BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I have enjoyed being a storyteller, a characteristic I finally realized when I looked back at the brightest experiences of my life. In most cases I am pleased with what this trait has meant: as a child adopted by parents who were childless for 10 years of marriage, I was encouraged to talk about everything. My parents considered “shut up” not only rude but almost obscene. Thus, I performed for family guests; I even “helped out” my radio-announcer father by sitting on his lap from time to time and being allowed to share his mike; and I joined AFTRA [American Federation of Television and Radio Artists] before I was 16. Later, I developed a public speaking business. In short, my verbosity was inordinately rewarded.
Naturally, I became a high school and college English teacher – what better captive audiences – and some former students have told me they actually enjoyed the little vignettes of stories I would use to capture their attention. Now I still get to teach teenagers and hold occasional workshops in my community. I am blessed and my soul is rewarded with almost indescribable pleasure at these opportunities.
However, some of my being so talkative has interfered with my joy in communication. My memory falters and so even familiar names and titles frequently elude me. This may be a natural consequence of growing old, but it seems especially embarrassing for one who has always relied on her verbal skills.
Another mistake of being as loquacious as I am is the babble that I often create. The other day, a group of readers was discussing a book. My English teacher imp leapt into my anxious-to-give-an-opinion self, and I couldn’t resist contributing a comment when the chance arose. I expressed an idea which I later realized came out the opposite of my meaning, not reflecting a view I would have stated more effectively if I had waited and thought. I suffered what I call an emotional hangover over the misstatement.
I catch myself interrupting more than I used to and repeating things unnecessarily. I never wanted to be considered a clichéd “garrulous old lady,” but I may have become so. I am trying to listen more and talk less. I HAVE learned as a grandmother not to offer “wisdom” or advice to my daughter and son-in-law, unless asked, and even then to be careful about any judgmental opinions.
Recently, I had whooping cough and was virtually voiceless for several weeks. I fear that my friends and family were slightly relieved that no one had to pay attention to the usually verbose woman in the corner – moi!
I am hoping that the benefits of some awareness and maturity will help me rein in my need to babble on. Unfortunately, as one who lives alone, I probably talk to my dogs too much and, once released from home, find myself throwing out verbiage even to strangers. I will try not to! I hope the next time someone asks me how I am, I won’t be tempted to tell them the details!
