But you can’t tell just by hearing.
A snippet of overheard conversation is a projectile suspended. The hearer knows nothing of the antecedents. Can know nothing of the aftermath. But that snippet I did hear. I have been frightened and haunted all of this day.
I watched the two ladies, obviously hospital employees, characterized by their togs and dangling name badges, enter into the serving area of the hospital cafeteria through one door. I entered through another. We converged at the beverage station.
“But I don’t want any grandsons.”
I turned to look at the speaker of those words. A lady probably in her early forties. She looked distraught, intense. The other lady had her back to me.
“I only want granddaughters.”
“But why? What is wrong with little boys, little grandsons? How can you wish just for that?”
“No grandsons. I can’t have grandsons . . . Only granddaughters.”
“Why not grandsons when granddaughters are OK?
The lady was so pained, so intense.
“Because my son isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
My steaming cup of joe just turned to ice.
I had to leave that area. I did not want to hear any more.
That suspended projectile of conversation snippet ricocheted deep into me.
I know nothing of the antecedent. I know nothing about the how or the why or the necessity of that kind of a remark.
But I did hear that comment. It did affect me.
“. . . my son isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
And that ricocheting projectile has torn me apart.
I simply couldn’t help but think that there are gender and/or sexual orientation issues involved. That there are expectations that are not being met. That personal worth and validation of people are being severely tested. That people are hurting. That pain is real.
“. . . isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
That projectile had the clarion of judgment.
Of indictment. Of expectations. Of disappointment. Of failure of understanding. To understanding.
That projectile had the desperate cry for the miracle of healing.
But you can’t tell just by hearing.
The Refectory Manager
I watched the two ladies, obviously hospital employees, characterized by their togs and dangling name badges, enter into the serving area of the hospital cafeteria through one door. I entered through another. We converged at the beverage station.
“But I don’t want any grandsons.”
I turned to look at the speaker of those words. A lady probably in her early forties. She looked distraught, intense. The other lady had her back to me.
“I only want granddaughters.”
“But why? What is wrong with little boys, little grandsons? How can you wish just for that?”
“No grandsons. I can’t have grandsons . . . Only granddaughters.”
“Why not grandsons when granddaughters are OK?
The lady was so pained, so intense.
“Because my son isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
My steaming cup of joe just turned to ice.
I had to leave that area. I did not want to hear any more.
That suspended projectile of conversation snippet ricocheted deep into me.
I know nothing of the antecedent. I know nothing about the how or the why or the necessity of that kind of a remark.
But I did hear that comment. It did affect me.
“. . . my son isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
And that ricocheting projectile has torn me apart.
I simply couldn’t help but think that there are gender and/or sexual orientation issues involved. That there are expectations that are not being met. That personal worth and validation of people are being severely tested. That people are hurting. That pain is real.
“. . . isn’t manly enough to be the father of boys.”
That projectile had the clarion of judgment.
Of indictment. Of expectations. Of disappointment. Of failure of understanding. To understanding.
That projectile had the desperate cry for the miracle of healing.
But you can’t tell just by hearing.
The Refectory Manager
posted by The Refectory Manager | 9:00 PM
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