One September, fourth-grade children smelling of summer surged into my classroom. They scratched and squirmed like puppies unused to the indoors.
District procedure suggested that I begin the first day of school by explaining the routines necessary for order throughout the year. As I welcomed my students, shining with hope in their new clothes, I felt to do so would be inexcusable. Rather than burdening my youngsters with 200 rules for happy living, I chose to spend 30 minutes teaching them how to listen. I believed then, and now, that careful listening in school, as in the world, could solve most problems.
I explained three steps for skillful listening: Stop what you are doing, look at the speaker, and attend so closely that you could summarize the speaker’s words, if asked. I presented examples of careful listening and of careless listening, and we discussed them. Then we practiced, practiced again, and periodically reviewed. Over the year, it worked. Most of the time they were courteous listeners.
I found illustrations of poor listening without difficulty. Each time I ordered at the local sandwich shop, the server asked, “Want everything on it?” I replied that I wanted it all, the works. The oblivious worker then moved along the condiment line, asking, “You want lettuce? Peppers? Olives? Tomato? Oil?”
As is usually true in teaching, I served as the most instructive example of heedless listening. Students loved hearing about the October day when I broke my own rules for attending. I thought that clearing my desk of papers was more important than listening to Dino of the dark eyes who, abandoning the art project that engaged the others, brought his winning personality to the side of my desk.
“Mrs. Bohart,” he began.
“Mmm hmm,” I responded, shuffling papers.
“Mrs. Bohart, I’m missing my pen.” Because I was pretending to listen, I misheard. I thought the cherub said, “I’m messing my pants.”
He now had my complete attention. I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, but failed to summarize. Instead, I leaped to my feet yelling, “Run, Dino, run,” astonishing the class by grabbing the innocent and pushing him to the door.
The restrooms were in the basement of the three-story school. I towed Dino down three flights, screeching, “Hurry, Dino, hurry,” before his increasingly hysterical message about a missing pen pierced my panic. How do you explain your actions to a 10-year-old staring at you with gaping mouth and bugging eyes? How do you explain to the bewildered students waiting in the classroom, wondering what sort of lunatic they had been saddled with this year?
I should have listened.
Examples of thoughtful listening, on the other hand, were difficult to find, perhaps because we do it so seldom. Usually I shared stories about prior students who had discussed attentive listening so often they just did it.
But as I watched the political campaign of 2008, the transition period that followed, and the first 100 days of the new administration, I thought of my listening lesson. I wish I could teach it again, showing footage of President Obama as the positive example. From the time he announced his candidacy through his last press conference, he demonstrated consistent, concentrated listening. He turned toward the opposing debater; he made eye contact with individuals in the crowd as he shook hands; he tilted his head in concentration as reporters questioned him; he reflected before answering other world leaders; and his replies made it evident that he listened well enough to summarize.
I hope the ever-present image of courteous listening from our new president penetrates our public consciousness. All of us who are listening-challenged have a new model, a constant visual of how to attend to one another.
Cartoonists typically exaggerate President Obama’s ears. We should pay more attention to how he uses them.
Janet Sheridan (jnj701@msn.com) of Craig is a retired public school educator.
