I grew up in a household in which the TV was always on. In fact, there were often two: the mammoth console in the living room, and the tiny black-and-white set in the kitchen. During dinner my parents watched the news; we kids were not supposed to talk until a commercial break. The voice of the announcer droned on in that dull, adult way as the urge to speak grew within me. Every observation, every detail, every chapter of my day had to be stuffed into that two-minute time slot: clowns into a tiny car. When the commercial finally came on, the car exploded. Clown carnage everywhere.

This family policy has had two lasting effects. One, I am filled with a sense of oppression whenever I hear a recording of Walter Cronkite. Two, I hate background noise: television, radios, leaf blowers, lawn mowers, etc. Music is okay, particularly if the music has been chosen by me. (Then it’s soundtrack – not noise.) But any other there-but-not-there, hear-but-don’t-listen noise drives me nuts.

The problem with this? I have kids!

Kids are loud.

I’m not talking about talking. H., who has autism, doesn’t really talk much. But he does vocalize. It’s kind of like singing, it’s kind of like birdcalls, but he’s not looking for a response. He’s just throwing his eternal “Yes!” out to the universe. The universe absorbs and understands – without careful attending – and so do we.

Daughter F. is 15 months old. She’s starting to talk. She’s also learning to imitate her brother and his  sounds. But if she wants the universe to hear her eternal “Yes!”, she has to be louder than he is. So she cranks it up to 11.

The family din is at its zenith during the dinner hour. Both kids get juiced by the sound of J. and I conversing. They get louder, we get louder. They compensate. We compensate. Soon I’m so irritated by the sound of my own voice that it might as well be a weed whacker.

I’m thinking of instituting our own oppressive policy during the dinner hour: no sound. “Not a peep,” as my dad would say. (To which I would reply, sotto voce, “peep.”) The kids can yes the universe all they want – in their heads. And J. and I can talk later – it can wait. We can all enjoy the blessed silence together, with the whining of the neighbor’s leaf blower providing the soundtrack.