I am a communicator who speaks and writes effectively so that my meaning is understood to groups and individuals. I am also a successful poetry performer who can read a crowd while entertaining them with memorable lines and emotional punchiness.
I assure you I didn't arrive here by accident.
As a kid I possessed the opposite of most people's fears: I loved the lectern and the stage, but I had a hard time communicating one-on-one. I didn't know communication protocols (a neighbor told me at 5 years old to look at her while speaking), and I don't know if I ever responded to "How are you?" I didn't have many friends and my parents rarely entertained or took me to parties. My mom and aunt thought I was dreadfully shy, and my dad thought I never reacted with the right comeback line if I was teased. He suggested I tell the bullies, "Your mother wears combat boots!" or "Same to you and twice on Sunday!," which just brought on more abuse. I decided it was better not to say anything except please and thank you.
My mom believed that I should have learned the communication arts via osmosis. She did give me a script when I had to use the phone, which was helpful: "Hello, may I please speak to Jane?" But I was on my own with a live person. Never having been taught, I couldn't pick up on social cues, so I either interrupted or over-talked.
I interrupted if an idea popped into my head or if I could "top" someone's conversation. My parents loved interrupting me when I discussed a topic they didn't find interesting. I remember my mom "topping" me when I was telling my brother's girlfriend's parents how I had just moved from Myrtle Beach to Raleigh. Mom said, "Well, when I was Alice's age, I had already lived all over Europe and found jobs in countries where I didn't know the language."
Perhaps because she's French, Mom believed it was rude to ask questions, and I followed suit in conversations by talking all about myself. It was only in my late 20s that Keith, my future husband, kindly told me that it would be nice to let the other person have a turn and listen for a change. Life is sure more rewarding when you can relate to others and they can relate to you.
Keith and his family soon became the communication models I never had growing up.
So I also volunteered to lead a book club and had to facilitate the multiple personalities that kept interrupting. Did I do that? Did I talk too much? Yes, guilty! My writing assignments included interviewing sources for articles, so I had to train myself not to interrupt or I wouldn't get the story. I soon learned that if I allowed for silences and let my interview subject fill the gaps, I always had more than enough information.
To grow I had to give myself permission to learn what I had missed in childhood. I also realized I couldn't lean on my ignorance as a grown-up excuse: It was time to listen, pay attention, watch the world, and pass on scripts and tips to my kids. I already know I'm doing a good job. Just yesterday an old book club friend told me that we have such outgoing and friendly children.
