In the previous post, I spoke about remembering significant experiences from my life, especially those that have shaped or named who I am. Here I recall a brief but powerful story of being on the cusp of adolescence and being heard for who I am.
Once upon a time, when I was about twelve years old, my life (outside of school, that is) was almost totally given over to activities that were related to Boy Scouts. And, because our scoutmaster, Harold White, believed that the way to transform boys into young men was through what he called “hardship practices,” the brave lads of Scout Troop 12 went on challenging campouts at least once a month throughout the entire year – even in the midst of the bleak mid-winter of the American Midwest.
I was very much the quiet fellow in those days. (I still think of myself as not very talkative.) Actually, back in those days except when I was playing basketball or baseball, I spoke only when asked a question. Yes, I was that silent. You might say: I was rather shy. I think that then, as now, I truly enjoyed listening more than speaking. About me, my mother would say something like: “David is just finding his voice, and in the meantime, he is listening with utmost care. The day will come when he will have a very strong voice, an encouraging voice. We’re trusting patiently.”
On an extremely cold, dark January night, camped by a frozen river where the snow was two feet deep, fourteen Troop 12 scouts cozied themselves inside sleeping bags spread across the floor of an enormous khaki-colored army surplus tent. I found myself in a somewhat isolated far corner, and prepared for sleep. But sleep was not to be the order of the evening. My tent mates wanted to talk. And talk and talk. And talk some more. The chatter (about girls, hot rod cars, and teachers’ dirty looks – in that order) went on for more than an hour. However, every fifteen minutes or so, Don would call over to my corner and request in a most genial fashion: “David, say a word.” When first asked, I called back with what I thought was a most clever retort. I said: “A word.” Chuckles all around. So, when asked a second and a third time, I replied in the same way: “A word.” However, as the time went on and I began to feel that my friend, Don, was simply trying to be clever himself, while all the while embarrassing me, I changed my response to: “Listener.”
This pre-adolescent bantering continued in this way until Scoutmaster White, who I’m sure actually took all this in with a big smile, declared sternly: “That’s it boys, all words will now cease. It’ll be quiet time throughout the night. And when you awake, may every word spoken be considerate and kind, and may you listen more deeply.”
I was always the first one up each daybreak on these camping outings. I helped Mr. White build the fire and get the pancakes going on the griddle. His first whispering to me on this bitterly cold morning was: “I heard the word you spoke last night: listener. The day will come when you grow into that word even more deeply. Those around you will see you coming and say to themselves: Good, David is on his way. You’ll not say a word but everyone will know a careful listener is here, and be glad.” On this morning, just the two of us huddled around the warmth of the campfire, I knew my Scoutmaster was on my side. He let me know that he saw and heard me…and I’ve grown into that person he named and valued.
And, what about you? At an early age, who might have been an advocate for you? Who let you know “I am heard and seen?’ And now, which young person’s side are you on?