In the morning, before I’ve finished my first cup of tea, I listen to the blaring sounds of the latest tunes on Pandora, a station of songs not meant for my generation to hear before 10 a.m. I don’t say a word about the decibels. Instead, I routinely ask if they would like Granola bars or hard pretzels in their lunch, if there is practice after school, and if they’ll need a ride.
I have decided that if they can’t hear me, they’ll turn down the music. This must be their decision, you know.
Because the second I start telling them to “turn that off,” the entire direction of the conversation will take a downward spiral – away from the food, the pick-up times. Eventually, even in the “silence” of their own music, space is created. A space they have created, and a space that makes them feel autonomous. The space I would have created would really be silent, the result of my command to “turn that off.” But that space wouldn’t be theirs – and that space doesn’t give them the security and the power they need to finally tell me what’s really on their mind. Those decibels are a small price to pay.
Music: The Universal Language