"Dad, you're not listening to me!" and "When you die, I'm going to put on your tombstone 'He came to set others straight.'"

One is a plea for understanding. The other-now that parent and child are older and (hopefully) wiser-is a reflection of a younger dad and son who enjoyed a lively debate.

Perhaps the word "enjoyed" is a bit too strong. I will replace it with "tolerated" or "endured."

Either way, I still think of the comment about the tombstone. I even enjoy, tolerate and endure a spirited debate now and then. However, I am mindful of the messages my oldest son and daughter said years ago.

Webster defined the word "listen" as to hear something with thoughtful attention, to give consideration.

Do I listen with thoughtful attention? I hope I do more often than not. More importantly, do I give thoughtful consideration to the speaker's words? Yes and no. I hope the answer is more "yes" than "no" as time goes by.

In her March 2003, O magazine, Oprah Winfrey writes, "Talking and listening is the most intimate art-we talk at each other from morning to night, forgetting that our best communications are unrushed, one-on-one, exploratory. That they involve pauses, hesitations, feelings and ideas groping for form. Life itself is a long conversation."

Our culture devalues the art of listening well. We come to a conversation with an opinion on whatever is the topic of the moment. We can talk about politics, the latest scandal or the weather-it does not matter. And when we leave the conversation, chances are our opinion will remain intact, unaffected, neither better nor worse.

Actually, I believe we are worse off than before. If we have not taken good from the experience, we leave with even less than we had before the encounter. Before long, our opinion is fixed, immovable, hardened, set in stone. We resist change. We see those who want us to change as the enemy and we interpret their words as a personal threat. We feel insecure and vulnerable. We refuse to listen, even when the words are non-threatening and make sense.

Mellody Hobson, president of Ariel Capital Management, featured in O magazine, said, "We held a listening retreat for our entire firm, which really opened my eyes. Some of the techniques are very basic, like literally forcing yourself to keep your mouth closed when someone's talking to you. You learn more that way, and you don't have to have things repeated to you. You have to listen without an agenda, without waiting for an opportunity to inject your own story."

The thought of listening without an agenda waiting in the wings is a difficult thing to do. I am conditioned by my culture to be prepared to interrupt at some point along the way; otherwise, I may never be heard.

Judging from personal experience on both sides of the fence-as interrupter and the interrupted-this behavior is widely acceptable, not to mention, preferable to waiting for the chance to speak. After all, current wisdom dictates: to the winner belong the spoils.

In this case, replace the word "winner" with "over-bearing, obnoxious, impolite, intrusive, my opinion is the only one that matters, pontificator of words."

I know, it is a bit wordy, but the image fits, don't you think?

In all fairness, the case for the other side must be heard. Silence is as much a part of successful communication as speaking, so says another O magazine contributor, Theodore Kheel, a lawyer, arbitrator and mediator.

Kheel continues, "I know of one labor leader who had a habit of listening very patiently-which is out of character for a labor person-until the other side made their point, and then he'd say 'no.' And he'd say nothing more.

"Some people feel they must pound the table or shout or scream to get their point across. But if you keep repeating and insisting and pounding, people might actually think that you're expressing weakness, that you're expressing doubt about your position."

Screaming or pounding the table is not flattering for anyone's image. Though I have not had the misfortune to witness these phenomena, I have observed behavior that is a close cousin, or the "silent film syndrome." Imagine watching a silent movie. The actors move their lips without making a legible sound.

I prefer the Bugs Bunny version. I remember Foghorn Leghorn when he confronted the yapping dog. Foghorn says, "I see yer gums a flappin' but nuttin's a comin' out!"

It is amazing how those pea-brained cartoon characters make more sense than human beings do.