"What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate"

When there's been an instance of information that's not passed on, incomplete instructions, an assumption that I'll magically know something because I'm the mom or other common occurances, I say to my family, "Verbal communication, folks! It's what seperates us from the animals!' yet again. Then again, perhaps what seperates us, communication-wise, is the opportunity for so much misunderstanding. Do you think that moose have conversations with each other about how, "Yes, I'm looking for a mate, but I don't want to mate with YOU," or that lionesses say, "Just for once, could you go out and get dinner? You take me for granted!" I don't think wolf cubs complain that the other cubs didn't ask them to play.

I wrote this almost 4 years ago. I don't think that my family will ever get quite used to each other's communication styles, but I hope we're avoiding more and more "Huh?" moments.

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Recently, I was in a play with my youngest daughter, Hallie. She's nine years old, and loves being a social butterfly, so I didn't mind when we were put into separate dressing rooms. She can get dressed and on and offstage without my help, and she's not particularly clingy. Still, I occasionally wished I was around to give her the parental "eye" – you know, that look that only Mom gives.

I walked into the enormous ladies dressing room she was in one morning (I and several others were assigned to a wing of the men's dressing room), and I could hear her all the way down the hall. She was shrieking and making the frustration noise she makes that sounds like nothing so much as a bird squawk - a very loud squawk. I walked in and saw her carrying on and dramatically jumping up and down, demonstrating that she couldn't reach the hooks provided for hanging coats. This is typical Hallie behavior, but as usual it was alienating. The louder and wilder she got, the more all the other girls inched away and studiously ignored her, except to sneak quick glances that said, "What is wrong with this girl?"

"Hallie, stop that!" I barked in my best Mom voice. She immediately stopped bouncing up and down, stopped making noise, and informed me in a perfectly reasonable voice, "But I can't reach the hooks."

"So all that was helping?"

"No," she said, and sighed. We've had this conversation before.

"So what should you do?"

"I can't do it! I need someone to help!"

"So how would you get help?" She looked blank.

"Well, have you asked anyone to help you?"

Sigh again. "No."

"Well?"

She turned to the girl at the mirror next to hers. "Would you help me, please?" she asked, in her sweetest voice. I know she knows how to do these things.

The girl immediately smiled and said, "Sure!" She nicely took the coat, hung it up, smiled at my daughter and assured her it was "No problem," when thanked. She couldn't have been nicer.

"See?" I pointed out. "Nobody can answer you if you don't actually ask for anything."

Was Hallie happy? No. Did she get the point? Undoubtedly not. We've been over and over this territory before. She hates actually expressing what she needs or wants, because she only feels loved when someone does something for her and she hasn't asked. She complains and howls, louder and louder when she fails to get the attention she wants, to give people the opportunity to demonstrate that they love her by leaping in and helping her do whatever. If she has to ask, she reasons, that means that no one really loves her. But in order to attract their attention, she's willing to be very vocal otherwise.

We've already been over this same territory with Lana, our oldest, now in college. She's always felt the same way. If you have to ask, it means that you're unloved. If people really loved you, they'd see what you needed and do it for you.

I've explained over and over that it's a simple matter of manners. If you need something, you ask politely. People like others who display manners. People do not like loud complainers. I've pointed out how quickly and easily someone pays attention when they're asked nicely, and how quickly whatever it is gets done. It all falls on deaf ears. My girls are sure that if you have to ask, it means that no one loves you.

We've had variations of this discussion about other matters. For instance, when you announce, "I'm thirsty," or "It's so hot," well, that's a statement of fact. It's no different than saying, "The sky is blue," or "My name is Sharon." If you want me to get you a drink, you have to actually ask. When they were toddlers and preschoolers, I'd prompt them: "You have to ask nicely. Say, 'Please may I have (fill in the blank)?'" When they get older, though, and certainly after their age hits double digits, I expect them to remember these instructions on their own. More times than I want to count, I've listened to a child state, with increasing frequency and volume that they want something and finally point out, in exasperation, "Is there something you'd like me to do about that?"

That's usually met with, "Oh. Could I have (blank)?"

"Maybe, if you ask."

Then, my darling child would roll his or her eyes, say, "May I please have (blank)?" and then go away thinking that I'm just stubborn or mean for making them jump through unnecessary hoops.

When Lana was growing up, and she was upset or worried about something, she'd wander around hanging her head, sighing more and more dramatically. She would wait for someone to say, "What's wrong?" before she offered anything. If you just let her drag around sighing, she'd eventually retreat to her room, quite possibly slamming things around, convinced that she was ignored and unloved. I would keep ignoring the theatrics as long as I could, waiting for her to say, "I'm really stressed/angry/worried," but that was futile.

I do not relate to these feelings. If I've had a bad day, I announce when I walk in the door, "That was a miserable experience!" Then I tell you why it was miserable. Then I move on. If I feel ignored, I'll say to my husband, or child, or mother, "Hey, I need you right now." I expect everyone else to do the same. And sure, it's nice if, say, your arms are full and someone opens the door for you just because they can see that you need it. I just think it's unnecessarily self centered to expect the entire world to watch your every move, trying to anticipate whether you need or want something.

Lana's gotten better, but still has a tendency to hint instead of ask. I'm working on Hallie.

I realize this is not limited to my kids. In fact, I seem to be the one out of step.

A girlfriend of mine was telling me about being on vacation with her husband, tired and sore and wanting to get back to the hotel. Her husband asked if she'd like to stop and hail a cab or keep walking. She told me, "I said, 'No, I'm fine,' by which, of course, I meant, 'Call me a cab right now.' But no, we kept right on walking. He's so oblivious." I was just flabbergasted. If she wanted a cab, why didn't she ask for a cab? And why feel hurt when they kept walking? Because, when her husband failed to read her mind, she felt unloved. I just cannot imagine.

Of course, this is the problem with being an extremely literal person. My husband is always sure I must mean something other than what I say. "You just can't win for losing," as my mom says. I'll say A and he'll be sure I meant B, because "People always say A when they mean B." He's sure that direct, clear communication is somehow rude, and that civility is maintained by deciphering what people really mean when they say something. "I end up barking, "Did you just meet me yesterday? If I meant B, I would say B!"

My husband and his family do this ridiculous phone call thing that drives me insane. They are all convinced that whoever receives the call is the loved one. So, they'll all wait for the other ones to call, waiting to see if they're loved. It's maddening.

We'll be sitting there on, say, Christmas, and instead of phoning his relatives, Dan will wait for them to call him. As time goes by, he'll start feeling blue, sure he's forgotten and unloved. "You realize that your sister is sitting there waiting, just like you are," I tell him. "While you're thinking, 'She doesn't really love me," she's thinking, 'Danny never remembers me. He doesn't care.'" He's sure I'm wrong. She can't possibly be thinking of him. If she was, why wasn't she phoning? Oh. My. Goodness.

Finally, I'll snap at him to pick up the phone, and he will. They'll all be delighted to hear from him, but he'll still be vaguely sad, because he's the one that phoned, sure that only the receiver of phone calls is loved.

Maybe I'm odd, but my sister hasn't written me in literally years, and she just phoned me for the first time in probably a year, and I still feel that she loves me. She knows, I'm sure, that I adore her. That seems, well, normal to me.

My husband and one of his sisters also have a deep misunderstanding about family dinners. My sister in law, Deanna, has made it abundantly clear, over several years, that on any "occasion" – a holiday, or when a relative is visiting – she expects everyone to come to her house for dinner. Dan refuses to go unless he is specifically invited. "I'm not just showing up!" he'll say in horror. "That's rude! I will only go if I'm wanted." Deanna, on the other hand, tells him what she tells everyone else – "Whaddaya want, a gold engraved invitation? Should I get the butler to deliver that?" She gets very impatient with the idea of individual phone calls. She has no patience with being told, "I didn't know I was supposed to come." So, it is an impasse. Each feels ignored by the other.

Verbal communication, people! It's what separates us from the animals!

What keeps me from assuming that others can, or should, know what I need or think without my saying anything is simple. One, I know that I can't read minds, so I can't assume that anyone else can. Two, do you really want someone to read your mind? Really? Think about it! All the people you know or come into contact with running rampant through your head – your childhood memories, secret crushes, your opinion of your cousin's decorating and your employer's wardrobe! The checker at the supermarket knowing about your sex life, your kids knowing what they're getting for Christmas – all of it out there for public consumption.

No, thank you.

Now, could you please help me with this problem? Because it's stressing me out.