How to Talk So Teens Will Listen & Listen So Teens Will Talk

by Adele Faber

  About twenty minutes later, they came out and said, “It’s all done. Wanna see?” I said, “Yeah, I do,” and went inside to check.

  Well, the whole place was straightened up. The lounge chairs were all lined up, and the cushions were back where they belonged. I said, “Good. Everything looks normal. Turn off the lights and let’s go.”

  On the way home the boys were quiet. I don’t know about Matt, but I think Paul finally understood why he shouldn’t have done what he did. And I think he was glad he had a chance to, as you say, “make amends.”

  Joan

  I was making dinner when Rachel walked through the door. I took one look at her bloodshot eyes and dopey smile, and I knew she was “high.” I wasn’t sure it was pot, but I was hoping it was nothing worse.

  I said, “Rachel, you’re stoned.”

  She said, “You’re always imagining things about me,” and disappeared into her room.

  I just stood there. I couldn’t believe it. This was the same child who just last month had confided to me, “Swear you won’t tell anybody, Mom, but Louise started smoking pot. Can you believe it? Isn’t that terrible?”

  I remember thinking Thank God, it’s not my daughter. And now this! I didn’t know what to do. Should I ground her? Forbid her to go anywhere after school? (Certainly not to Louise’s!) Insist that she come straight home from now on? No, that would only lead to arguments and tears. Besides, it wasn’t realistic.

  But I couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. And I knew there was no point in trying to talk to her until the effects of whatever she had taken or smoked had worn off. Also, I needed time to think. Should I tell her about my own “experimenting” as a teenager? And if I do, how much should I tell her? Would it help her to know? Or would she use it as an excuse to justify what she was doing (“You did it and you’re okay”)? Anyway, over the next few hours, I had a dozen imaginary conversations with her. Finally, after dinner, when she seemed more herself, we talked. Here’s how the real thing went:

  “Rachel, I’m not looking for a confession, but I saw what I saw and I know what I know.”

  “Oh, Mom, you’re so dramatic! It was just a little pot. Don’t tell me you never tried it when you were my age.”

  “Actually, I was a lot older. Sixteen, not thirteen.”

  “See … and you’re okay.”

  “I wasn’t so okay then. My old friends, what you’d call the ‘good kids,’ stopped being friends with me, and my grades went way down. The truth is, when I started I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I thought it was harmless. Not as bad for you as cigarettes.”

  “So what made you stop?”

  “Barry Gifford, a boy in my class. He crashed his car into a tree after leaving a party where everyone was getting high. Anyway, Barry ended up in the hospital with a ruptured spleen. Then a few days later we all had to go to this drug awareness program, and they handed out these pamphlets. After that I decided it wasn’t worth it.”

  “Oh, they were probably just trying to scare you.”

  “That’s what I thought. But then I read the whole pamphlet. Some of it I already knew, but there was a whole lot of stuff I didn’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how pot can stay in your system for days after you take it. How it messes up your memory and your coordination, and even your menstrual cycle. And how it’s even worse for you than cigarettes. I had no idea that marijuana had more cancer-causing chemicals than tobacco. That was a big surprise to me.”

  Rachel suddenly looked worried. I put my arm around her and said, “Listen, daughter of mine, if I could, I’d follow you around day and night to make sure that nobody ever gives you or sells you anything that could do you harm. But that would be pretty crazy. So I have to count on you to be smart enough to protect yourself from all the garbage that’s out there. And I believe you will. I believe you’ll do what’s right for your life—no matter how much people pressure you.”

  She still looked worried. I gave her a big hug and that was that. We didn’t talk about it anymore. I think what I said had an impact, but I’m not taking any chances. Kids lie to their parents about drugs (I know—I did), so even though I have mixed feelings about snooping, I think I’ll be checking her room every so often.

  Gail

  Neil, my fifteen-year-old, asked me if Julie, his friend since childhood, could sleep over on Saturday. Her parents were going to an out-of-town wedding, and her grandmother, who had planned to stay with her, got sick and couldn’t come.

  I thought, Why not? My younger son would be spending the weekend at his father’s house, so Julie could have his room. Of course I checked with Julie’s mother to see how she felt about it. She jumped at the offer—relieved that a responsible adult would be looking after her daughter for the night.

  When Julie came, I showed her where she’d be sleeping. Then the three of us had a nice dinner and watched a video.

  The next morning Julie’s mother called to say she was back home and could she speak to Julie. I went upstairs to get her. The door of her room was half-open, and the bed had not been slept in! The pillows that I had arranged so carefully the day before were exactly as I had left them. As I stood there with my mouth open, I heard laughter coming from Neil’s bedroom.

  I rapped hard on his door and yelled out that Julie’s mother was on the phone and wanted to speak to her.

  When the door finally opened, Julie came out looking rumpled and embarrassed. She avoided my eyes, ran downstairs to talk to her mother, ran back upstairs to get her backpack, thanked me “for everything,” and went home.

  As soon as she left the house, I exploded. “Neil, how could you do this to me!? I gave Julie’s mother my word that I would be responsible for her. That she’d be safe and protected!”

  Neil said, “But Mom, she …”

  I cut him off. “Don’t ‘but Mom’ me. What you did was inexcusable.”

  “But, Mom, nothing happened.”

  “Oh, right. Two teenagers spend the night together in the same bed and nothing happened. You must think I’m pretty stupid. Well, I’ll tell you something that won’t be happening next weekend. You’re not going on the ski trip with your class.”

  I said it, and I meant it, and I felt it was exactly what he deserved. Then I left the room so I wouldn’t have to listen to him carry on about how unreasonable I was being.

  A few minutes later I changed my mind. How could keeping Neil from his ski trip help him realize why he shouldn’t have done what he did? So I walked back into his room and said, “Listen, Neil, forget what I said about the ski trip. Here’s what I really want to say: I know sex is a normal, healthy part of life, but the fact is, parents worry when it comes to their kids. They worry about their daughters becoming pregnant, about their sons becoming fathers. They worry about AIDS and all the other …”

  He didn’t let me finish. He said, “Ma, enough! I don’t need a sex education lecture. I know all that stuff. Besides, I’m trying to tell you, nothing happened! We were just lying on the bed, watching TV.”

  Well, maybe they were and maybe they weren’t. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I said, “I’m glad to hear it, Neil. Because when you invited Julie to spend the night in our home, you took on a responsibility—to both Julie and her mother…and me. A responsibility that needed to be honored.”

  Neil didn’t say anything, but from the expression on his face, I could see that my words hit home. And that was enough for me. I was able to drop it.

  Jim

  My wife and I thought we had covered all bases when we bought our new computer. We put it in the family room (over the objections of twelve-year-old Nicole, who lobbied hard to have it in her bedroom); we installed the latest filtering software (we heard there were at least three million porn sites a kid could accidentally tap into); and we worked out a loose schedule to try to meet the needs of everyone in the family. We also made it clear to Nicole that the computer was strictly off-limits a
fter nine P.M. and was only to be used for schoolwork or to go online with friends.

  Sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, a few nights ago I woke up a little after midnight, saw a light in the family room, got up to turn it off, and found Nicole glued to the computer. She was so absorbed, she didn’t even hear me. I stood behind her and read the screen: “Courtney, you sound so cute and funny and sexy. When can I meet you?” The second she realized I was there, she typed in “pos” (I later learned that means “parent over shoulder”) and blanked out the screen.

  I broke out in a cold sweat. I’ve heard too many news reports about what happens to young girls who meet teenage boys in chat rooms. The boy flatters her, tells her how much they have in common, makes her feel special, and little by little gets her to the point where she agrees to meet him. Only it turns out he’s not a cute teenage boy but some old guy, a sexual predator who’s out to do who-knows-what to her.

  I said, “Nicole, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re exposing yourself to? I ought to take away your computer privileges indefinitely!”

  She immediately went on the defensive. She said there was nothing to get so excited about, that she was only having a little fun, that she hadn’t even used her real name, and that she was smart enough to know the difference between a “sicko creep” and a normal person.

  I said, “Nicole, listen to me. There is no way you can tell the difference! The worst ‘sickos’ are capable of sounding completely normal and charming. They know exactly how to go about fooling a young girl. They’ve had lots of practice.” Then I told her that I wanted her password because from now on her mother and I would be checking regularly to see where she’d been online.

  Her reaction? I didn’t trust her … I had no right … I was taking away her privacy, etc., etc. But by the time I finished telling her some of the horror stories I had heard about how these “normal” guys turn out to be stalkers, kidnappers, rapists, or worse, all she could manage to say, in a weak little voice, was, “Well, you can’t believe everything you hear.”

  I guess she was trying to save face. But I think a part of her was actually relieved that her father was looking out for her and that he wasn’t a pushover.

  a quick reminder

  Alternatives to Punishment

  Teen: You swore you’d quit smoking, and you’re still doing it! You are such a phony. You are so full of it!

  Parent: And you, big mouth, are grounded this weekend!

  Instead:

  State your feelings:

  “That kind of talk makes me angry.”

  State your expectations:

  “When I’m trying to stop smoking, what I expect from my son is support—not an attack.”

  Offer a choice:

  “Name-calling hurts. You can either talk to me about what you think might help me quit or you can put it in writing.”

  Show how to make amends:

  “When you realize you’ve offended someone, it’s a good idea to apologize.”

  But what if the teenager continues to speak disrespectfully?

  Take Action (as you leave the room):

  “This conversation is over. I’m not available for insults.”

  Four

  Working It Out Together

  Karen began the session even before everyone had settled down. “I couldn’t wait to get here tonight. Remember last week when Tony asked what if none of the alternatives to punishment work? You said something about problem-solving. Anyway, I’ve got a big problem going on now with Stacey, and I have no idea how to solve it.”

  “The good news,” I said, “is that you don’t have to solve it by yourself. The five-step method you’ll be learning today shows how parents and teens can sit down and tackle the problem together.”

  “Sit down?” Laura exclaimed. “Who has time to sit down? In my house everyone is always rushing off somewhere. We talk to each other on the run.”

  “People do have hectic schedules these days,” I said. “It isn’t easy to find the time. Yet time is what this process requires. You can’t think together creatively if either one of you is rushed or agitated. For this approach to yield results, it’s best to wait until both parties are relatively calm.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, “but the minute you let a kid know you want to talk to him about something he’s doing that you don’t like, no matter how calm you are about it, he’s not going to be so calm anymore.”

  “And that,” I said, “is why your very first step, after bringing up the problem, is to invite your teenager to tell his or her side of the story. That means putting your feelings on hold, temporarily, and listening to her. Once she knows her point of view has been heard and understood, she’ll be much more likely to be able to hear what you have to say.”

  “And then?” Karen asked impatiently.

  “And then,” I said, “it’s a matter of the two of you putting your heads together and trying to figure out something that might work for both of you. Suppose I illustrate by using an example from my own home.

  “When my son was about fourteen, he discovered heavy metal. He’d play that music—if you can call it that—so loud the windows rattled. I asked him to please turn it down. Nothing. I yelled at him to turn it down. Still nothing. I tried all of the skills we talked about in our session on engaging cooperation: I described, I gave information, I offered choices, I wrote a note … I even used humor. I thought I was very funny. He didn’t.

  “One night I lost it. I stormed into his room, unplugged his tape player, and threatened to take it away permanently. You can imagine the screaming match that followed.

  “I had a hard time falling asleep that night. The next day I decided to try the one approach I hadn’t used—problem-solving. I waited until after breakfast before even venturing to bring up the subject. But the minute I mentioned the word ‘music,’ his back went up. He said, ‘Oh no, not that again!’ I said, ‘Yes, that again. Only this time I want to try to see things from your point of view. … I’d like to really understand where you’re coming from.’

  “That took him by surprise. He said, ‘It’s about time!’ Then he let me know exactly how he felt: ‘I think you’re much too sensitive. The music isn’t that loud—it has to be loud enough to feel the beat and hear the lyrics. Because the lyrics are great, even though you hate them. But if you ever really listened to them, maybe you’d like them too.’

  “I didn’t argue with him. I acknowledged everything he said, and then I asked if he could listen to how I felt.

  “He said, ‘I know how you feel. You think it’s too loud.’”

  ‘You’re right. I try not to let it bother me, but it does.’

  “‘So wear earplugs.’”

  “Again I didn’t argue. I wrote it down and said, ‘That’s our first idea! Let’s see what else we can think of that might work for both of us.’

  “Well, we came up with all kinds of possibilities—everything from his wearing headphones to soundproofing his room to putting a rug on his floor to turning down the volume a little, to closing bedroom and kitchen doors.

  “When we finally reviewed our list, we quickly eliminated earplugs for me (I didn’t want to walk around with my ears plugged up), headphones for him (loud volume could damage his hearing), and soundproofing (too expensive). However we did agree that a rug on his floor, closing doors, and lowering the volume—even a little—would help. But it turned out that what he really wanted was for me to listen to his music with him—to ‘at least give it a chance.’

  “Well, I did listen, and after a while I could sort of see why the music might appeal to him. I even began to understand why the words that were so distasteful to me might be satisfying to kids. I guess teenagers relate to lyrics that express their anger and frustration.

  “Did I grow to love his music? No. But I did become more accepting of it. And I think that because I was willing to spend time with him in his world, he became more willing to accomm
odate me. Sometimes he’d even ask, ‘Mom, is this too loud for you?’

  “Well, that was my experience. Now let’s see how the same approach might apply to a situation that most of you are probably familiar with—the mess, disorder, chaos, or whatever you call it in a teenager’s room.”

  People laughed knowingly. Michael said, “I call it the ‘garbage dump.’ “

  “In our house,” Laura added, “we call it the ‘black hole.’ Whatever goes in, never comes out.”

  “And what do you call the kids?”

  From around the room I heard, “Slob”… “Pig”…“You live like an animal”…“The way you keep your room, who’d ever want to marry you?”

  I reached into my briefcase. “Here’s an alternative to that kind of talk,” I said and handed out the illustrations that would show the problem-solving process in action—step by step.

  On the next few pages you’ll see what I distributed to the group.

  Working It Out Together

  Step I

  Invite Your Teen to Give His Point of View

  Step II

  State Your Point of View

  Step III

  Invite Your Teenager to Brainstorm with You

  Step IV

  Write Down All Ideas—Silly or Sensible—Without Evaluating

  Step V

  Review Your List. Decide Which Ideas You Can Both Agree to and How to Put Them into Action.

  “I don’t mean to be negative,” Karen said, “because I can see how this approach could work with a kid whose room is a mess. But that’s not a serious problem. Stacey did something this week that really worried me. And I know I got excited and made things worse. But I still don’t see how I could have used any of this with her.”