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Alan
Bodnar, Ph.D. is the Co-Director of Psychology Training at Westborough
State Hospital, Mass. and a consultant in the field of leadership
development. |
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By Alan Bodnar, Ph.D.
Ask any psychologist and we should be able to tell you when and
how to have that all important father and son talk - unless, of
course, the psychologist happens to be the father of the son in
question. Having missed a golden opportunity last year when my son
went off to college, I was given a second chance this summer before
he left the country with a friend to visit one of their classmates
abroad. To be perfectly honest, I had never planned to give a formal
speech, hoping instead that whatever advice I had to impart would
have so permeated the very atmosphere of our household that our
son could not help but to inhale the values that we hoped he would
come to share.
Well, maybe I was a bit more calculating than that. After all,
we psychologists know the value of displacement and count on its
power to transmit messages in wholly natural, non-judgmental ways.
"Hmm," says the play therapist at the dollhouse, "it looks like
Billy is giving his father a hard time," as the child patient has
the Billy doll lock the Daddy doll in the closet. Maybe Billy perceived
that Daddy was getting ready to give more of his unsolicited advice
and just wasn't in the mood to listen.
Nevertheless, displacement can be adapted easily for use during
dinner table conversations as a vehicle to open the channels of
communication between parents and children. "Well, son, did you
see that article in the paper today about (Fill in the blank with
the hot issue of the moment: drinking, drugs, teenage pregnancy,
reckless driving, truancy, etc.)?
Now that the ice has been broken, parent and child are free to
express their opinions about the issue at hand in a calm, rational,
de-personalized way. "Gee Dad, I don't know why the kid was suspended.
Sure, he was smoking in the men's room but he only had one marijuana
cigarette." "What? You don't know why he was suspended? Don't you
realize the dangers of using drugs, any drugs, even just one marijuana
cigarette? I know you would never do such a stupid thing."
The astute psychologist will notice that the script here needs
a bit of re-working to achieve the open-minded, non-judgmental yet
honest note that the parent is striving to hit. We all get better
with practice and the hope is that by the time your son or daughter
is about to leave home for college, you will have found a subtle
but effective way of communicating your values and the hard-won
lessons of your experience - over and over again.
Could this be why my son has the mistaken impression that a fatherly
talk would sound more like a sermon? One day he brings home a guidebook
filled with the usual travel information about his destination as
well as tips to avoid some of the dangers inherent in venturing
into that part of the world - kidnapping, robbery and disease for
starters. At odd moments over the next several days, we each pick
up the book and silently read passages of interest. Now, I think,
the common text we share will enrich our dinner table conversation,
and so I begin, "Remember son, only use an ATM in a guarded mall
because kidnappers and robbers typically attack people making withdrawals
on city streets."
Of course, he already knows this and hastens to remind me that
we both read the same guidebook with the same advice. Perhaps it
would be more useful if I had some new information that he hasn't
already read.
Could this be my son's way of inviting me to give him my own heartfelt
counsel? Has the moment I've been waiting for come at last over
plates of fried chicken and lemonade? Apparently not, for he now
launches into an impersonation of me lecturing him on life and his
portrayal conveys the expectation that I will speak from a position
of knowing all the answers. I start to challenge him on this but
he cuts me off before I can say that he will be surprised by how
many of his questions I still share and how many of the answers
are so often just out of reach.
It is his last evening at home for although his flight does not
leave for another four days, he is driving to his friend's house
in another state and the two boys are traveling together from the
international airport. We wanted to drive him if not to the airport,
at least to his friend's house, to see him off, but he clearly relishes
the independence of getting to his destination under his own power.
In case he was afraid we would embarrass him, I had even offered
to forgo the Bon Voyage sign, the balloons, and the confetti, but
he had made up his mind. We see a bit more of our son that night
but we share his attention and time with his friends and his last
minute packing.
In the morning before he leaves, I have one more chance to play
Polonius to his Laertes and remind him to be true to himself and
all the rest of what Shakespeare recommends. Or I could simply make
a batch of his favorite chocolate chip pancakes. I know what my
son would prefer and that's exactly what we do.
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