A Few Thoughts to Chew On

So, I’m minding my own business the other day, munching on a turkey sammie. Just before Christmas, weather was mid-70’s. I ate slowly, reminiscing about frosty Chicago Decembers, scurrying about to find last minute gifts. It’s my habit, my schtick, wait till the last day to find gifts, join the throngs of other procrastinators, though mine was intentional every year. And I usually found one of my kids to accompany me.

In no hurry, I took another bite and paused. You know the moment when time stands still, when whatever you were thinking of suddenly ceases? I bit my tongue. Hard. This was no small nick, like lopping off a tastebud. This was a chewy chunk, a badly misguided bite, molar overwhelming flesh.

Waiting for the inevitable pain, I shut my eyes tightly and grimaced. In a few seconds, the waves crashed over the right side of my mouth. I dabbed a napkin over the wound. The telltale blood spot reinforced what I already knew. A quick glance in the mirror provided visual proof.

My disdain for Romeo and Juliet is common knowledge to those who know me. (This part seems like a non-sequiter, but stay with me–I’m going somewhere.) I do like the opening scene, a frivolous exchange between the servants of Montague’s (Abraham) and Capulet’s (Sampson and Gregory). The encounter features a thumb-biting exchange, biting one’s thumb being the modern equivalent of the middle finger. (Here’s a modern-day version of that scene, if you have the stomach for it.)

Abraham. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abraham. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson. [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay?

Gregory. No.

Sampson. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
bite my thumb, sir.

Nothing like Renaissance insults to get your blood flowing! Anyway, after I bit my tongue, trying to muster the enthusiasm to finish my turkey sammie, I thought of this scene. Caught between laughing and crying, tragedy and comedy. Ah, the mind of an English teacher.

My tongue mostly healed now, I’ve been thinking of biting my tongue. This time more metaphorical, I think we’ve lost the art, the discipline, of biting our collective tongues. Maybe it’s just me being old, but it seems to me that in the past, more people would hold some words rather than expressing everything. Especially the harsh words. We called it “self-control” or “patience” or maybe “graciousness.”

Maybe it’s just technology which has gifted us with megaphones and a layer of anonymity. Folks hit the record button and unleash a Tik-Tok. Or they tap, tap, tap the keys and all sorts of vitriol pours from their fingers. Either way, the words pollute the air of society.

This isn’t a screed against the First Amendment. You will find no bigger fan than me of #1 in our list of Constitutional rights. I spend a day or two every semester teaching speech classes, challenging students to understand the limits and responsibilities of our freedoms. We need a vibrant exchange of ideas, but too often there is no exchange, no listening. It’s just rage and hatred.

Nope, I defend the rights of free speech. This isn’t about legal. This is about moral and ethical, about loving your neighbor, the second greatest commandment. My concern is about speaking freely yet listening not at all. Shouting into an echo chamber of like-minded folks. Upping the voltage of your words in an effort to get a reaction.

I don’t avoid people I disagree with. I’d rather ask questions to learn more about them. Remember the bar scene in Ted Lasso, where he plays darts with Rupert? It closes with Ted’s exhortation from Walt Whitman: Be Curious. There’s real wisdom there.

I lay aside neither my faith nor my convictions. No way. My core beliefs are solid, forged over decades of living and studying. But I’m also not done learning or growing. I’m never done being curious. I imagine that will continue until I draw my final breath.

I don’t block friends on social media because of their political/religious/philosophical beliefs. I also don’t reply in kind to their rants; I bite my tongue. Sometimes, I snooze them for 30 days, give them cooling off period, hoping they’ll be in a better mood in a month.

In my 65 years, I have learned this: biting your tongue hurts. Physically, it leaves a wound that may linger for days. Biting my tongue in the face of hatred, not replying in kind, exuding grace and compassion when I’d rather lash out…that hurts too.

There is a time to speak up and a time to listen. Jesus knew that. This Christmas, it’s a lesson we all could remember.

I will strive to chew more carefully in the future, keeping a healthy distance between the flesh of my tongue with the meat of my sandwich. Several days later, I can still feel the gash when it rubs against my teeth.

But biting my tongue in reply to others? That’s a bite worth having.

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