Eavesdropping in but not out

Being neither a social climber nor a butter fingers, my late mother was neither a name-dropper nor a ball-dropper. She was, however, a consummate eavesdropper. Not that she would ever admit to being such, since "eavesdrop" implied snooping or sneaking about furtively like James Bond in orthopedic stockings. No, no, she would, when pressed, simply admit to an uncanny ability to hear just about everything and everybody around her based on some auditory miracle.

In our current world of hidden recorders, secreted microphones, wiretaps and micro-surveillance gear, it's hard to imagine one little gray-haired lady being able to hear through plaster walls and closed doors, hear over blasting hi-fi units and turned up transistor radios, and hear past muffled whispers and the attempted subterfuge of Pig-Latin."

Yet she could and she did. She never thought she was eavesdropping because eavesdropping was "listening secretly to that which is said in private" and she never actually "listened," she merely "heard," nor did one have "secrets" from a caring mother, nor could one have expectations of privacy in a Manhattan apartment.

Her sense of duty sharpened her sense of hearing, and she felt free to take a shot at anything within earshot. Thus, she had your scarf and gloves ready at the door before you even off the phone with your friends. (She also knew which friends you were meeting and which you should avoid.)

She was able to overhear that which was over there, including whispered references to unfinished homework, impending exams and snide comments about sisters' boyfriends.

When I once suggested that perhaps my room was bugged, she took umbrage at the insinuation of insect infestation and doused my space with RAID. Ironically, she, who wouldn't tolerate a roach in the elevator, was herself a fly on the wall who somehow got and earful about every date, every crush, and every high school prank.

How cool (and sometimes unsettling) was it to noiselessly mumble to yourself "I wonder where my watch is" only to immediately hear a voice from across the apartment happily chime, "It's under the gold couch in the living room."

Yet for all her eavesdropping, you could drop in on my mom with the greatest of ease knowing that she not only listened in on us, she listened for us.

She could hear you cry in the night, or, for that matter, cough or sneeze, or wake up with a start. She listened for a note of pain, a hint of fear, a heavy sigh, a hearty laugh, a gentle giggle.

And mostly... she listened to us. She listened as we recounted our victories, bemoaned our failures, voiced our opinions, echoed our insecurities and proclaimed our hopes.

True, she overheard us, but she never undermined us, our private secrets were always safe because when it came to revealing those oh-so-very-important secrets of youth... she wouldn't hear of it.

© Copyright © 2010 Ron Goldman

Ron Goldman is an attorney in private practice with offices in Cedarhurst and can be reached @ 1-800-846-9013