U: Talks too much in class

Throughout my early elementary school years, I always, on every report card I received, earned an "Unsatisfactory" for "Talks too much in class.

As an only child, I learned early on that in order to gain the attention I craved from those around me (other children or adults), I could simply talk incessantly at them, forcing them to pay heed to my words.  It didn't take long before I ran out of things to communicate, therefore I then began to simply make it up as I went along.  Lying, I knew was wrong; it even felt wrong, but I absolutely did not want to shut up.  Therefore, I literally made up whatever farcical tales I could in order to keep my motor mouth in gear.

Eventually, around 5th grade, I came home to my mother in tears, having plastered scripture verses related to lying all over my bedroom.  She demanded that I re-think my approach to garnering attention.  And I did.  Her concern forced me to re-think the unequivocally unstable foundation I was choosing to build my persona upon.

Now, there's chatty and there's talking incessantly.  Two distinct descriptors there with the latter being what I was as a boy.  I mean literally my jawbone would ache at the end of the day.

My wife on the other hand, as a girl (& even throughout high school as a young lady) was the complete opposite.  No amount of torture on planet Earth could persuade Angie to speak.  Ever.  To her every word was precious, therefore her mantra was "Why dialogue when you could simply smile instead?"  (She didn't actually say this of course, but she did think it...often.)

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Many years ago, I became fast friends with a man in south MS through my position as a staff architect with the state of MS.  He and I were close to the same age, I had a couple of small children, and he and his second wife were expecting their first.  Donnie (not his real name) eventually suffered tremendous tragedy through the loss of this expentant child immediately following her birth.  In response to this, I did what I could despite our long-distance friendship to minister to him during this difficult season.

One weekday afternoon, I made my way unannounced to his office to check in with him.  It was right after lunch, and he happened to be in.  From there, I sat in his office and listened for over 4 hours, many of his words spoken through tears.  I remember being so absorbed by his words that I don't even think I stepped out to pee.  He recanted the birth, burial, his wife's reaction, and on and on.  It was a completely appropriate diatribe that I felt honored to partake in.

I remember sleeping like a baby that night yet feeling overwhelmingly spent over the next few days as I lead bureaucratic planning meetings.  I was satisfied in choosing to visit with Donnie as I did, now carrying with me some of the sadness he had brought for me to bear.

Over time, my south MS friend and I grew distant as I moved on from that position with the state of MS.  He and his wife did eventually get pregnant again and went on to have 2 (or possibly more) healthy children.  I will always cherish my memories of his friendship.

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People tell me (sometimes) that I'm a good listener.  But, to be honest, I'm not nearly as gracious as I should be with my ears.  A few months back, a prospective Samson Society attendee met me for breakfast, and after an hour of listening to his story, I simply cut him off, telling him in so many words that if he was going to join in the fun of Samson, he was going to have to throttle back on the verbiage.

Needless to say, he never showed up for a meeting.

What I need to remember is I started out as a boy in that place where talking was all I knew how to do, and despite the fact that I'm beyond that strategy for relating to other members of the human race, it doesn't mean I'm now qualified to look down on those who either haven't or chosen not to.

Talk is cheap, yes, but there are times when it's all a man seems to have.  Remember that Rob.  Otherwise you just come across as arrogant.