Conversations that Count — What it means to be heard

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When we consider the word “conversation” what usually comes to mind is the talking. On the cusp of adolescence, Lynn Margolis experienced a conversation’s crucial other half — being listened to. It set the course of her life. Second in a series from Picture a Conversation™.

Ernest Ludwig Kirchner

My parents were Holocaust survivors. As it has for many American-born children of immigrants, the role of pseudo-adult fell to me — translating for my parents when necessary, interpreting the myriad of customs and expectations of their new lives here in America, learning much younger than my peers how to negotiate the purchase of a car. My parents were loving but had so much to cope with. In addition to being immigrants, they were  grieving the utter decimation of their entire families at Hitler’s hand. In many ways, I did not have the luxury of being just a regular American kid. In the role of family communicator, I had no adults in my life who I could talk to about life’s larger issues.

My brother’s father-in-law was a very warm and loving man who was a professor of psychology at MSU whose family stretched back five or six generations.  One afternoon I tagged along with my brother to visit his wife’s family. This must have been 1968 or ’69 and at one point during the afternoon, his father-in-law was discussing with his two daughters the professions and various paths open to women in the work world. He took me into that covenant of daughters that afternoon, making space for me to contribute to the conversation even though I was not his daughter and no more than thirteen at the time.  I experienced being listened to in a way my parents had never been able to do. I’d never known any parents who listened to their kids the way this man listened to me that afternoon.

It was nothing in particular that he said, no words of wisdom, or offering of his perspective on what I might or should do one day. He simply saw me, recognizing who I was at the time and giving me the space to find my voice. The way he listened to me allowed me to feel that what I was saying mattered. I decided then and there to become a social worker.  We can say say so very much simply by listening, truly listening. 

 

(Craving the connection that only a face-to-face conversation can bring?  Head on over to our order page and give yourself the gift of conversation. Have a conversation that counted in your life? Email me — debra at pictureaconversation dot com)  

 

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2 Enlightened Replies

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  1. Martin says:

    Wonderful story which illustrates so well that a conversation cannot exist without both parties listening to what the other has to say

    • Manny Kalef says:

      She was lucky. Sometimes it’s hard to find someone that really listens. And when that person is your spouse, how lucky is that.

      Manny

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