The Sounds of Silence

Ah silence. Good old silence. It's not that often these days, with two noisy terrors around - little madam, who's three-and-almost-a-half, and little man, who's one-and-a-bit - that I get any; silence, that is. So I guess when it does happen, on those very rare occasions, I should be grateful. Well, that's what people keep telling me, anyway. But when it happens to occur, like in the following story, in the form of little madam dishing out a bit of the old silent treatment, I guess I can't help but feel...well...strangely uneasy. After all, am I raising a three-year-old here? Or is she, in fact, thirteen?

Believe it or not, the title of this story is the same title of the very song – the 1960’s classic by Simon and Garfunkel – that was playing on the car radio when the following incident occurred; the incident that resulted in me, the easily baffled mother, experiencing my first surprising taste of just that. The sounds of silence (aka. The silent treatment). The day had started ordinarily enough. We – little madam, little man and I – had gotten up, eaten breakfast, dressed and packed a simple picnic lunch so we could head out and enjoy a day at the park with some friends.

Now, as someone who’s been brought up with parents who devoted a fair bit of their time ensuring that we (my brother, sister and I) had plenty of musical opportunities - including a fair number of years worth of piano lessons, and the chance to pursue a great number of other musical endeavours should we have at any time desired - I’m a fan of many different types of music. More often than not, though, I find that I prefer rock music (the heavier stuff, mostly) over pop. Lately, though, I’ve even been enjoying some of the older stuff, too; music that’s commonly referred to as "classic rock". I guess this is why, when I switched the car on (and the radio, obviously, at the same time) and began to drive, I found the station on good old Gold 104.3 (known also as the golden oldies station - which is rather scary, considering most of the music played on this station is familiar to me, despite the fact that I don’t consider myself to be all that old at thirty-four years of age). I didn’t actually notice the radio station immediately, as I was busy concentrating on calculating the most efficient route to my meeting spot; as well as negotiating with little madam, to try and convince her to return a toy she’d stolen from little man ... the usual battles I have to enter into when I’m trying to concentrate on DRIVING A CAR. But, after diffusing the argument that was about to erupt in the back, I got back to the job at hand (driving the car) and it was then that I noticed the radio was tuned to the golden oldies station. It was also then, at that very moment, that I realised I wasn’t really in the mood for any golden oldies music. So, as I began to tamper with the radio channels, and changed from the old classic, “Sounds of Silence” - by the very talented and well-known S&G - to a more modern upbeat tune by Green Day (which was being played on Triple-M – a station renowned for playing some more modern rock music) the protest from little madam, of, “I WANTED TO LISTEN TO THAT!”, which erupted almost instantaneously, took me more than a little by surprise. So much so that, in hindsight (something I could use a little of sometimes) my response of, “Well I DON’T!” sounds almost too childish to believe.
But, like it or not, this was exactly how I’d responded and, therefore, I then had no choice but to deal with what happened next. Unfortunately for me - as I did happen to be in the mood for a little Green Day - the sounds of her protests elevated so much, that she drowned out the drums, guitars and vocals that form Green Day’s, “Maria.” And, as a result of my annoyance, I was forced into an even more defiant state, which then caused me to continue to deny her loud demands to change the station so she could, once again, listen to, "The Sounds of Silence."

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t always respond to little madam’s requests in such a childish and defiant manner, nor would I normally deny a request over something as petty and insignificant as the choice of music in the car. Especially because I do happen to like most music types. But for some reason - perhaps it was just my mood, or the fact that I'd just resumed concentrating on driving the car again after diffusing a potential ear-piercing argument that had been about to erupt only seconds earlier – I definitely didn’t feel like listening to the peaceful-sounding Simon & Garfunkel. I was in the mood for a little more punch.

But after abruptly refusing to change the station, and continually refusing to give in to her demands after several repeated shouts, little madam decided that she was going to settle down and, instead, dish me out a rather large and unexpected serve of something I’d not experienced with her before this moment; a serve of the good-old silent treatment. Again, I didn’t notice immediately that her outburst had ceased. Although, perhaps I should have because after a good minute-or-so of persistent protesting, I was suddenly able to, once again, hear the music on the radio. And, I'm pleased to say, was able to listen to the last verse-or-so of Green Day's, "Maria".
It wasn't until after the music stopped, and the commentary on the radio began, a short while later, that I realised little madam's rather noisy demands had stopped. So, without turning to look at her (as I was trying to concentrate on the road at the time) I asked if she was okay. Now as I didn't receive a response immediately, I thought, perhaps, she hadn't heard me. So I asked again. More silence. There was so much silence, in fact, it was almost deafening.
Now as I'd never experience the silent treatment from little madam before (I guess you could say it was my first time...I'm talking about getting the silent treatment from little madam, by the way) I was a little confused; perhaps I was little concerned too. After all, her near-deafening bellowing had stopped rather suddenly. So I took my eyes off the road to look over my shoulder at her, and at the same time repeated my question: "Are you okay?" It was at this moment, when I saw her glaring out the window with red-faced defiance painted across her face, that I realised what was going on. She was so annoyed over the fact that I'd refused to change the radio station, that she was deliberately ignoring me. Or, in better terms, she was giving me the silent treatment.

The remainder of the journey in the car was far too quiet for my liking, and I couldn't help but wonder whether there was something wrong with little madam. After all, was it normal (although, what is normal, I ask?) for a three-year-old to dish out the silent treatment the way a thirteen-year-old, or even a thirty-year-old, can? Well. According to a number of my friends - friends with small children and otherwise - this behaviour is not all that uncommon. So, in a way, I’m slightly relieved. Unfortunately, the reassurance from others around me hasn't make me feel any better - or relish, and enjoy, the deafening silence of the silent treatment - on the odd couple of occasions it's happened since. And I guess all I can say, in response to my inability to not be concerned when it's quiet in little madam's corner, is, What a Crying Shame. Well, I'm pretty sure that's what The Maverick's would say, anyway.

Thanks, little madam, for the short bursts of silence, lately. Sorry I forced you to adopt that strategy in order to make me realise how keen you are on Simon & Garfunkel. Love you.