Auto Etiquette 101

by John Ettorre

Mrs. Bush may be better known for her love of reading and for having been a librarian, but on the vital subject of sneaky guerilla tactics of parenting, I think she’s staked her claim to a budding new area of expertise. Still, let me suggest a slight addendum to her wisdom: you learn even more about your kids when they’re captive in a car along with some of their friends.

That’s because when it comes to teenagers, especially boys (I have two myself), it’s often pretty tough to pull anything out of them one on one, at least when you’re expecting an answer on your schedule rather than theirs. And their reluctance to talk with dad while auto-bound, especially when they’re joined by friends, is reinforced by their mom. "Now don’t say a word. Just drive," my wife will not-so-subtly counsel before dispatching me on the latest carpooling expedition with one or the other of my sons and some of his friends.

Her advice typically arises from their complaints to her about my boorish behavior: like, say, asking them all how their day went or what they thought of the game they just played. Okay, I admit that I’ve sometimes been known to slip in a clunker joke or two. And in our house, as perhaps in yours, mom functions as the Supreme Court, forever hearing pleas to overturn lower court rulings from, say, dad. My boys’ complaints are generally straightforward. However they’re framed, the real underlying plea to her is this: can’t you make dad stop acting like a real-life version of über-nerd Chevy Chase in those family-vacation-from-hell movies?

Anyway, your kids, boys especially, have a way of reminding you that unlike adults, they’re not such dorks as to necessarily chatter with their friends, much less with you. That goes double in certain situations or times of day. My oldest, Michael, quickly reminded us of this iron rule of teen physics when we peppered him for insights about how his first few days of morning carpooling to high school went (a trip unencumbered by a single adult, not even the driver). He looked at me with that blank, unspoken "duh" expression, as if I were hopelessly dim not to understand that there’s no such thing as an adolescent morning person. "We don’t talk dad, we all sleep."

But of course my wife is right. Listening is always more productive than talking. In my own defense, I offer the observation that even professionals occasionally need to be reminded of that simple rule. Have you ever noticed how public TV interviewer Charlie Rose often can’t stop helping his guests answer his questions long enough to let them frame their own answers?

Good listening, of course, needn’t take place only in a car. The best kind happens in unplanned fashion, because kids have a way of opening up and talking on their schedule, not ours. My son Patrick often reminds me of that. Just try to find out how school went or how he feels about his role in the school play, and you’re likely to get the teen S&M (shrug and mumble). In other words, zippo, nada.

But when we can somehow slow the suburban schedule, and stop racing to the 13^th activity that day, and instead simply be with them, better things happen. Twenty minutes into throwing a baseball around with him, or playing a board game (on those rare occasions when he’s up for such a retro activity) or, best of all, doing a puzzle with his mom, he’s often good and ready to talk about how things are going in his world. Only he wouldn’t think of it that way.

And of course words aren’t the only way to communicate with our kids, something we all need to be reminded about occasionally. Often, just being around is the trick. The writer Camille Paglia once observed that her warmest memories of childhood were of largely silent, though deeply loving exchanges with her grandmother, who would cook and bustle around her house as her granddaughter watched and sometimes helped. Actions can indeed speak louder than words, and children especially tend to ignore much of what parents say while missing almost nothing that we do.

I think Paglia and my wife are on to something, just as I think Charlie Rose misses a lot of potential gold that his guests might offer up if only he’d shut up long enough to let them finish their thought. So I’ve resolved to tape a small reminder to myself, a mental one at least, on the dashboard of the family van.

It reads like this: Silence is golden. Just drive, pal.

John Ettorre is a Cleveland-based writer and editor who has also worked in Washington, D.C. and Chicago. Over a 20-year career, his writing has appeared in more than 70 publications, including the New York Times. His online weblog, Working With Words, can be found at www.workingwithwords.blogspot.com. To reach John, send e-mail to: jettorre@voyager.net or leave a message at (440) 708-2994.