How to Talk so Parents will Listen

As most of us know, talking and listening don’t go smoothly every time. Emotions and past experiences can get in the way.

Will parents take you seriously, believe what you say, listen to and respect your opinions, and hear you out? A lot depends on your parents. Some parents are easy to talk to, some are great listeners, and some are hard to deal with. 【小题1】 Since communication is a two-way street, the way you talk can influence how well a parent listens and understands you.

So here are some guidelines to consider when talking to parents:

Be clear and direct. Be as clear as you can about what you think, feel, and want. Give details that can help parents understand your situation. 【小题2】

Be honest. If you’re always honest, a parent will be likely to believe what you say. If you sometimes hide the truth or add too much drama, parents will have a harder time believing what you tell them. 【小题3】

Try to understand their point of view. 【小题4】 If you can, say so. Telling parents you understand their views and feelings helps them be willing to see yours, too．

Try not to argue or complain. Using a tone that’s friendly and respectful makes it more likely that parents will listen and take what you say seriously. It also makes it more likely that they’ll talk to you in the same way. 【小题5】 If you think your emotions might get the better of you, do something to blow off steam before talking: Go for a run. Cry. Hit your pillow. Do whatever it takes to sound calm when you need to．

Months earlier, my wife Lisa had woken up at 4: 45 am, preparing to do exercise. She heard voices coming from the upstairs game room and decided to investigate. She discovered that our older son, Hunter. had been playing the video game Fortnite since he got home from school the previous day. What she found angered both of us.

We were sick and tired of the amount of time Hunter spent playing video games. He was so addicted to video games. Back in the 1980s, instead of playing video games, we kids were crazy about playing baseball and street football, driving hoops (大环圈) outside the house, etc. But times are different now. It becomes apparent that kids of the new generation are entirely different from kids of my generation. My kid and his peers (同龄人) are crazy about electronic products. I work in a summer camp and am responsible for the field sports programme. I often notice many of the campers playing video games on little portable (便携式的) devices.

I began to refer to kids who spent more time playing video games than playing sports as the Nintendo Generation. In an attempt to ensure that our kid did not become a member of the Nintendo Generation, I came up with a programme to help Hunter deal with his bad habit. It was that video-game time in our house would have to be earned, just like money. I set the exchange rate: Each mile run equals 30 minutes of video-game play.

The first couple of days didn’t go well. Instead of choosing to run to win the time of playing games, he decided to boycott my programme and spend time sleeping. But eventually. Hunter came around, and decided he would give running a shot. Now, Hunter is in good health and can run 18 miles. But nine months earlier, he was not in any condition to run five miles.

I hope that running teaches my son to invest his time in worthwhile efforts, to do something hard, but quite meaningful and beneficial and then to enjoy a reward. I never want him to stop challenging himself.

My parents never once spoke of the stress of having to pay for college, but I knew enough to appreciate that it was there. Therefore, when my French teacher announced that she’d be leading an optional class trip to Paris over one of our breaks for those who could come up with the money to do it, I didn’t even bother to raise the issue at home.

Yet one evening my parents sat me down, looking puzzled. My mom had learned about the France trip through my friend’s mom.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she said.

“Because it’s too much money.”

“That’s actually not for you to decide, Michelle,” my dad said gently, almost offended.

“And how are we supposed to decide, if we don’t even know about it?”

I looked at them both, unsure of what to say. My mother glanced at me, her eyes soft. My father had changed out of his work uniform and into a clean white shirt. They were in their early forties then, married nearly twenty years. Neither one of them had ever vacationed in Europe. They never took beach trips or went out to dinner. They didn’t own a house. We were their investment, me and my brother. Everything went into us.

A few months later, I boarded a flight to Paris with my teacher and a dozen or so of my classmates from Whitney Young. We would stay in a hostel, tour the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. We’d buy snacks from stands on the street and walk along the banks of the Seine. We’d speak French like a bunch of high school kids from Chicago, but we’d at least speak French.

As the plane pulled away from its gate that day, I looked out my window and back at the airport, knowing that my mother stood somewhere behind its black-glass windows, dressed in her winter coat and waving me on. I remember all the details. I remember the jet engines firing, shockingly loud. And then we were rattling down the runway and beginning to tilt upward as the acceleration seized my chest and pressed me backward into my seat for that strange, in-between moment that comes before finally you feel lifted.