Communication is a problem for parents and children of all ages. If it’s hard for you to communicate with your parents, don’t worry about it. Here is some advice for you.

Don’t argue with your parents. Don’t try to talk about something with your parents when you are angry. Your parents probably won’t listen to you if you are shouting at them. Go somewhere else to cool off. Then think about what you want to say to your parents. If you think you can’t speak to them at the moment, try writing a letter to them.

Try to understand your parents. Your parents may think differently from you. Tell your parents what you think, what you care about and why. Perhaps you and your parents disagree on something. Put yourself in their shoes and you may find a better way out.

Michael’s mother didn’t agree with him about buying a motorcycle. They argued over it. But they finally came to an agreement. Michael bought the motorcycle, but only drove it on certain days.

It is also important to show your love to your parents. Try to do some small things at home, like making them a cup of tea, helping do some chores, and so on. It helps to keep your relationship closer. A good relationship with your parents can make you a better and happier person. It is worth having a try.

Two years ago, you were happy and whole. You had a plan for life — start a new business, get involved in the Parent-teacher Association, teach your sons how to ride bicycles, spend as much time with your friends and parents as possible, watch your children mature and grow old with your husband. You were a “glass half full” person who often felt so much joy. You always looked forward, smiled and danced.

Two years ago, on December 14, 2012, the world changed and you changed with it. Disturbed young men with access to high-powered guns went to your sons’ school and killed six educators and twenty first-graders. Your eldest son Jake survived, but was changed by the day he discovered some monsters are real. He describes it as the day “when evils came to my school.” Your youngest son, Dylan, whom you thought of as a pure love, with his charming eyes and infectious giggle(微笑)，was killed. Shot multiple times, he died instantly in the arms of his special-education assistant who also died while trying to protect him.

The tragedy changed all your life, not only because of losing your child, but because of the hole inside you that can never be filled. Your eldest son has been forced to grow up too fast because of the loss of his brother. The pain has altered the lines on your husband’s face. The way you look at the world has changed. Your interactions with friends and family seem foreign.

… …

But the things have moved on with hopefulness. You are now someone far more realistic. You control your feelings because you fear if you really let it out, you would never recover. It would destroy you. You know what you should do is try everything to protect more children. You’re fighting a good fight, what the whole society really needs.

With love,

Nicole Hockley, Dylan’s mom

As I wash dishes at the kitchen sink, my husband, Scott, paces behind me, annoyed. “Have you seen my keys?” he asks. In the past I would have turned off the tap and joined the hunt while trying to comfort my husband. But that only made him angrier. Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I don’t turn around. I don’t say a word. I’m using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.

For a book I was writing about animal trainers’ school, I started spending my days watching professional trainers do the seemingly impossible: teaching dogs to dance on command and chimps to skateboard. Eventually it hit me that the same techniques might work on that stubborn but lovable species, the American husband. The central lesson I learned is that I should reward behaviour I like and ignore behaviour I don’t. After all, you don’t get a sea lion to balance a ball on the end of its nose by talking. The same goes for the American husband.

I began thanking Scott if he threw one dirty shirt into the laundry basket. If he threw in two, I’d kiss him. I was using what trainers call “approximations”, rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behaviour. With Scott the husband, I began to praise every small act every time: if he drove just a mile an hour slower, or was on time for anything.

I followed the students to Sea World San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to Least Reinforcing Scenario (L. R. S.). When a dolphin does something wrong, the trainer doesn’t respond in any way. The idea is that any response, positive or negative, fuels a behaviour. If a behaviour causes no response, it typically dies away. It was only a matter of time before he was again searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. It took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but results were immediate. I felt as if I should throw him a small fish.