Final Thoughts
Listen up
by Faye Stewart
Eloquence and mindfulness are uncommon talents. Some have the gift of gab, others have good listening skills, but seldom are the two qualities combined. My mother, Joan Hinde Stewart, is one of those rare people who is both an articulate speaker and an attentive listener.
Mom’s reverence for the spoken and written word has shaped her life as well as mine. Words move her deeply, and she takes great care with them. She is as passionate about the study of languages and literature as she is committed to exchanging ideas with and learning from others. Mom speaks in a way that makes people want to listen, and she listens intently, inviting people to talk.
It is no coincidence that, possessing these qualities, she stands out as a devoted mother, a motivating teacher and a spirited leader. It is also no coincidence that I, despite youthful aspirations to forge a different path, have been continually inspired to pursue a career that, like hers, traffics in words and meanings.
My mother was the first feminist I knew. When, in those turbulent teenage years, I tried on various voices for size, Mom probed my naïve utterances about gender, race, religion, sexuality and ability, urging me to be ever more mindful of the power and valence of expressions I misinterpreted or carelessly repeated. When I declared that I was a feminist because I had burned my bra, she suggestively replied: “You know, your father is a feminist.” By coupling such critical nudges with empathy and encouragement, my mother nurtured in me an understanding of my social surroundings and animated me to become a more thoughtful and effective communicator.
In graduate school I balked at the daunting task of teaching my first class. Mom cajoled me: I was a born teacher and I’d love it. She was right about the second part. I cannot imagine a more exciting or fulfilling vocation. I disagree, however, that my affinity for teaching is natural or inborn. She is to credit with having nurtured that in me.
Many of the skills for successful pedagogy I learned from her example. She is open and sincere, anticipatory and participatory. Her presence of attention fills a room; she bathes you in commitment to and contemplation of what you say. She validates and empowers you, pushing you to express yourself more accurately, coherently, convincingly.
Eloquence may be part gift, but it is also part skill. It takes practice to become a good speaker and writer. I know that my mother works at it because I’ve seen her write multiple drafts, incorporate feedback and edit frequently. She never takes words for granted. However, the ease with which she speaks and listens — and the pleasure she derives from exchanges with others — make these undertakings seem effortless.
As I struggled to finish my book manuscript, and later when I compiled my tenure dossier, Mom was always there to motivate me, ready to talk through impasses, happy to critique my drafts. When I think about how vital her steady support has been — and continues to be — to my writing and my career, I am reminded of Heinrich von Kleist’s early 19th-century essay “On the Gradual Construction of Thoughts During Speech,” which celebrates the discursive process. Because ideas crystalize as one discusses them, Kleist asserts, many a great speaker does not know at the beginning of an oration how it will end. When I hear my mother speak, however, she communicates with such focus, confidence and persuasion that I am convinced she knew where she was headed all along.
To my mother, for setting the bar so high by speaking beautifully and listening generously, I am infinitely grateful. You taught me the value of words — not just of your own, but of everyone else’s too.
Faye Stewart is associate professor of German in the Department of World Languages and Cultures at Georgia State University in Atlanta. She focuses on 20th- and 21st-century German, Austrian and Swiss literature, film, and gender and sexuality studies.
