Hearing the Unspoken

A story of fiction and nonfiction about a very important skill

Unsplash: credit Nima Naseri

Today, readers get two stories. One comes from the world of Alfred, my favorite fictional teen, who is socially challenged but learning practical skills that allow him to better connect with his world.

The other is about a moment in my life where the unspoken words of my sister were so loud and informative that they shaped my very behavior.

To quote Alfred, “If you learn how to hear the unspoken, it can get very loud, but it’s a good kind of loud.”

P.S. Alfred hates loud.

P.P.S. The best stories involve dogs. This one does.

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What having Nellie has meant to me by Alfred

Words are not the easiest way for me to express myself. Instead of saying, “I’m happier,” I’d rather say,

“On a scale of 1 to 10, my happiness has moved from 6 to 9.”

In other words, I was happy enough before, but I am very happy now. When I asked myself why, I came up with the following:

• I get to walk with Joey and his dog, Calvin, every day. I like the exercise, dog play, and talking with Joey.

• Nellie keeps me company when I’m doing homework or watching Friends with my mom (which is really “for my mom”).

• Nellie understands me, and I understand her. She knows when I’m having a bad day and lies right by my feet.

Now, here’s how Coach changed my life. Well, to be precise, he did it in a few ways, but here is one very important way. He told me it’s really important to “hear the unspoken.” This made me ask,

“What exactly can you hear if it’s unspoken?”

It seemed like a good question, even if it made Coach laugh. He explained that there are a lot of important thoughts that stay in a person’s head. If we share them, it helps others to better understand the situation. He added,

“This is particularly true for negative emotions.”

Okay, I thought, but I had no clue as to how I do this. Coach gave me some tips:

• Notice a person’s eyes. Are they looking at you?

• Notice how the person is speaking. Does it flow? Does it start and stop? Starts and stops often mean people are “filtering” their feelings.

• Do their words fit with your understanding of them? If I said, “I just love hearing you talk about your feelings,” you should know I’m thinking something very different.

Coach passed the baton to Nellie (I used this image for Hannah, my good friend and writer, because she always praises me when I get fancy with language).

Nellie’s clues relate to her tail, her eyes, and definitely my understanding of her. If she’s scared or sad, her tail will be down between her legs. If she’s on guard, her tail will be up like a windshield wiper.

There are other clues, too, but what’s most important is that I now understand why we need to hear the unspoken. Coach was right, and Nellie proved his point.

The only problem is that people are harder to read than dogs.

I told Hannah this. She laughed and said,

“It can’t be that hard for you, Alfred. You figured out Nellie right away. I think the point is that whatever you love, you will figure out. So just substitute “people” for Nellie. Specifically, “Mom,” or “Hannah,” or “Coach,” or “Joey,” and I think you’re there.”

Hannah had a point. She usually does. I can’t wait to tell Coach that the combination of his tips and my dog are helping build a skill that, on the surface, makes no sense.

I am hearing the unspoken, and it can get very loud!

Now comes my real-life story about hearing the unspoken

My father passed away when I was 23. I was in business school at the time and flew home to be with family and mourn what was at the time the hugest loss of my life (my mother would pass almost four decades later in another gargantuan loss).

We are observant Jews, and so we sat shiva for seven days, and then got up and went to our family grocery store (“Utica Grocery”) to see what we needed to do. Anyone who has read my work knows that the grocery store was our sacred family hangout and gave us the opportunity to build lifelong skills in communication, empathy, teamwork, and dedicated purpose. To a sibling, we say that the grocery store was so formative, shaping us into who we are.

Now comes my boyfriend to ostensibly be supportive during my time of mourning. He was also in business school and had flown in after shiva (per my request, I didn’t want him there sooner). He walks into the sacred space of Utica Grocery and starts to ask MBA questions. “How do you track inventory?” he asked, and “Have you considered adjusting the layout of the store for more customer appeal?”

This modest grocery store helped feed six children and send us off to college (okay, with a lot of scholarships). We were proud, and we were in mourning. We didn’t need anyone to challenge the way we did business—especially at that moment.

I looked at my sister, who, prior to my dad’s passing, had jaw realignment surgery, and so her jaw was wired shut. Everything she ate was through a straw and liquid. Hearing her speak was like hearing a ventriloquist.

But when that boyfriend asked these questions, her eyes spoke to me so loudly, as if to say, “Who is this jerk? Has he no sense of who and where we are?”

I went over, gave my sister a hug, and said, “I hear you. You don’t need to say a word, which you can’t anyway.”

When I returned to school, I did use my words, which would have been hers:

“Be gone,” I said.

The power of hearing the unspoken should never be underestimated. That is the lesson of Nellie, and Alfred, and my sister and me.