Living or working with
teenagers can be unsettling and disorienting even when you think you have it
all figured out. Teenagers will spare no time reminding you that, as an adult,
you are not a part of their world.
I am reminded of a quip
attributed to Mark Twain: “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so
ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be
21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”
Having worked with countless
teenagers for more than forty years, and having raised two of them, I
discovered early on that whatever world I occupied outside of their presence
with my professional reputation and credentials, these meant little to the kids
I worked with or for that matter, to my own kids.
Decades ago I found something
that one of my sons, then about 10-years-old, wrote about me in school. The
heading on the page was, “My Dad.” Naturally I read on with great anticipation
and a swelling sense of self-importance. Underneath the title he wrote, “My dad
is 6’1”, bald, wears glasses, and busts my chops. He likes dogs. My dad has
brown eyes and brown hair, at least what’s left of it. He’s a social worker.”
The kids I’ve worked and
lived with invariably drew their conclusions about me as they got to know me.
In turn, I drew my conclusions about them as I got to know them, despite what
might be called their credentials, that is - the often-negative labels assigned
to them. It is important to recognize the difference between the way in which
young people are viewed and classified by others, and their own experiences and
perceptions.
Assuming a stance of
uncertainty is one way of saying how important it is for us to be open and
reflective, to listen intently to the kids we see only then can we think more
deeply and see outside the box.
One of my colleagues, Camille
Roman, tells a story about growing up in an economically deprived and chaotic
family and how desperately she struggled as a teenager to be heard, and how no
one was ever listening. During one particularly troubling and heated exchange
at a holiday gathering Camille, whose family is from Puerto Rico, recalled, “My
face apparently betrayed my fear and confusion to an elderly aunt who was
secretly thought to be a witch. Tia Mercedes turned to me with her soft face
and wise eyes and whispered, ‘when your tongue is silent only then can you
hear.’”
Camille said, “My Tia was
telling me that something else was going on here and if I didn’t get caught up
in the noise then maybe I could understand and make sense of the chaos and it
would be less frightening and I would not feel so powerless.” And so this
powerful bit of homespun advice became a life lesson for her in her work as a
social worker and, I think, a powerful insight for all of us.
https://longislandweekly.com/tongue-silent-can-hear/
Andrew Malekoff is the
Executive Director of North Shore Child & Family Guidance Center, which
provides comprehensive mental health services for children from birth through
24 and their families. To find out more, visit www.northshorechildguidance.org.
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