It is no secret to my closest
friends that I am not
much of a conversationalist.
Perhaps I am a reaction
to a mother who loved conversation
and ranked it right
up there with other forms of
expression that she revered:
theater and art. Ironically, so
long as I can stay awake, and
no matter how vibrant any
conversation might be, my
preference has always been
for listening.
The only conversation arena
that appeals to me is the
classroom, a place where
for thirty years I encouraged
discussion for the sole purpose
of developing critical
thinking and reading skills.
Get me out of the classroom
and my conversation skills
disappear. Who knows
why? I have always been
comfortable in my own skin
and have never needed
thought to be fueled by talk.
I enjoy writing because I can
communicate with others
without the immediate give
and take of conversation.
Of course, writing requires
a conversation with the self
that emerges as black letters
on a page.
My most prized form of
conversation is either with
my inner voice, which does
not hesitate to put me in
my place when I get a bit
high minded, even unintentionally
disingenuous, or
a private chat with a close
friend. Lively conversations
do energize me from time
to time, but they are as rare
as the chance appearance
of a sand hill crane in my
neighbor’s pasture.
I have been thinking a lot
about communication since
reading this passage in Reinhold
Niebuhr’s book ``The
Irony of American History’’:
``The inventions of writing
and printing represent two of
the most important chapters
in the history of culture. But
the further elaboration of
communications in the arts of
mass communication have led
to the vulgarization of culture
as well as to the dissemination
of its richest prizes among the
general public.’’ We hear a lot
about twittering and tweeting
these days. Curmudgeon that
I am, I will never be caught
either twittering or tweeting.
Actually, as a birder I will
tweet once in a while to cajole
a bird out of hiding, but that is
as far as it goes.
Young people especially
seem to be drawn to instant
messaging, as if waiting were
some sort of spiritual sin.
I have never quite figured
out what all the hurry was
about anyway. Most of the
public chatter that I hear
these days is utterly useless,
insignificant, and often quite
inane. We rightly lament the
loss of those cultural practices.
