How well can you hear? How well do you listen?
In casual conversation, we interchange those two words without much thought. But the difference between them is meaningful. Hearing refers to the sense of perceiving sound, and is passive. Listening is active, and refers to making an effort to hear, and understand, what somebody is saying.
Being a good listener is essential in all spheres of my life. When I pick my kids up after school, the first thing they want is for me to listen to their stories, as they compete to tell me about their day. In my job as a physician, I need to make every effort to be listen closely, because the words a patient uses to describe her symptoms are clues to the diagnosis. Being a good listener also makes you a good friend. (People think you're an excellent conversationalist if you listen closely, and let them do most of the talking.) And being a good listener is the key to becoming a good storyteller. I think anyone can write, if they listen well; the stories are out there, waiting to be heard, listened to, and retold.
My daughter developed hearing loss around the time she started kindergarten. When I first came to terms with her new diagnosis, it was such a powerful experience for me. I was filled with uncertainty, sorrow and fear. I cried. And then I found my voice, which I very much needed to navigate and advocate for her through the maze of bureaucracy in the school system. I also began writing. I wrote about what that meant to me, and re-reading my thoughts now, I realize that all of my fears were about what my daughter would miss when she couldn't hear things. What I did not know then, but do now, is that I shouldn't have worried so much about her hearing. That's because she listens better than the average person.
Between the time my daughter was diagnosed and before she got her hearing aids, my fears for her were simple and visceral. I worried that she would not be able to hear a car approaching, and would be run over; that she would not hear a siren, and would be endangered; that she could not hear birdsong, and her life would lack beauty. I was sad when she told me that she could not hear the secrets her friends whispered into her ear, the way that little girls do. In the eighteen months that have passed since my daughter got her hearing aids, I can see that the aids help her hear better. I also see many examples of how she is a better listener than most of us, with or without her hearing aids on.
She started piano lessons a year ago. At the first lesson, I mentioned to her teacher, casually, that my daughter wore hearing aids. Immediately, her teacher started speaking more loudly and slowly. I explained to her that she didn't need to speak more loudly, but simply with better enunciation. (Most of us should.)
Since then, my daughter has evolved into a fine musician (to me, at least.) I have always thought she has perfect pitch, since her early days of singing as a toddler-- and this is before we knew she had hearing loss. While she is now working on playing pieces involving two hands playing different rhythms, learning to read both treble and bass clefs simultaneously, and learning about sharps and flats, picking out melodies by ear and memorizing them is effortless. I realized that she was memorizing by ear, rather than by really reading the music, when she had some trouble playing small sections picked out by her teacher during lessons. Besides the classical standards all piano novices are taught, she can pick out recognizable renditions of pop music, including favorites by the Black Eyed Peas, Lady Gaga, and Coldplay.
She has also started to learn Mandarin, a tonal language with subtleties in pronunciation that frustrate most non-native speakers, myself included. Her teacher can't believe how good her pronunciation is.
I have been told (and complimented) by her teachers at school as well as her piano teacher that she "listens really well." Hearing those words fills my heart with pride, now. Contrast that to a year or more ago, when that same phrase gave me a sinking feeling, because I had realized that when the audiologist said that to my daughter, it meant that she hadn't heard well on her test.
Faced with something which makes her visibly different-- her hearing aids-- my diffident daughter had two options: to try to conceal them, or to parade them. She chose the latter, and has sublimated what I was afraid would keep her back into her pride and joy. She chose pink hearing aids with custom earmolds filled with pink and silver glitter. As if those were not accessorized enough, she has also started making charms which she wears on her hearing aid tubes. They look like dangly earrings and definitely get your attention. Recently, for her class auction project at school, each child had to design a picture and story of a superhero based upon his or herself. My daughter's avatar? She is a superhero who helps people with her super hearing abilities, and magical piano playing. I don't have words to express how much joy I feel in her pride in what sets her apart. She believes her superpower is her hearing, amplified by her hearing aids. Her superpower is really her listening.
One year ago, I wouldn't have believed that my daughter's hearing loss was actually a gain. But it is. Learning to adapt to hearing loss gave my shy daughter confidence. Learning to help her adapt to her hearing loss taught me about resilience and advocacy.
© 2010 Linda Shiue