtful comment, children can discover they're significantly closer to their expectations of adequacy,
Unfortunately, this is difficult for adults to witness, and our culture has discouraged public displays of self-soothing. Eager for children to return to laughter, we're quick to hush their cries, exchanging them for the long-term effects of missed developmental opportunities.
It seems a child's inner dialogue, ironically and often spoken out loud, ought to be acknowledged and addressed with a verbal response. But this only confuses their developing understanding of themselves.
One thing I learned in 2021:
Never neglect, but always reward with social interaction.
And so, I closed my lips, calmed down, and paid attention. The little ASL I knew, along with charades, writing, and pointing, communication became a game. Reserving my voice exclusively for positive emotional interaction permits children to listen to the way their body feels under distress while not being neglected attention. Arguably our first language, nonverbal communication, maintains significance well beyond complex verbal comprehension. We owe it to ourselves to always practice and refine this language.
"Speak only if it improves upon the silence." -Gandhi
The good teachers. Those who love learning and witnessing learning. Librarians. Mr. Bean. Charlie Chaplin. A theater. A fort. A point. A slap on the knee. A hum. A snap. A whistle. Dogs. Gromit. Shaun the Sheep. Mimes and buskers. Hobbes. Hobbies. Infants. People in need. The elderly. A look on a face. A tilt of the head. A shrug of the shoulders. A book. A breath. A whisper. An invisible key turned on a pair of lips. A wink. A blink. A nod.
Speech is silver. Silence is golden. A proverb.
Attention, social interaction, and companionship are fundamental to our being. Mistaken for neglect, silence is in fact a reinforcer of trust, and the putty of togetherness.
Silence reminds us to be considerate, to trust in others' autonomy.
Silence is not offensive or defensive.
Silence encourages thought and reflection.
Silence provides calm.
Silence permits space.
Silence is inclusive.
Silence offers opportunity.
Silence forgives error.
Silence communicates.
Silence loves.
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