CONCISENESS COUNTS
I’ve often wondered if there is an established time when you begin remembering things, a time when your memory kicks-in and deposits experiences that you will remember for the rest of your life. I think I know when mine did because there are a couple of outrageous things I did around four or five years of age that I still haven’t told anyone about. And won’t.
It goes like this. I was a little older than three and already knew enough words to make my opinions known. My wonderful mother had another child, another boy, and only days after his birth, I met him. Mom said something like, “Come over here and meet your new brother.”
As the story goes, I waddled over and carefully looked at him and as I did, he began to cry as only the newly born can. I listened for a while before offering this: “Take him back. He can’t talk or play or anything. Mom, take him back! Please take him back.”
You know how mothers are; they don’t pay much attention to the demands of three-year-olds, especially those who talk too much. And the older I got, the more I talked, until I began to believe that “Shuddup!” was my nickname.
Seven or eight years later, I was sitting with my grandfather in front of an old console Crosley Radio listening to Amos ‘n Andy, (or maybe Fibber McGee and Molly). Gramps said, “I want you to listen to this commercial. It will only last one minute.”
I don’t recall the product, but when the commercial ended, Gramps asked me to tell him what the commercial was about. I did so, and he said, “Very Good.”
Mystified, I asked, “Grand Dad, why did you want to know that?”
I don’t remember his exact words, but I’ll never forget the message: If you want people to listen to you, say what you have to say in a minute or less. Otherwise, no one will remember what you said, and they certainly won’t care.
At the end of your minute of chatter, say something that requires a response from your listener.
And then listen to what they have to say.
Now, if I can just teach this to MY grandchildren …
