Post #6 of 40
Giving Up Interpreting Questions
Communicating with your family seems so complicated until you start communicating with those outside your family.
When did you discover that other people don’t communicate in the same ways that your family does or did? Growing up, I never considered the inner workings of Woodson communication, just as fish don’t think about their water.
It wasn’t until high school when I began dating, working at a gift shop, and talking late into the night with five friends about world religions, politics, the speed of light, and the murder of John Lennon - that I started to notice the variety of ways we can communicate - direct, indirect, passive aggressive, aggressive, humorously, sarcastically, idiomatically, under the breath, and with only body language or eyes….
My recollection is that my nuclear family spoke to each other in direct, literal ways. If we wanted a drink of water, we’d say, “I’m thirsty. I’m going in to get a drink of water.”
If we were too warm, we’d say, “I’m too warm. Is it okay with you if I change the thermostat?”
When I did something wrong, my parents pointed out my error in a timely and direct way.
We never would have said, “I haven’t had anything to drink all afternoon,” and expect someone to serve us a glass of water.
We wouldn’t have asked “Are you warm enough?” as we headed to the thermostat to adjust the temperature no matter how the other person answered.
My parents did not say, “Why are your clothes on the floor?” or “Where do your skates go?”
Right or wrong, this is the way we intereacted. We were clear with whatever we said.
As an adult, I have figured out that many people speak in indirect ways. I think this is especially true of women and Southerners, and maybe this is partly why I feel so welcome in New England?
In the first 20 years of my career, I tried so hard to be a good listener, interpreter, and communicator in order to make progress in schools. I aimed to read between the lines. I prided myself on being able to say to the teachers, “Those parents are grieving. They don’t have the genius child they’d hope for, and even though they are taking it out on you and questioning your teaching methods, what they are really doing is expressing the loss they feel.”
This interpretation was a positive attribute that came in handy, even if it was time consuming to work through all of the indirect and somewhat accusatory questions.
I knew that the parent who emailed and said, “Who came up with this math curriculum?” might really be preparing to say that she didn’t like the way math was taught. And, I tried to suss this out.
Over and over, questions were posed to me when specific answers to the questions weren’t being sought, and I tried to play the game.
Until I stopped trying.
A mom was angry about a half day of school. As a working mom, I understood the frustration, and I sympathized. Her email read,
“Dear Ms. Barr,
I had no idea today was a half day, and I am at work. I didn’t send lunch, and I can’t pick up Janelle from school at noon.
How on earth was I supposed to know this was a half day? Where did you put this information?”
And, I emailed back in frustration - something I wish I hadn’t done.
“Dear Mrs. Smith,
I am so sorry you didn’t know it was a half day. I will make sure Janelle gets lunch, and she can stay in After School Care.
The information about the half day was posted on the school calendar, in the parent handbook, the weekly newsletter, Facebook, the teacher’s newsletter, in the reminder email from me last week, and in the handout from Parents’ Night.”
You know, I shouldn’t have answered her literally. I could have stopped after the first paragraph.
Even though I regret that second paragraph, I have continued being as literal as possible when answering questions. I try to assume that people ask questions because they want an answer. I have stopped predicting that they are mad at me or are pointing out my mistakes. I try not to make up all sorts of stories about the motivation for the questions. I just answer directly. I’ve even tried to tamp down my sarcasm and humor when answering questions. At times, letting go of my imperfect humor has been a challenge.
Going back to the communication of my childhood has been a mixed bag. At times, I don’t seem curious or interested enough. Maybe I don’t even appear to be smart enough. I don’t look like I am “in” on an inside joke, and maybe I’m not. I’m so much happier now, though, giving up on interpreting the questions. And, I have a lot more time and energy for a pleasant conversation.
*And, apologies to “Mrs. Smith” for my burst of literal answering. My pendulum swung way too far.
