What I've Learned

When I was 19, I knew a couple in San Antonio – this was in the 1960s – who had a large house with a screened-in upper porch. Every month they would host a mid-morning brunch there to which they invited 15 or so people.

I was blessed to attend more than a few of these gatherings. Why, I'm not sure.

Food would be provided by the couple, but each invitee, not by decree, but by good manners (remember those?), would bring something to the feast. Wine and cheese and exotic breads were favorites.

The core of the experience was not the food, but the conversation. This couple – they were in their early 30s – enjoyed hearing what people had to say.

Some guests were my age, some were older, providing a pleasant mix of ages and experience.

The day would begin with a slow consumption of fruit and cheese and pastries and coffee and tea and juices and milk. Eating might pause, but the conversation – conversations, really – would continue.

By early afternoon when hunger returned, more food appeared, not in the form of a meal, it was never like that, but food for nibbling: olives, both black and green; breads, sweet and rustic; cheeses, tangy and tame; sliced fruit, domestic and exotic; dips, mild and spicy; crackers of all sorts; and juices and wines for sipping.

The food was great, but the talk was superb. It ranged in topic from literature to music to sports to economics to science to politics, to anything the stream of conversation flowed into.

Sometimes opinions heated up and arguments broke out. Tempered by our desire to share thoughts, not trounce opponents, the disagreements, though loud and boisterous, were never caustic.

It was at these gatherings that small-town me was introduced to many works and ideas that would be important to me the rest of my life. It was there, for example, that I first heard of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

A fellow was painting a version of it that had toothpicks, paperclips, and other small objects subtly worked into the oils. It was well-done and evoked much discussion when displayed to the group.

To this day when I hear the word Nike, I don't think of running shoes, but of Nike of Samothrace. Despite significant damage (the statue is missing its arms and head), Nike is still triumphant and breath-taking as she descends to honor an ancient naval victory.

I can still see that fellow's painting and feel the fascination with which it was discussed.

Eating, like the talking, would wane and surge, wane and surge, according to appetite and inclination. The afternoon merged into evening and night, then on into the wee hours. People would come and go, but most would stay for the duration, reluctant to miss a word. Or a bite.

Some participants, reticent and shy such as I, would do more listening than speaking – which again makes me question why I was invited so often – but others would take up the slack, filling that upper porch with ideas and opinions and comments that were thought-provoking, witty, and a joy to listen to.

Today, when I see people in the head-down, texting position – or phone to ear, inflicting their end of inane conversations upon unwilling eaves-droppers – I think back to the blessing I had to experience communication at its best.