Listening is truly a lost art form it seems.
People just flat out no longer listen.
Instead, it feels more like people are only listening long enough to catch an opportunity to talk about themselves.
I find myself telling people things – important things – only for my words to be completely ignored.
Don’t even try to ask someone if they were listening. Odds are, they won’t hear that question either.
Listening is important.
You can pick up some pretty important information just from listening.
Case in point, a situation my child came to me about recently.
“You may hear from my teacher,” he began.
That’s never good, I thought. My experience had taught me teachers only called when something was wrong and usually, it was when the wrong-doing was on my behalf.
Instead of jumping right in with my questions, I decided this would be a good time to listen.
Mama always knew if she gave me the quiet treatment long enough, I would spill what she needed to know.
I thought I’d give her tactic a whirl instead of jumping in with my accusations and allegations.
“I made a zero on an assignment, but it counts as a test grade,” he continued after my silence.
“But it wasn’t my fault.”
I nodded slowly.
“Do you want to hear why it wasn’t my fault?” he asked.
“Well, my teacher told us we had to grade our own assignments, but we had to do it in pen. She told us we could not use pencil.”
“I had picked up a pencil in my left hand and had a pen in the right,” he went on. “It was just out of habit. Really. I always have a pencil that I am bouncing. But she came by and picked up my test and gave me a zero. Just because I had a pencil in my hand – and it is not even the hand I write with!”
Now, I could understand his disappointment and frustration at getting the zero. I would have been devastated.
But that was not where his frustration was coming from.
The first point of contention was the teacher was one of his favorites.
She has known him most of his life and in Cole’s opinion, knew he wouldn’t cheat.
His second issue – and the one he was the most vocal about – was that she did not let him explain.
“I wasn’t using the pencil to grade my assignment. I was just bouncing it. Like I said, it wasn’t even in the hand I write with. It was not fair.”
“It didn’t have to be fair,” I said. “She said not to use a pencil.”
“I wasn’t!” he argued. “You aren’t listening to me. I had the pencil in my left hand – I am right handed! I couldn’t change the answer with my left hand.”
“She didn’t know that,” I said.
“She would have known had she let me explain.”
“She didn’t have to let you explain. She said no pencil. You had a pencil. End of story.”
“Did you hear what I said? I said, I had the pencil in my left hand. Not my right. I was not using it. Only bouncing it.”
“Did you hear what your teacher said? She said no pencil. She is a teacher. Not a cop. Not a judge. She is not there to hear your argument or for you to state your case. She told you if you used a pencil, you got a zero. She walked by and saw a pencil in your hand. So, it made sense to conclude you were going to use it. I don’t blame her and stand by her zero.”
I think at that moment, I lost a lot of mom points with my child.
I had always been the first to rush in with the cavalry to defend and protect him.
I had always stood up for him.
But this time, I didn’t. Instead, I told him the teacher was right.
I wasn’t going to call her, nor was I going to email her, asking her to let him explain.
I was going to let him learn this hard lesson.
He had heard his teacher say one thing – not to grade the paper with a pencil – and thought he could go do another, as long as he wasn’t grading it.
Her instruction was implied.
It wasn’t spelled out explicitly, but it was more of a subtle understanding: just don’t pick up a pencil, because it will look like you are changing your answer.
And sometimes, those subtle understandings are the hardest to discern.
Especially when we are only listening for what we want to hear.