The Face

All the women in my mother's family have it. My grandmother, mother, two aunts, female cousin. Me. Probably female forebears back to the dawn of time as well. One or two of the guys, but not many. Not so much what we physically look like, although there are similarities, but in that we all have a face that seems to say to the people around us, "Tell me your story. I am interested."

Complete strangers would tell my grandmother their deepest secrets and worries in the shoe store. In the grocery store. In the post office. My mother hears life stories in airport lounges and bookstore lines and doctors' waiting rooms. While paying a roofer, I once heard all about his wife with MS and the new baby they had because they thought the pregnancy would help her symptoms and how she was having post-partum depression. The whole conversation was over in ten minutes. He went directly to what was on his mind.

My best guess is that some people have so much swirling in their heads that they are near to exploding with the pent-up thoughts. Maybe they have nobody close to talk to or maybe the people who are close are the problem or not a good sounding board for some other reason. Maybe the fact that we are strangers is the important thing: that we provide an outlet and then are gone. No embarrassing afters.

But why us? How do all of these people find us? How do they know that we will listen as they vent?

A while back, my family was at church on a Sunday morning. The Girl was about four at the time. Midway through the service, she poked me and asked why the boy up front with the yellow hair was sad. Now, I had noticed the same thing--that child really did look like something was bothering him--but I had said nothing to anyone about it.

It occurred to me then that maybe part of the family gift is the ability to read faces. To pick up on who is upset. Who is worried. Who is overwhelmed. Who needs a shoulder and a friendly ear. Maybe our faces say "We see you. As a person. We see that you are troubled. Talk to us and relieve your burdens for a moment just by the telling." I call it a gift deliberately: sometimes it is a mitzvah just to provide an ear when someone really needs to talk. Even someone you've never seen before in your life and likely won't see again.

Incidentally, both my father and Himself deliberately cultivate faces that say "I don't want to hear your problems." Both are uncomfortable hearing about issues that they cannot fix. The jury is still out with Thing One and Thing Two, although neither are particularly perceptive with emotions, at least at this stage.

But I would bet anything that The Girl will find that she has The Face too. Welcome to the sisterhood, child.