The Adventures of the Silent One

Teenagers never seem to think about death. We think we’re indestructible, and I’m no exception. But when I was 15, the doctor’s prescription of prolonged silent treatment seemed worse than death. The virus and growths seriously affecting my vocal cords were indeed dangerous, and silent treatment was the only hope for a partial recovery of normal speech. Because partial recovery did not include singing, changing pitch, or projecting my voice from a stage, I felt that I was doomed to a bleak existence. Then I presented the verdict to my speech coach, my drama director, and my choir director. After each one of these advisers “released” me from speech competition, the theatre troupe, and singing groups, my future truly did seem bleak. Though it was difficult then to see any sunlight through such a blizzard of misfortune, I know now that my illness did me good in many ways. I found, surprisingly, that being indefinitely silenced by my doctor greatly increased my ability to listen, to understand, and to solve others’ problems.

Before being forced into becoming a listener, I was far from being silent or a listener. Instead, I was too loud and too interested in entertaining to listen. Once, on the way home from a speech tournament, I kept almost the entire busload of kids in stitches with my impersonations of judges. I didn’t even notice my girlfriend, Nancy, crying in the seat beside me, who had been crushed by a judge’s rude comments. But now my illness forced me off onto a silent sideline away from the high school limelight.

My ability to understand others increased as I accepted my new role of being the silent listener. Since I could no longer speak, my only mode of meaningful communication was listening. Thus, I was forced into becoming the silent listener. As I began to accept this new role, my heart began to open to others’ ideas. For instance, one day after school I found a girl, Serena, crying in the bathroom because she was afraid she was pregnant. I threw aside my dislike of such situations, stopped, and we discussed in whispers how she might handle the problem. A discussion of views on abortion ensued, and when we left, we both left feeling better. My new role of being the Silent One had made me deal openly with a subject I had once closed out of my mind.

In time, I became more than a silent listener: I was slowly becoming an understanding listener. A few days after the bathroom incident, I heard Nancy noisily kick her locker shut–BANG! RATTLE, RATTLE, RATTLE! Normally, I would tease Nancy about a thing like that and turn it into some kind of joke, ignoring personal feelings. But now, the Silent One could only turn and listen as she began to rant and rave about her rotten boyfriend. Finally, we discussed (with me whispering) the real problem: Nancy’s father had left home a few months ago and Nancy was holding a grudge against all men. Nancy appreciated my allowing her to bring her problem out into the open, and she began to work on accepting boys as human beings.

My increased understanding also made me realize that most people suffer from stumbling over petty problems. Joe Chandler, for example, was positive that he was stupid. His real problem was that he talked so much in class that he never knew what was going on. Usually I agreed that he was stupid and kidded him about it. But now, unable to tease, the Silent One took it a little more seriously. In a note, I bet him a dollar that solving the minor problem of talking in class would cure his big problem of stupidity. Joe took the bet and found out that I was right. He was so grateful to me that he’s been my good buddy ever since.

The successes I managed in developing my abilities of listening and understanding made the silent listener role much more rewarding than the bleak existence I had feared. Now I have recovered one thousand percent more than medically expected. My voice is back! Not only can I speak, but I can sing and act as well as ever. Even more importantly, I emerged from my illness with an increased understanding and appreciation of others, especially Serena, Nancy, and Joe. But, please, God—I really did learn my lesson about listening and being understanding, so I sure do hope my next wonderful lesson in life isn’t so painful!