The chat: A lost art

Chattering Teeth!
Chattering Teeth! (Photo credit: elasticcamel)

I come from a long line of chatters. Ok, maybe not so long. Alright, if I’m honest, just my dad. My dad is really the only chatter I come from, as my mother was a stoic German.

But he was a phenom at the art of the chat. I was warmly received by everyone from the dental receptionist to the pizza parlor owner, when they realized I was Dick’s daughter. The usual refrain was: “I have such wonderful conversations with your father.”

I mentioned this talent in his funeral memoriam. Chatting appears to be a seemingly minor skill, but it’s not really, in today’s world. Many of us seem to be suffering from moderate to severe disconnection, be it because of the miles between family members, or the screens we prefer to stare at while dining with people with whom we seemingly wanted to share a meal.

My father chatted with doctors and lawyers in much the same way he did waitresses and checkout clerks. There was nothing pretentious about the man at all and I loved that. Politics? No thanks. Stock market? Not on your life. My father wanted you to know who he was and what he had experienced in life. And you were expected to provide the same. No chat was short, so you had to be prepared to pull up a chair and stay awhile. He saw that what we do for a living is just that and no more. It was the basic human experience we all share that interested him.

I don’t believe any waitress within a 20-mile radius wasn’t charmed by my father, no matter how grumpy or tired she was when we were seated. It drove my mother crazy that he was consistently addressed as “hon” or “sweetie”, names she rarely called him but felt were hers alone to bestow.

I won’t eulogize him all over again, but my father was the kind of man who people wanted to like. The kind of guy who would cause our family dentist, a gruff ex-military type (“Novocaine? You don’t need novocaine. That’s for sissies.” I believe I was all of 10 years old at the time.) to show up at my mother’s wake just so he could comfort Dad. Now that was a sight to behold. The kind of gent who would get the extra large slice of pie free of charge, even though he hadn’t asked for it.

Dad never worked the deal. Never took advantage. His interest was sincere and genuine. While growing up, I didn’t consciously take note. I now realize I was watching a master and apprenticing in the art of the chat. It’s no coincidence that I am a journalist and have a natural interest in people’s stories.

When I moved to Chicago, I brought my father’s sensibilities with me. I can’t recall a boring cab ride, as I always uncovered some nugget about the driver’s life that he was happy to share. I still think of Abraham, the short order cook at the diner down the street from my Lincoln Park graystone. On Monday nights, I’d stop by after aerobics. He’d yell out, “The usual, Kristine?” And I’d answer, “Of course, Abe.” I learned that he was working to save up enough money to bring his wife and sons from Mexico. That he’d grown up working in the fields and his mother taught him how to cook. Dmitri, who owned the small Greek restaurant a block away, encouraged me to take my first bite of lamb (I was not a fan) and told me how his family made Greek wine in the old country.

So, as my sons and I were waiting for our food at our local breakfast spot the other day, it was no surprise that Michael stopped by the table. Michael is a server but wasn’t ours that day. “So, Kristine, how’s the dog doing? Has she calmed down yet?” We chatted about Bailey, our new dog, for a while and then I asked him about his search for a new apartment. He shared his real estate woes and talked about his holidays until Alejandro approached.

Alejandro, another server, asked about my holidays and I inquired if he’d gotten to Mexico to see his brothers. He told me about his hope to continue his schooling and I told him of my resolution to brush up on my Spanish this year.

After breakfast, my sons and I stopped at the dry cleaners—a family-owned business in our town. The owner asked me about the trip to see my family in Ohio for the holidays. I asked him if he’d done ok over Christmas, as I knew it reminded him of his deceased sister.

After that, we visited Bob at the coffee shop he has owned for several years. We talked about how he and his ex handled the holidays with their daughter, something he worries about every year.

On the ride home, my son commented on how I loved to chat and how much time it added to our errands. I corrected him. “I love to listen to people’s stories, big and small. Otherwise, errands are just errands. And lonely ones at that.”

He was not convinced of the merits of my argument. That’s OK. My two young apprentices don’t yet realize what they’re observing is good, old-fashioned connection. The chat. It’s making a comeback, if I have anything to do with it.


18 Comments Add yours

  1. Dale says:

    Your father sounds like my father…
    Except mine was a salesman and surely used his skills when necessary.

    1. candidkay says:

      Once you got my dad going, it was hard to get him to stop. We were frequently late places because of it😃

      1. Dale says:

        I live that!

  2. Pam Howard Walters says:

    I have enjoyed reading all of your articles, but this one made me smile as I read it! Very cool Krisse!

    1. candidkay says:

      I’m so glad, Pam! Thanks for reading. I truly appreciate it. Still remember our crazy car trip from BG to get your car–do you remember that? My stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

  3. cindy dadik says:

    That’s why we get along so well!! ; ) Loved this blog! Keep it up!

  4. Kelly claffey says:

    Well hello my little chatterbox! That was a lovely article. I would love to catch up with you you Xmas card was adorable. The boys are getting so big. Please email me the best way to reach you. Take care. Kelly taffy claffey

  5. says:

    I love that Kristine! Let’s please get together after these kids go back to school. Let me know what your schedule looks like….looking forward to chatting!


    1. candidkay says:

      Would love that Susie. I’ll drop you a line and we’ll coordinate. So glad you’re reading:)

  6. Not lost to everyone…just ask my wife; she hates letting me off the leash ’cause when I stray everyone I either know or sort-of know gets ‘met.’

    1. candidkay says:

      Love that:) The more of us that keep it going, the harder it’ll be for real connection to die, right? Here’s to it.

  7. candidkay says:

    Good to know I’ve got a compadre to the west:). Thanks for checking out the post–I’ve just finished reading your coffin posting and had my belly laugh for the day . . .

  8. Sandi Ormsby says:

    I love chatting and meeting people, as well. So I really enjoyed this post. I take time to talk to our cab drivers and find out about them.

    First time visiting, and clicking for future posts. Feel free to visit my end of the blog-o-sphere.
    Lake Forest, CA

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