A humorous look at the very real topic of whose voices we hear

As I was typing away the other day, on a roll writing about how worried I was that our cat, Jasper, was going to get himself stuck inside a wall, a loud voice interrupted my flow. I was startled at how clearly I could hear the deep, male voice even though he was outside and I was inside a building on the second floor. Granted, my window was open and there was a coffee shop next door with a few outdoor tables, but I often left the window open and had never been disturbed by the coffee shop chatter before.

“So there were these five cars that Elvis owned,” said Deep Voice and he went on to describe the vehicles. I thought about shutting the window, but the topic was fairly interesting, so I didn’t. The guy went on and on. I couldn’t make out who he was speaking with as he didn’t quiet down long enough for anyone else to speak. I tried to continue writing, but it was really hard to block out the sound of Deep Voice.

“This guy is an a$@,” my inner voice tells me. “He’s rambling on and on, won’t let anyone else talk, and is being loud enough I could drive the 12 minutes it would take me to get home and not miss anything he’s saying.” I agreed with myself, typed another sentence, but then my attention was jerked away again.

“Elvis then sold that car. It was really something, let me tell you!”

“You are telling them, and me, and the baristas inside, and the guys making pizza up the street,” I thought. Then I considered it interesting that every time I heard the name, “Elvis,” I felt compelled to tune in. Apparently, The King still has appeal over 40 years after his death.

I decided I should go close the window and of course, take a peek at what Deep Voice looked like. While his behavior screamed “rude, redneck %&?@,” his vocabulary was good and his speech patterns were that of someone who had not dropped out of high school. His voice, more than his constant commentary, was bothering me far more than the usual coffee shop patrons.

It was then I realized I rarely heard men talking next door. When I did it was usually soft-spoken, older men enjoying donuts with their grandkids. Mostly, it was women, with or without children, filling the tables next door. Their voices tended to be softer, higher-pitched, and apparently did not carry the way deep male voices do. Looking down out the window I was surprised to see Deep Voice with a baby on his lap. He was talking to another man who had a stroller by his side.

These were just two dads catching up with each other over lattes. I stared for a moment, shocked that the man I’d assumed all kinds of unkind things about was probably just a stay-at-home dad desperate for some adult companionship. It was impressive how long he could talk without taking a breath.

After staring long enough that Deep Voice’s companion started to scratch the back of his head due to the intensity of my gaze, I closed the window and went back to my computer. The glass really muffled the sound of Deep Voice. I could no longer tell what he was talking about, only hearing the muffled sounds of a voice without being able to make out any clear syllables.

I sat there, hearing the chatter but not understanding the words. It reminded me of when my son’s voice changed. I never used to hear him on his phone with friends in his room, or downstairs playing video games, but then, seemingly overnight, that all changed. One night I was reading in bed and heard a man’s voice downstairs. My brain instantaneously went into fight or flight mode. What was a man doing in our house? He’s talking really loudly for a burglar. Was this a home invasion? Then I remembered, there was a man in the house — my son.

Once his voice changed, he couldn’t stay up all night playing multiplayer video games or talking with his girlfriend without us knowing. His voice was too deep and carried easily throughout the house, even if his door was closed. I’m sure it was as frustrating to him as it was to us that he no longer had the amount of privacy he had as a younger boy. He finally had a girlfriend but couldn’t talk with her late into the night without his mom, stepmom, and younger sister hearing every word he said. He learned to whisper, something that many years of persistent coaxing to use “his indoor voice” led me to believe he was incapable.

My son’s deep voice now meant he was heard more, maybe more than he’d like. The dad outside my window had a deep voice so he was heard more, by many more people over a greater distance than he probably knew. If these men, and so many others, were heard more simply because of the timbre of their voices, what did that say about women? Sure, we are harder to eavesdrop on, but are our voices often ignored because they are not bold and deeply resonant?

Society often belittles women for drawing attention to themselves, for making a scene, for screaming in the midst of a fight, but maybe that’s because sometimes, it’s the only way to be heard. We raise our voices so they stop blending in with the background, but should we have to use megaphones and stand on chairs to be listened to? It’s easy to hear the loudest voices in the room, but volume does not equal quality. It’s often those with the quietest voices who have been observing from the sidelines that have the most important things to say. I know that Deep Voice really appreciated Elvis’ cars, but I know nothing about the two women who sat at the table next to his. They might prefer it this way, but it makes me think about whose voices do we regularly listen to, and why?

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