Original URL: http://life.familyeducation.com/teen/communication/42912.html

Communicating with Your Teen in the Car

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. We hear a great deal about the value of eating dinner together as a family. Family dinners are still important when your kids become adolescents, but the way they are important changes. Seldom is the dinner table the site of meaningful information exchange and value clarification, as it was several years ago when your child was still in grade school. Given that the average family dinner at home involving a teenager lasts around ten minutes, it makes no sense to expect life-changing conversations to occur during this time. Yet, although the meaning of the family dinner has changed, its overall importance is unwavering.

Researchers have shown that until around age eleven or twelve, when you ask kids whom they would talk to if they had a problem, most list, in order: parents, teachers, friends. However, once children enter adolescence, the list reverses itself: friends, teachers, parents. This means that your teenager talks about all the juicy stuff at school, on the phone, at work, and on the playing fields, but not at the dinner table—and usually not within earshot of his mom and dad. During adolescence, dinner becomes the bridge that leads to bigger conversations later on, long after the dishes have been cleared. Dinner is the time for small talk. It's the time to make eye contact and check in with one another. It's the time to crack a joke or two and laugh. It's the time to reconfigure logistics for later that night or the next day. These exchanges build the bridge of communication between parents and teenagers. It is over this bridge that they travel late at night, on a car ride together, and at other times when they need to talk. (Though if you have more than one child, once the teenager excuses herself, the dinner conversation often slides back to the big stuff.) Make no mistake about it, without the check-in time that dinner provides—you know, when you ask her about her day and she does her best to give up as little information as possible—these other breakthrough conversations will not happen. There is a direct correlation between the small talk of dinner and the big talks that happen away from the dining room table.

Once Sylvia entered high school, we had this weird little ritual that was unspoken until years later when she was home from college one summer. Our family dinners were always scattered because she was the oldest of four, but as an adolescent she more often than not was leaving the table before having even settled in. I don't think she ever lasted more than ten minutes. I chose not to fight this behavior; rather, I just used dinner to sort of get a gestalt of my daughter: How was her mood? Was she losing weight? Did she seem okay? But every once in a while, after dinner I would make some excuse to go for a car ride with her to the local convenience store or for an ice cream cone. Often, bordering on always, we got into great conversations on those rides—the same kinds of talks we used to have at dinner, the ones I missed so much. Now we still had them, but we just had to make special arrangements is all. Though I am delighted to say that since she entered college, dinner conversation—when she's around—is better than ever.

I hear similar stories from parents every year. For some, it's the car ride after dinner, but not always. For others, it's the walk around the block, doing dishes together, a cup of hot chocolate, or tea in the backyard. It's different for most families. The constant is that it occurs after dinner, in the transition times between dinner and personal time. Besides the carpool, there are other times in the car that are just as valuable. In fact, the car can, with a little creativity and courage, become the transformational vehicle for making lemonade out of lemons.

It was Sunday evening and we were on our way back from Lake Tahoe to our home in San Francisco, normally a trip of just over four hours. But during the winter on Sunday afternoons, the trip can take up to six hours, depending on weather and traffic. This was definitely one of those longer trips. At first, my wife, my sixteen-year-old daughter, and I were cranky and moody with one another. It wasn't pleasant. Then my wife decided to play a CD of some pop psychologist talking about teenagers. My daughter groaned on cue. But once my wife makes a decision, she is tough to stop.

I had never heard the guy before, but I have to admit that after a few minutes he had me hooked. He was making sense. A moment later, my daughter spoke: "Wow! How does he know that?"

This was my wife's big play. She paused the CD and asked: "Know what?"

"How I think. I mean, how teenagers think. It's like he's describing exactly what I do in my room after school—flop on the bed, listen to music, review my day, talk on the phone, instant message—only now I understand why. He's right, I'm just checking in with my friends to make sure everything is okay."

She went on like this for a few miles, making all sorts of connections to her life. I felt as if I were listening to her speak into her diary.

When she finally stopped, neither my wife nor I said anything; my wife simply hit the play button. About ten minutes later, my daughter shook her head: "He's crazy, that's not how kids get together anymore, it's much more random than that."

Again, my wife hit the pause button. "Has he got it all wrong or just part of it?"

"Most of it. You see, most kids . . . "

Near the end of my daughter's monologue about how teenagers get together as couples and as random sexual partners, my wife and I exchanged a look that said: This is incredible stuff we're hearing and scary as all get up.

The CD was only forty-five minutes long, but with my daughter's commentary it took us the better part of three hours to listen to it all. What a ride! My wife and I felt honored that our daughter had opened up with all this stuff that she normally never talks about with us. More important, I think my daughter felt proud that she could describe her life, and teenage life in general, so well.

And when we got home and out of the car, there was an unspoken agreement between us and our daughter that there was to be no direct follow-up to the conversation we had just had. Back to normal, but with a difference.

I've heard similar stories from lots of parents. Usually the impetus for the conversation is some sort of self-help audio or a talk radio show, and this unknown person somehow puts parents and teenagers on the same side. Together they are the audience, but while riding in a car they are free to disagree, support, and generally talk amongst themselves. Parents and teenagers are equals during this time. And smart parents make sure their teenagers are more than equal. That is, they defer to their teenagers' ideas as long as it keeps them talking and opening up. Then, as their teenager builds some momentum, they ask questions they've been holding on to for the past few months. Sometimes, they even gently debate with their teenagers.

During these exchanges, if you keep your teenager and his views as your focus, you will see him rise to the occasion. Suddenly he becomes more articulate, more thoughtful, and more mature; in short, he is exactly the kind of person you have been working so hard to raise. He is the expert; he surprises not only you but also himself with all that he has to say.

As one would expect, most of these open and honest conversations between parent and teenager that occur in the car also happen at night. It's a great one-two combination. Best of all, when your teenager is opening up this way, you won't even need coffee to stay alert behind the wheel.

Often during workshops with parents and teenagers, I break the audience into groups of five or seven parents and two or three teenagers—the only organizing criteria is that nobody in the same group is related. Then I give them topics or questions to discuss. No matter where I do this, the results are always the same. Within minutes, parents and teenagers are leaning into the circle speaking to one another and, more important, listening to one another. At the end of the evening, parents are astonished by how articulate the teenagers in their various groups have been. Within minutes, they put the rest of it together. Since their own teenager is more alike than different from all the other teenagers at the event, it only makes sense that their teenager is every bit as articulate as those in their groups earlier that evening. Sure enough, on the way to the parking lot, they get that feedback from the adults who were in the groups with their teenagers. Your son is so well spoken and thoughtful. You should be proud.

From the adolescent perspective, it's similar and different. For them, the shock is having spent time with adults who hung on to their every word. That is, most teenagers don't expect adults to listen to them, nor have they had such an experience—at least, not past the typical twenty questions: What time are you going to be home? Who will be there? What surprises them is that once they are comfortable with how much attention the adults in the group are giving them, they realize how much they have to say. They actually impress themselves, which is, of course, right in line with the narcissistic nature of adolescence.

It was really cool having all those parents paying so much attention to me. I mean it was weird, too. Usually, I'm trying keep my distance from parents, but this was different. And I was really surprised at all that I had to say. I know my parents would have been shocked to have heard what I said tonight. Shocked and pleased, I think; at least, I hope.

If you think back to the relationship shift that occurs when your child enters adolescence, from manager to consultant, then the basic configuration of a car takes on added significance. When you and your teenager are riding in the car, you are sitting side by side, which is the perfect configuration for a consulting relationship—not ahead and not behind, but next to each other. For them, it's also the easiest physical position from which to open up and express themselves.

In my years of counseling kids in middle schools and high schools, I learned early on never to sit directly across from them. Instead, I always sat just off center, away from their direct gaze. In effect, I gave them the space straight ahead of them to stare off into. Often, when speaking candidly with me or when putting together disparate pieces of information into a new insight about themselves, they would look off into the space in front of them, speak their thoughts aloud, and then turn their eyes in my direction for my reaction, comment, or question. This configuration naturally occurs when your teenager is riding in the passenger seat of the family car while you drive.

Riding in the car with her mom or dad gives your teenager the space ahead of herself to stare into. If she wants eye contact, she can initiate it; otherwise, she's content to sit beside you and to talk. Pragmatically, sitting side by side also encourages your teenager to free associate more easily (think of the Freudian therapists who sit behind their patients to ensure their clients greatest access to their unconscious thoughts), which is exactly what you want. The nature of free association is that the normal defenses are bypassed or dropped. Without this type of defenses-down, free-associative thought, there is no way to catch up on your teenager's life—at least, not in any meaningful way.

I guess my dad was smarter than I thought. All through high school, he used to insist that I accompany him on his once-a-month trips to the Berkshires (about an hour's drive) to check in on the cottage by the lake that our family owned. He would wake me early on the appointed Sunday morning, plop me in the passenger seat, and drive. I slept. When we got there, he did his checking, which was nothing more than a quick walk around. Then he bought me breakfast at the same diner each time; in fact, I ordered scrambled eggs and toast each time. (Thirty years later, I still order the same meal when he and I go out to breakfast.)

Over breakfast, we read the paper and chatted about the news and sports; then we got back in the car and drove home. Always in the last thirty minutes of the drive, I found myself talking to him about something that was happening in my life, something I had never expected to talk to him about. To his credit, he just listened. He never lectured or gave advice, he just listened. Then when we got home, he would thank me for accompanying him (as if I had been given a choice) and we would go about our business. . . . Now, as I raise my own teenager, I know why he waited until I had graduated from high school before he sold that cottage.