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

by Adele Faber

  “So what did she do?” Laura asked. “Don’t keep us in the dark.”

  Karen took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. Last Friday my husband and I went out to dinner and a movie. Before we left, Stacey, who’s thirteen, asked if two of her girlfriends could come over, and of course we said yes. The movie ended early, and when we got back to the house, we saw two boys running out the side door. My husband ran after them. I went inside.

  The minute I opened the door I knew something wasn’t right. The windows were wide open, the house was freezing cold, the whole place smelled of cigarette smoke, and Stacey and her girlfriends were in the kitchen stuffing beer cans into the bottom of a garbage bag and covering them with newspapers.

  “As soon as she saw me, she said, ‘It wasn’t my fault.’ “

  “I said, ‘We’ll talk later,’ and sent the girls home. The minute they were out the door Stacey started telling me this whole long story and giving me all kinds of excuses.

  “I told her I wasn’t buying any of it and that she knew the rules and deliberately broke them. And then I let her know that her father and I weren’t finished with her yet. So that’s why I’m here tonight. But problem-solving? I don’t know. I really don’t see how that could help.”

  “We won’t know unless we try,” I said. “Would you be willing to role-play with me?” I asked.

  Karen looked uncertain. “What part would I play?”

  “Whatever part you want.”

  She thought a moment. “I guess I should be Stacey. Because I know the kind of thing she’d say. So how do I begin?”

  “Since I’m your mom,” I said, “and I’m the one who’s worried about the problem, it’s up to me to start the conversation.”

  I pulled my chair up to Karen. “I hope this is a good time for you, ‘Stacey,’ because we need to talk about last night.”

  Karen (now Stacey) slumped in her chair and rolled her eyes. “I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t listen!”

  “I know,” I said, “and that can be frustrating. But I’m ready to listen now.” Here’s how our dialogue continued:

  Stacey: Like I said, I didn’t expect those boys to come. I don’t even know them. They’re not in any of my classes. They’re older.

  Mother: So the boys were a complete surprise to you.

  Stacey: That’s right! When I opened the door for Jessie and Sue, these two guys were standing behind them. I never invited them in. I told Jessie my parents would be pissed if I let boys in the house.

  Mother: So you made it very clear that you wanted them to leave.

  Stacey: Yeah, but they said they were just going to stay for a few minutes.

  Mother: And you thought they meant it.

  Stacey: I did. Like, you know, I didn’t think they were going to smoke or drink. When I told them not to, they laughed. I didn’t even know that Jessie smoked.

  Mother: So you made a real effort to stop them, but no matter what you said, no one would listen. You were in a tough position, Stacey.

  Stacey: I really was!

  Mother: Stacey, here’s how it was for me. It was a shock to come home and see boys running out the door and to smell smoke in the house and find beer cans in the garbage and …

  Stacey: But, Mom, I just told you, it wasn’t my fault!!

  Mother: I understand that now. But I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. So to me the big question is, how can you feel comfortable about having your friends over, and how can Dad and I feel confident that our rules are being respected—whether we’re home or not?

  Stacey: Mom, it’s no biggie. All I have to do is tell Sue and Jessie they can’t ever bring boys over when you’re not home.

  Mother: Okay, I’ll write that down. It’s the first suggestion for our list. Now I have a thought: install a peephole in the door. That way you can see who’s out there before you open it.

  Stacey: And if anyone wants to smoke, I’ll tell them they have to go outside.

  Mother: We could make some NO SMOKING signs and put them around the house. You could tell everyone your mean mother made you do it. … What else?

  Suddenly Karen broke out of character. “I know … I know we’re not finished, and I know we’re supposed to go over all the suggestions and decide which ones are best and all that, but I have to tell you what was happening to me when I was playing Stacey. It was so amazing. I felt so respected … that my mother really listened to me … that it was safe to tell her how I really felt and that she wasn’t going to jump down my throat … and that I was smart for coming up with some ideas, and that my mother and I were a real team.”

  I beamed at Karen. In her own inimitable way, she had expressed the core of what I had been hoping to communicate.

  I thanked her for throwing herself so fully into her part and for sharing her inner process with us. Several people applauded.

  Karen grinned at them. “Don’t applaud yet,” she said. “The big performance is still ahead. Now the real mother has to go home and pull it off with the real Stacey. Wish me luck, everybody.”

  From around the room came shouts of, “Good luck, Karen!” On that high note, the meeting ended.

  The Stories

  When parents took the time to sit down with their teenagers and try out their new problem-solving skills, they experienced a number of new insights. Here are the highlights of what they reported:

  Karen: Problem-solving can help you learn what’s really going on.

  When I left the session last week, I didn’t know whether Stacey would even be willing to talk to me. There was so much bad feeling between us. But as soon as I did the very first step of “the method”—you know, really listening to her point of view and accepting all her feelings—she turned into another person. Suddenly she was telling me things she never would have told me before.

  I found out that one of the boys was Jessie’s new boyfriend, and that she was laughing and being silly and hanging all over him, and that when he offered her a cigarette she took it and smoked it.

  I didn’t say a word. I just listened and nodded my head. Then she told me that the boys had a six-pack with them, and when they finished that, they started looking around for something else to drink. One of them found the liquor cabinet, and they both helped themselves to some Scotch. They tried to talk the girls into having “a shot,” but only Jessie did.

  Boy, did I have to exercise self-control! But I’m glad I did, because the more we talked, the more I understood where Stacey was coming from. I could see that part of her was excited by the whole experience, but mostly I think she was scared and overwhelmed.

  Just knowing that made the rest of our discussion a lot easier. I didn’t have to spend time explaining how I felt (Stacey already knew my views about smoking and drinking), and it didn’t take long for us to come up with a list of solutions. Here’s what we both agreed to:

  No boys allowed in the house unless parents are home.

  No alcoholic beverages allowed.

  Anyone who must have a cigarette has to go outside.

  Mom will tell Sue and Jessie about the new house rules (in a friendly way).

  Dad will install a lock on the liquor cabinet.

  If adult help is needed and parents can’t be reached, call any of the numbers listed on the refrigerator door.

  By the time we finished our list, we both felt pretty good. We had worked things out together. Instead of me laying down the law, Stacey had a say in what the law should be.

  Laura: It isn’t always necessary to go through every step of problem-solving in order to arrive at a solution.

  When Kelly came waltzing into my room to model her new outfit for me, she was bubbling over with excitement. “Mom, look what I bought with my birthday money! Isn’t it cool? It is so totally in fashion! Don’t you love it?”

  I took one look at her and thought, Thank goodness her school has a dress code. My next thought was, Okay, maybe this is the time for mother and daughter to do some problem-solving.
I started with the first step—her feelings. “I hear you, Kelly. You love the way that little T-shirt goes with those hip-hugger jeans.”

  Then I expressed my feelings. “I think that look is too suggestive. I don’t want my daughter walking around in public with all that bare skin and her belly button showing. I think it sends the wrong message.”

  She didn’t like hearing that. She plopped down in a chair and said, “Oh, Mom, you are so out of it.”

  “That may be true,” I said, “but can we possibly come up with any kind of solution that would …” Before I could even finish my sentence, she said, “So I won’t wear it ‘in public.’ Only in the house, when I’m hanging out with my girlfriends. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. And that ended it. At least temporarily. Because I know the scene today. The girls walk out the door looking like what my mother would call “perfect little ladies.” But as soon as they turn the corner, the T-shirts get rolled up, the jeans get yanked down, and once again, the belly button is on display.

  Jim: Don’t reject any of your teenager’s suggestions. Sometimes the worst ideas can lead to the best.

  Jared, my fourteen-year-old, has suddenly started complaining that his sister, who’s twelve, is driving him crazy. Whenever his friends are in the house, she manages to find reasons to walk into his room and get herself noticed. I understand what’s going on, but it makes Jared furious. He yells at her to get out and yells at my wife to keep her out.

  One night after dinner I decided to try problem-solving with him. The first step took some self-control. I had to make myself sit there and listen to all his complaints about his sister. And once he got started, he couldn’t stop. “She’s such a pest … She’s always hanging around when my friends are over … She makes up any excuse to come into my room …She needs paper or she wants to show me something … And she never knocks … And when I tell her to leave, she just stands there like an idiot.”

  I acknowledged how frustrating that must be for him, but decided to say nothing about how frustrating it was for me to hear him talk that way about his sister. I knew he was in no mood to hear my feelings.

  The first thing he said when I told him that we needed some creative ideas to solve this was “send her to Mars.”

  I wrote it down, and he broke into a big smile. The rest of the list came fast.

  Hang a KEEP OUT sign on my door. (Jared)

  Dad should tell her she can never come into my room unless I say so. (Jared)

  Jared should tell his sister himself, calmly and diplomatically, that he wants his privacy respected when his friends visit. (Dad)

  Make a deal with her. If she leaves me alone with my friends, I won’t tease her friends when they come over. (Jared)

  We left it there. That was a few days ago. Since then, Jared did have a talk with Nicole, and so did I. But the big test is still ahead. His friends will be over for band practice on Saturday.

  Michael: When you use the problem-solving approach with your teenagers, they’re more likely to try the same approach with you.

  I overheard Jeff on the phone telling his friend about this “awesome” rock concert they had to go to. When he hung up, he said, “Dad, I really need to talk to you.”

  I thought, Uh-oh, here we go again. We’re going to have the same old argument: You never let me go anywhere. Nothing terrible is going to happen. Nobody else’s father … etc., etc.

  But to my amazement, he said, “Dad, Keith wants me to go to a concert this Saturday night. It’s in the city. But before you say anything, I want to hear all your objections. All the reasons you wouldn’t want me to go. I’ll write them down. You know, the way you did with me last week.”

  Well, I had a long list for him. I told him that I worry about two fifteen-year-old boys standing alone, late at night, at a bus stop. I worry about all the drugs that are passed around at concerts. I worry about muggers and pickpockets looking for easy targets. I worry about injuries from that thing called mosh pits where kids throw themselves off the stage and other kids catch them. Maybe. And I object to the hate lyrics that put down women, police, gays, and minorities.

  When I was finished, he looked at his scribbled notes and he actually addressed each of my concerns.

  He said he’d make sure that he and Keith stood with other people at the bus stop; that he’d keep his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket and keep his jacket zipped up; that he and his friends aren’t into drugs; that he didn’t know if there was going to be a mosh pit, but if there was he’d just watch; and that he’s not so weak-minded that some dumb words in a song are going to turn him into a bigot.

  I was so impressed by how mature he sounded that I agreed to let him go—under certain conditions: instead of the boys taking the bus, his mother and I would drive them to the city, go to a movie while they were at the concert, and pick them up afterward. “If that plan is okay with you,” I said, “then all you’ll need to do is call the box office and find out what time the concert lets out.”

  He thanked me. And I thanked him for taking my concerns seriously. I told him that the way he had approached me helped me to think things through.

  Joan: There are some problems that go beyond problem-solving. Sometimes professional help is needed.

  At first I thought Rachel had lost weight because of all the exercise she was doing lately. But I couldn’t understand why she was tired all the time or why she had no appetite. No matter what I made—even her favorite foods—she’d take one or two bites, push the rest around on her plate, and when I’d urge her to eat more, she’d say, “I’m really not hungry” or “Anyway, I’m too fat.”

  Then one morning I accidentally walked in on her as she was getting out of the shower and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Her body was emaciated. She was skin and bones.

  I was completely unnerved. I didn’t know if this was the kind of problem we could sit down and solve together, but I had to try. The very first step—acknowledging her feelings—backfired. I said, “Honey, I know I’ve been on your case lately about how you haven’t been eating, and I know that can be irritating, and I can understand why you’d …”

  Before I could get one more word out of my mouth, she flared up at me: “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s not your concern. It’s my body and what I eat is my business!” Then she went into her room and slammed the door.

  That was when I called our family doctor. I told him what was going on and he urged me to bring Rachel in for a checkup. When she finally came out of her room, I said, “Rachel, I know you don’t think your eating should be my concern. But the fact is, I am concerned. You’re my daughter and I love you and I want to help you, but I don’t know how and that’s why I made an appointment with the doctor.”

  Well, she gave me a hard time. (“I don’t need help! You’re the one who has a problem, not me.”) But I didn’t back down. And when we finally saw the doctor, he confirmed my worst fears. Rachel had an eating disorder. She had lost twelve pounds, missed her last few periods, and her blood pressure was low.

  The doctor was very direct with her. He told her she had a potentially serious health problem that required immediate attention, that it was good it was caught early, and that he was referring her to a special program. When she asked, “What kind of program?,” he explained that it was a “team” approach—a combination of individual, group, and nutritional counseling.

  As we were leaving, Rachel looked overwhelmed. The doctor smiled at her and took her hand. He said, “Rachel, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. You’re a spunky kid. I’ve got a lot of confidence in you. When you go into this program, you’re going to make it work for you.”

  I don’t know if Rachel was able to take in what he said, but I was grateful for his words and very relieved. I wouldn’t have to face this alone. There was help out there.

  a quick reminder

  Working It Out Together

  Parent: This is the second time you missed your curfew! Well, you ca
n forget about going anywhere next Saturday night. You’re in for the weekend.

  Instead:

  Step 1: Invite your teenager to give her point of view.

  Parent: Something is making it difficult for you to meet your curfew.

  Teen: I’m the only one who has to be home by ten. I always have to leave when everyone is having fun.

  Step 2: State your point of view.

  Parent: When I expect you home at a certain time and you’re still not here, I worry. My imagination goes into overdrive.

  Step 3: Invite your teenager to brainstorm with you.

  Parent: Let’s see if there are any ideas we can come up with that would give you a little more time with your friends and give me peace of mind.

  Step 4: Write down all ideas—without evaluating.

  Let me stay out as long as I want and don’t wait up for me. (teen)

  Never let you out again until you’re married. (parent)

  Move my curfew up to eleven. (teen)

  Extend your curfew to ten-thirty—temporarily. (parent)

  Step 5: Review your list and decide which ideas you want to put into action.

  Teen: Ten-thirty is better. But why temporarily?

  Parent: We can make it permanent. All you’d have to do is prove you can be on time from now on.

  Teen: It’s a deal.

  Five

  Meeting the Kids

  I wanted to meet the kids.

  I’d been hearing about them, talking about them, thinking about them, and now I wanted to experience them for myself. I asked the parents how they’d feel about my scheduling a few sessions with their children—one to get acquainted, one to teach them some basic communication skills, and then one where we would all meet together.