THIS ONE'S FOR MOM

Did you watch the TV series EVERWOOD? If you're thinking that this blog should go in my TV JUNCTION FUNCTION BLOG, hold your horses because I have a point. I've only seen the first two seasons because that is all that's out on DVD (that wasn't the point). In season one Treat Williams' character asks his nurse (and friend) if fathers and sons don't get along because they have nothing in common. Obviously, he and his son are having MAJOR issues. Her response is that the problem between fathers and sons who don't get along is they have EVERYTHING in common. (I didn't use quotation marks because I didn't get it exactly right.) I was already thinking about my relationship with my mother when I thought about that scene. As an adult, I find myself nodding my head and saying, "Oh yeah." Then I think that it is a really good thing that I didn't see that show as a teenager because I might have done the television set bodily harm. Egads.


When I was in the third grade my teacher made a comment about me and mother not getting along. I don't remember the context of the remark, but I clearly remember her saying it and I thought it was odd even at the time. How did she know that my mother and I didn't get along? Strangely enough, I can't remember her name, her face, but I think her hair was red and she may have worn glasses. That's it. And she knew mom and I were already in this wierd little dynamic for power in our household. Too alike indeed.


Fast forward to high school and I remember being very angry with my mother most of the time. I couldn't tell her anything. Every time I did, she would tell me what she would have done or what I should do or what was going to happen. In any event, it wasn't what I would have chosen. The irony was that 99.9% of the time she was RIGHT. It would have turned out way better if I had done it her way. It was infuriating. Invariably that resulted in me storming out of the house to meet up with one of my girlfriends just so that I could rant and finish it up with, "I HATE MY MOTHER!" The beauty of it was that no explanation was required. Most teenage girls weren't overly happy with their mothers and I didn't have to say why I hated her. "I hate her because she's so smart and always right," would have sounded really lame. Besides, I wasn't mature enough to know that was why I hated her. It was just really tough being around someone who was so right all of the time. Who can measure up to that? It only made me feel more wrong, which I was. Ooooh. I hated her. Her and her constant rightness. I couldn't wait to go to college where I could be more right and less wrong.

By the time I moved back in with my mother in 1995, I wasn't a little girl anymore, and I didn't care so much about who was right and who was wrong. In fact, her rightness was comforting and reassuring, instead of strangling and demeaning. Instead of coming to her after I had already made the decision only to find out what the right thing would have been, I came to mom first to seek her opinion. I realized that I had an asset in Mom. Mom had 23+ years of living on me and the advantage of wisdom. I had never seen that in her as a child or a teenager. She was no longer the person who made me feel less than; she became my friend, as well as my mother, and was my cheering section and booster-upper.


I lived on my own for a long time before moving back in with mom. What I have discovered is that whether we are under the same roof or living in different states, she still gives the best advice of anyone I know.

I'M LISTENING

Where do you do your best thinking?  I do some of my best thinking in the shower.  Of course, I went in there today with the intent to ponder what to say to an old friend in an email and came out with an idea for this blog.  Hmmmm.  Life works in mysterious ways.  I'm still stuck on the email, but I remembered this great life lesson I got at St. Martin's Press.  I started working there right out of college and I pretty much knew nothing.  You're thinking, "Yeah right."  No, I had a degree in English but in terms of workability I was fairly useless. We were still using typewriters for the most part.  We had computers but they were NOTHING like what we have now.  There is also a very long story about the publicity department that I got hired into but that isn't the point of this blog.  Let's just say the entire department had quit but for four people and I was the first new hire so it was empty in there.  I was working for the director of the department.  First day she asks me to type a letter and I walk back to my desk and think, "Oh crap, now what?"  I had no idea how to format a letter.  That's what I mean when I say useless.  I snagged a senior publicist into helping me format the dumb thing, kept a copy in my top drawer for future reference, and somehow managed to bumble my way through.  Again, none of this is my life lesson.  Now, you're thinking, "Seriously????"  Yes.  Seriously.  That was just me being a kid.

Here is the good part.  We got calls all the time on the phone.  We fielded all of the calls from the general public as well the media calls plus internal stuff.  That is a lot of phone time.  Now, throw all of that at someone who can't format a letter but who has a good heart and really wants to help.  Sometimes very angry people call.  I can't remember the details of why this woman was angry.  What I do remember is that she was a volcano on the verge of explosion.  She was not general public.  She was inside our building.  She was an internal call.  She could press a button and be on my floor.  I didn't have the answers she wanted.  I was a peon person.  I was a nobody.  And I only understood about a quarter of what she saying because she was speaking New York on the phone very fast, and I knew that if I told her that I couldn't understand her that she might hunt me down and kill me.  I think she hung up on me, and I said a prayer of thanksgiving.  I also took a message for my boss, Claudia, and hand delivered it when she came in.  Claudia was only 5 feet tall and about 90 pounds soaking wet, and I feared this woman could crush her without even trying hard.  She was very scary.

I told Claudia about the phone call, and she told me to sit down.  She then said that she would tell me the secret to handling all irate people in the future.  She said I might want to write this down.  Indeed I did.  I pulled out my notepad and pen.  She said, "I'm listening."  I waited.  When she said nothing else, I looked up.  "That's it.  You can cushion it with other stuff if you want but that's all you really need.  All people need is to know that they are being heard.  Many times they know that you can't solve their problem.  They just need to share it.  Other times they just need someone to actually listen to them so that they can be pointed to the person who can solve their problem.  The thing is that people don't listen anymore.  You can turn a lion into a kittycat just by using those two words.  It's magic.  Try it."

She was right.  It works like a charm.  Everyone who deals with the general public will make their own lives so much easier just by saying, "I'm listening," and then doing it.  That ranting, crazy person will turn into your sweet aunt or grandma or sister.  If you find yourself turning into a raving maniac, stop talking and start thinking about who is not listening to you that you need to have listen to you.  I hate those automated machines that make you press a gadzillion numbers before you can talk to a live voice, because by the time I get to a live person I am that volcano that is ready to blow.  I know it, and I can't seem to help myself.  To top it off I get to hear the recording that my call might be recorded....egads.

There is a reason that so many people are in therapy.  We all just want to be heard.  So,  the next time you are lucky enough to be on the other end of someone else's rant you now have access to those magic words, "I'm listening."