Communicating with Your Teen in the Car

Carpools: a time to listen

As usual, Mick and his baseball buddies, Skylar and Jorge, were late. I can't wait for him to get his license because I'm sick and tired of this thankless job of abused and neglected chauffeur. I know coach always ends practice at 5:15 P.M., so why can't they get out of the locker room by 5:45 P.M., as we agreed they would?

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi, Mick. Skylar. Jorge. How was practice?"

"Good, I guess." Sure, we've got the suburban minivan, but why do they all have to sit in the back seats? I remember that when I was a kid, we used to fight for that front seat—"I got shotgun!" Wonder if that was with my parents, or just my friends? Hmm.

"Hey, Mick," said Jorge, "think Sternstein will pitch for Tech tomorrow? I hear the pro scouts were at his last game."

Skylar jumped in. "Pro scouts, really! Man, I played with him in Little League, he ain't that good."

I tuned out. The chances of my Mick's attracting that kind of attention were nil; he was lucky to get in a few innings here and there. Blah. Blah. Blah.

As my thoughts drifted to work and what we would have for dinner, I heard their voices change—not louder or softer, just different.

"Jorge, you gonna ask Julie to the dance?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. I mean, she's only a freshman."

The boys had my attention now. And since they were all seniors, I silently concurred with Jorge—Julie was too young.

"What about you, Mick, are you and Rita still going to go?"

Rita? Who the heck was Rita? And when was this dance? I felt myself involuntarily slowing down as my ears perked up.

Carpools
Driving the car with your teenager and a few of his friends is one of the best places to catch up on what's going on in his life. This is when you learn about future and past parties; about arguments with teachers and coaches; about major term papers due the next day; and yes, about budding romances, too. But if you are not alert to the vast potential of car rides, you may miss this opportunity. That is, it takes a little patience and a lot of discipline to get the most out of these backseat conversations.

At first, your teenager and her friends get into the car, pile into the backseat, and jabber on about nothing. All you know for sure is that they are loud and energetic. (And, of course, oblivious to your presence other than as driver.) Usually, after a few minutes, someone will utter the test phrase or comment—something that will challenge your integrity: You'll feel it as a shiver from the base of your spine to the crown of your head. Did you see . . . You now have a split-second decision to make: to say something or to remain silent. Be liberal here. Unless it is something that is grossly offensive, let it pass—about 95 percent of the time if you're like most parents. Now the conversation gets interesting and the eavesdropping is juicy. Now they'll talk about all the interesting things happening in their lives—the ones they don't normally share with you—and they'll act as if you weren't there and can't hear what they are saying. When this happens, a second interesting phenomena occurs: You become a model driver. You stop for a full two seconds at all stop signs; you drive the speed limit, or just below; you stop at yellow lights, even a few green ones, too. You want to make this moment last.

Your job now, more than ever, is to drive well and stay quiet. This is your teenager's way of catching you up on some of the details of her life. Don't ruin the moment by asking lots of questions. Let her friends ask the questions and make the points. You just listen and take it all in.

Of course, after you have dropped off the last of her friends, the big moment arrives. As she climbs into the front seat, you think, What next? Every cell in your body will scream out and tell you to ask her follow-up questions: I didn't know Jocelyn is having a party this weekend. Who is Steven, and when I going to meet him? Restrain yourself. Your job now is to have a two-second, nonverbal conversation with your daughter. As you glance her way, your eyes open wide. Your expression tells her: I heard every word you guys said and I think we need to talk, or at least you need to tell me more. If you can stay quiet instead of panicking, you will see a different sort of expression flash across her face, a much more relaxed look that says: I know you heard everything we talked about, and I know you're cool enough not to interrogate me over the details. Then she will look away. Again, restrain yourself. Do a doubletake if you need to, but when you do look back to your daughter, do so with an expression that says: You're right. Then turn your attention forward and attend to the details of driving. If you're really in the moment, you will notice, just out of the corner of your eye, that as your head turns forward your daughter's left hand simultaneously reaches out to turn up the volume on the radio. This movement signals the end of your two-second, nonverbal conversation.

Properly understood, this behavior on the part of your teenager is elegant and brilliant. In one car ride, she has managed to update you on some of the more pertinent details of her life without having to answer twenty questions about the details. Or, from another perspective, you now know enough about what is happening in her life so that if something goes wrong—her best friend starts dating the guy she had planned to ask to the dance, she isn't invited to the party this weekend, her teacher won't let her make up the test she missed because of an away volleyball game—she can count on you for support. That is, when she is in her room crying and you ask what is wrong, she'll tell you because you have enough background information to make sense of the bits and pieces of information she'll throw your way: Jeff is going out with Leila. Now she counts on you to remember what was said during that car ride so that you can put two and two together and realize that Jeff was the guy she had a crush on. And Leila was her best friend. In other words, your daughter is in a crisis.

Imagine you had not overheard that conversation in the car; now when you enter her room and ask why she is crying, instead of letting you support her there's a good chance she'll either turn her head away in dismissal or attack you for asking the question. The reason is that without the background information you can't possibly understand what she is going through, and she doesn't have the energy or patience to catch you up on the history of the crisis. In short, she is angry with you for not understanding what she never told you.

Savvy parents recognize the carpool as the opportunity it really is: the chance for your teenager to update you safely on the vulnerable areas of his life on the long shot that things will go haywire and he'll need your support. Put another way, driving the carpool and staying quiet as he discusses his life allows you, when the crisis hits, to transform yourself into the caring, compassionate, and good parent your son needs. During these car rides, your teenager tosses you gems; it's up to you to catch them and to recognize their value in strengthening your relationship with each other.

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