Arms folded, staring into space, the fifteen-year-old young man rocked back and forth in his chair positioned opposite of his father. “Our first goal is to open the lines of communication between the two of you,” I chirped in to break the loud silence between father and son. “It's not his fault” the father said, “I have been destroying the lines of communication between us since he was five years old.” We use to go riding together when he was a toddler. We sang together. We played together. If he scribbled on a piece of paper, I would tell him how great it was. I tucked him in and told him how much I loved him each night.
I am not sure when things shifted. At some point he would say, "Daddy, look at this!" I would say, not now son, I am reading the newspaper. "Daddy, we did this in school…" Not now son, I am listening to the radio. Be quiet son, I am watching the ballgame. No, I can't go to your hockey game, I am tired. I just got off of work. Not now son…I am listening to the news, talking on the phone, cooking dinner…, we would simultaneously repeat the excuses together as to why I was unavailable to him. Slowly he stopped trying to get my attention. It took many years of me not paying attention to him for things to get the way they are now,” he explained. “With all due respect, you and your degrees can't fix us,” he said softly choking back tears, “I've been disconnecting these lines of communication for years with my son.”
“You mean my kids sensed that I wasn't really listening this morning while driving them to school?” I silently wondered, dumbfounded by this father's wisdom and insight. I didn't think that it was important to listen to my children's banter about Poke`mon Trading Cards and who has the most points on their Game Boy electronic game. As usual, I pretended to listen to my children by sprinkling the right amount of “for real?”, “un hums“, “no kidding” and “that's great!” into the conversation. While my children are chatting away, I am usually thinking about the bills and how I plan to solve my client's problems. Not only do I not listen to my children most of the time, generally I don't think that what they are talking about is important to me.
Oh-- but what I want to talk about with them easily fall on their deaf ears: What do you mean you got a “C” in math? How many times did I tell you to clean up your room? When did you decide that you didn't want to be a lawyer, doctor, architect? What do you mean you want to drop out of ballet class? You're bored with piano lessons, since when? Don't do drugs… don't have sex… don't do this… don't do that… “Okay, Mom!” My children would sprinkle into my conversations with them at appropriate moments. I never questioned whether or not we were really listening to each other. I assumed that it was normal for adults and children to talk at each other.
I talked to my parents about the topics that I knew they wanted to hear. But, I told my friends what was really bothering me. I didn't want to disappoint my parents. I didn't want them to think that I wasn't innocent, sweet and perfect. I was afraid to tell them about the rumor that birth control pills were the size of grapes and that a girl almost died trying to take one. I felt my parents would laugh like they did about other matters that I thought was important. They hadn't realized that I had graduated from bubble gum to breath mints and from lip gloss to lipstick. Yeah, I wished that I could talk to my parents about boys as easily as I could about which doll I wanted for Christmas, but I took comfort in the fact that I knew they loved me.
The teenage boy stopped rocking in his chair, seemingly shocked by the sight of his father's tears. “Daddy, I know you love me, but you don't know me. You don't know how I feel. You don't know what I am thinking. You don't even know who my friends are. I don't care about my allowance and designer clothes. Why can't we go to the games and eat dinner together like we use to? His son said, surprised by his own honesty. I took notes that day for my own file: Go home have dinner with your children and really listen to what they are talking about from now on. I am proud to say that I thoroughly enjoy Rug Rats, Hey! Arnold and Sponge Bob Square Pants cartoons,and I know all of the characters by name. So in a few years when my children's concerns turn to more serious matters like sex, drugs and alcohol, the lines of communication will already be open.
