Voice First

Some years ago, after I became involved in public speaking, my parents ran into a man who grew up in our town. He is about 8 years older than I am and rather an owlish sort of person. In passing, he mentioned that he had heard me speak or something like that, and then commented, "Who would have thought that a wallflower like Barbara would grow up to be who she is now."

I was incensed when I heard this, particularly since this man acts like an old maid and is totally unaware of it.

A wallflower? I know I was very, very quiet as a younger person, but I never thought of myself as a wallflower. Because I had such an amazing, rich inner life, was never bored, always had plenty of things to think about. I did like to be alone, reading, thinking, climbing trees, walking in the woods--always alone. It's unclear to me that I did this because there was no one else to be with, or because I preferred to be alone. But a wallflower?

It has been no secret where I have gotten this trait. My father was a loner and was always puttering off in the garage by himself. Or upstairs with his ham radio or trains, or his computer. We grew up hearing Mother say that he had grown up being waited on hand and foot by his mother, almost like an only child (she always said that as though this was a decided handicap), and was very spoiled. So he wanted to be left alone to do his own thing. That's what it looked like at least. I have my own therapist musings about this. But in any event, I grew up to be much like him. I love being around people but when I've had enough, I want to be alone. Completely alone--not Sam, not Otis, no one. Just LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

When my father was courting Mother, he used to go over to her family home and endure what to him was almost enough to send him scuttling out the door: loud Italians, seemingly yelling about whether the sky was blue or gree, up or down. Even a little yap-yap dog that sat at Daddy's feet, daring him to make a fast move. If he did, Cookie would let out a series of sharp, threatening barks. When Daddy left Mother's home, he was glad to be getting out of there.

I never understood that as a kid--it was just a funny story about an introverted man and loud Italians. He always told me that he'd rather me marry a Jamaican than an Italian because he didn't think he could endure the loud talking of another Italian family again. Mother was completely put out by this.

But the older I get, the more I recognize that I have his introverted temperament. I can be around people indefinitely, but I do not like a lot of noise. Getting married to a salsa music loving man (at 6:00 a.m.) almost undid me, initially. Having three loud, brawling, screeching, Puerto Rican stepdaughters and a loudly speaking Puerto Rican husband almost put me over the edge more than once. "Honey, I'm right here, not in the next county. Please lower your voice!"

It's hard to know if I'm like this because I've been single and accustomed to a silent house, or if the louder the decibels, the more introverted I get. It's probably a combination of both.

Today, we had a Puerto Rican relative and his wife spend the day with us. We had a wonderful time--he cooked dinner for us and regaled us with one story after another. He is a DJ on a Mexican radio station--a delightful Mr. Entertainer. And he has a shockingly LOUD voice. I realized after about 10 minutes that I had to leave the room because I was holding my breath. It took some stern talking to myself to go back and work at staying present.

He was an absolute delight and his wife was lovely. We are so glad that we made connection with them and hope to see them frequently. And I am upstairs, sitting in the semi-darkness, in absolute silence. It will take awhile to catch my breath again, even though my heart is full and I am delighted.

Whew.


Whew...