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Health & Fitness

A Call to Call: It's Time to Have That (Difficult) Conversation

A call for communication in this age of no compromise.

   I don’t talk to my dad all that much anymore. It’s not that we had a falling out or that there’s any bad blood between us. Quite the opposite, actually: at 25 years old, I couldn’t be happier to be the son of someone whom I believe to be one of the best role models I know of. His commitment to family and strong moral compass are my personal beacons in the fog that can sometimes cloud one’s vision in their young adulthood.

 

   Yet here I am—seven years removed from living under his household and being his ward—and we barely talk. Sure, there is a renewed sense of mutual respect that (hopefully) comes to every father-son relationship that weathers the storm of the latter’s adolescence, but where has that gotten us? We still don’t really communicate.

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   Perhaps it’s normal. Maybe dads and their sons simply don’t chat all that often. God knows the tribulation that is many a man’s ability to share his feelings at all—to speak nothing of the seemingly unimaginable idea of doing so with another of his same gender. And his son, at that? Forget it.  Some men simply can’t do it. They just don’t seem to be hard-wired for such talks. 

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   But that can’t be it. I’m nothing if not an incredibly emotional human being and have little problem sharing my feelings and proffering my opinions. Just ask my friends. Better yet, don’t: they’ll tell you that I speak my mind too much. As for my old man—he seems fairly adept at expressing his views, as well: especially when considering he is the son of a hard-nosed Marine of German descent that—well, let’s just say—wasn’t exactly the most sentimental of old men. So where does that leave us?

 

   Increasingly, I have begun to see my (lack of) communication with my father as prototypical of a larger trend in society.  And not just among fathers and sons, either: friends and family of all kinds seem to be having trouble relating. Personally, at least, I think my father and I don’t talk as much as we’d like to because our conversations are inherently difficult. Why, you ask? Because we hold different beliefs and practice dissimilar politics.

 

   He, a practicing Catholic that has supported the Republican ticket in every election since the mid-60s; I, an avowed liberal that campaigned for Obama in 2008 and find myself toeing the line somewhere between socialist and democrat. Senior, a blue-collar electrician that spends his days working hard to bring power to those in need; Junior, a teacher that spends his days working tirelessly to bring math to those who (sometimes don’t) want it. At first glance, it seems, we couldn’t be much more different.

 

   So it makes sense, perhaps. It’s difficult to broach the idea of a conversation, so why try it?  It will inevitably lead to an argument, so why start it? It won’t make any difference, so why attempt it?

 

   For decades, if not centuries—no, let’s face it, millennia, that has been the answer. Difficult conversations have been avoided. Voices have not been voiced.

 

   To be true, avoidance is perhaps too passive a word when considering many of the times and historical epochs we are referring to. One would find it hard to believe that those enslaved by the Romans would have been uninterested in discourse were a senator to present the opportunity to do so. It would be imprudent to be of the opinion that one of King Henry’s subjects would have scoffed at the occasion to conference with their baron if given the chance. No doubt, the blacks enslaved in early America would not likely have walked away from the prospect of dialoguing with their masters. Theirs, its true, was a one-sided avoidance. A forced non-conversation. An imposed silence.

 

   But theirs is no longer our situation. We have, to be sure, made great strides in giving voice to those that were once forced to be silent. Guttenberg’s press allowed even those not in power to print their thoughts, giving rise to a new reality that would eventually lead to a breadth of discourse never before seen in the civilizations that have graced our planet. With this, the pendulum began its slow swing towards a two-sided conversation.

 

   The great Enlightenment thinkers capitalized on this newfound ability to communicate and used the technology of their time to spread their thoughts. Thoughts that discoursed of more equality for all and debated certain long-held truths that had theretofore never been questioned. Thoughts that hypothesized alternate realities and examined other possibilities. Thoughts that gave voice to ideas never before heard.

 

   And it only moved forward from there. Emboldened by these brave minds, more and more people sought fit to speak their own words. Thomas Paine wrote on Common Sense and The Rights of Man. Descartes had his Meditations. Locke pondered the role of government and the idea of toleration. Those not necessarily of power joined the conversation.

 

   And we grew. And as we grew, we talked more.  And as we talked more, more people talked. Not just enlightened philosophers, either, but everyday people now sought fit to join in the conversation. Dinnertime debates were had. People expressed their beliefs in long-winded letters. The world was getting noisy; silence had become anything but the norm.

 

   From this chatter, democracy was born and equality (for some) under law became accepted. People talked and slavery was outlawed; citizens thought and women were given suffrage; individuals conversed and civil rights were granted to minorities; the public dialogued and the mentally handicapped were declared worthy of our help; the populace posted and gays were allowed to marry (well, in some places).

 

   All of this has happened. All of this is real. And all of this change is, unarguably, positive. We have made progress. Conversation has led to a better now.

 

   But it hasn’t been easy. This conversation has led us through a troubled past. The wars of revolution claimed thousands of lives; our own Civil War was the bloodiest clash this nation has ever seen. Unknown scores of women befell violent ends in their attempts to have their voices count and well-documented thousands of minorities met with untimely deaths during their fight for basic rights. The mentally disadvantaged saw some gruesome days before the light of reason found their dark cells; Gay people are still being persecuted for their differences.

 

    And we shouldn’t forget any of this. We can’t. It would be unwise to go forth without this knowledge. These dark periods should and do serve as stark reminders of the world from whence we came.

 

   But the realities they helped bring about are where my focus lay. The understanding that we are better off now is what rings as most important to me. Because, while we still aren’t perfect, we are much better than we once were. While we still may not be able to boast of complete equality for all, we can at least be sure that we champion a much more encompassing equality for more. We aren’t there yet, but we are on our way.

 

   And we are on this way, I think, because of our conversations. We are moving (however tediously) towards a better future, because of the debates we’ve had in our past. We are talking our way into action and we are acting our way into change.

 

   Unfortunately, it seems, some of us have forgotten this. For, though we now have an unprecedented ability to speak our minds freely without (relatively much) fear of reprisal, some of us still don’t. Despite the lives lost and individual liberties sequestered to get us to this point, we still don’t find occasion to talk.

 

   We make excuses. If it isn’t that we’re avoiding a potentially awkward conversation, it’s that we’re too busy. If it isn’t that we think conversing about things that really matter is unimportant, it’s that we simply don’t know how.  We either don’t want to have them or don’t have the time. We either don’t see their importance or don’t know where to begin. For a myriad of reasons, then, these real—world-changing conversations—aren’t happening.

 

   Instead, we distract ourselves. We tune in to pop culture. There’s no time to talk if we have to get caught up with our favorite sitcom. We can have that conversation later, once we’re no longer engulfed in the most recent teen-fiction series.  We can’t have a debate if we’re too enraptured by the dating status of Hollywood’s latest power couple. Our voices become mute when we are captivated by the lives of a group of twenty-something’s on the shore.  We tune out of reality. We forget what really matters. We stop talking.

 

   It’s easier to do this, I know. Because real conversations can be difficult. I don’t talk with my dad that much for this very reason. Because it isn’t easy. So I avoid it. I read my books and I watch my shows. I scan the headlines of the gossip magazines at the checkout and—don’t judge me—have once sat and watched an entire season of Jersey Shore.

 

   I feel bad about it, but I continue to do it. Why? Because I’m tired and flipping on the TV is easier. Because I can’t think after a long day at work and reading cheap fiction about vampires and sex is the best I can do. Because philosophy just doesn’t get me going as much as Brad and Angelina do. Because Snooki is hilarious.

 

   But that can’t be it, America. We are better than that. Is this really to be the breadth of the diversions we now have? Do we really want to sell ourselves this far short? What cost will future generations pay for our lack of interest in the things that really matter? What price will they pay for our apathy? When is not enough too much?

 

            Conversations about religion might be hard, but that doesn’t make them worthless. Discussions about politics might not be easy, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have value. Talking about sex might be weird, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. Sure, these conversations may lead to encounters one might find uncomfortable. They might even be downright awkward. It’s possible, even, that you could damage a friendship. But isn’t that a risk we should be taking?

 

            With our history of progress through dialogue, it seems the least we can do for our offspring is have an uncomfortable conversation. With the amount we stand to gain, I think we can all deal with a little bit of awkwardness. And how good of a friendship was it if one talk can do that much destruction?

 

            I, myself, have had my fair share of these conversations. Perhaps in an attempt to countervail my own inaction, I have broached many a heavy debate. Whether a diatribe about the merits of a general political view, a debate about the existence of God or an argument about a specific policy proposal by a particular politician, I can say with certainty that I have tried to talk with others.

 

            In some cases, these chats went splendidly. New understandings were spawned and fresh appreciations retained. Beliefs were made more sensible and ideals comprehended. Progress, if only a mere modicum, was made.

 

            But I’ve also had bad experiences. People have blown up and fights have resulted. Someone has lost their cool and arguments have ensued. Feelings have been hurt and relationships have been tarnished. I have tried and I have failed.

 

            Yet I refuse to believe that this is a bad thing. Sure, the dialogues I have attempted haven’t always gone perfectly, but at least they were ventured. Certainly, some of them were complete failures, but at least they were tried. And, yeah, I may have lost some companions along the way, but I’m ok with that. Some things are more important than apparently fickle friendships.

 

            I, for one, am happy that I have talked. It feels good to have had such conversations. And I have benefitted from all of them. Because, no matter how they ended up, they did end. For better or worse, they were had, and I learned a lot from all of these talks—the bad ones and the good ones.

 

            Thus, I will continue to do my part to further the cause of the many. I will persist in using my voice to strive for the better good. It’s the least I can do, I figure, because, while the talking doesn’t last forever, its impact is hard to kill.

 

So let’s discard the notion that a difficult dialogue isn’t worth embarking on. Let’s eschew the idea that an awkward encounter is better left avoided.

 

After all, talking about the weather might be easier, but that doesn’t make it better.

 

Instead, let’s embrace the idea that real change is only possible with real conversation. Some of the best minds of our collective past dedicated (and, in many instances, lost) their lives so that we might have the ability to have real conversations about real things. So let’s have them.

 

Email that friend you grew apart from or text that acquaintance you don’t quite agree with. Buy a beer for someone who has dissimilar beliefs or have coffee with someone of different convictions.  Share a link with someone with whom you differ or re-tweet a person who sees the world differently than you.

 

Because we’ll never get anywhere if we don’t try and we’ll only go backwards if we fall silent. It’s time to take action, because our action will take time. And we don’t have any of that to waste.

 

I, for one, am going to go call my dad.

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