Columnist Frank Bruni, in the Christmas Day N Y Times opinion section, extolls the “wall of talk” that characterizes his family’s holiday gatherings. Bruni makes it sound like a beautiful experience, and I feel confident that it is. There was a time when I enjoyed, and could follow the conversations that make up that wall of talk.
But Mr. Bruni, I hope you know the individuals in your family well enough truly to understand how each feels about all that talk. Waiting “for some slack between syllables — for little cracks in the great wall of talk” is nicely written, but it is frightening. Both my parent’s families talked, but rarely over someone else. I remember those times with deep rooted joy—even my uncles’ arguments about Ford vs. Chevy.
We encouraged our children to talk and to listen. Our dinner table conversations often lasted hours. They are parents now, but each of them has told us how much those talking times mean to them.
My hearing has faded and the only conversations I still understand are one-on-one and small group. Your wall of talk is an impenetrable cacophony. When your family is next to mine in a restaurant I had much rather be somewhere else. You preclude what little enjoyment I might glean from the companions at my own table.
The relatives who make the effort to be certain that I understand why everyone is laughing keep me clawing at that wall. I want to be part of it. Yes, there is great joy in talk, but I hope you know the joy listening can bring. There also is great joy in silence together.
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