Dr. Les Kertay finds a way to teach emotional intelligence to his son.
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If boys are to become men—real men, not the caricature of manhood that dominated the advertising world of my childhood, or the new more subtle caricatures found in modern advertising and music—they need to learn to be articulate about their emotional lives. Daniel Goleman calls it “emotional intelligence.” I’m tempted to call it simply “maturity.” Whatever we call it, that many men lack this ability to articulate their inner states is made apparent by the rampant rancor in public discourse, and the uncivilized way that many men tend treat each other and the women in their lives.
This isn’t actually all that hard. The skill is this: when you have an emotion, be able to name it, own it, and when appropriate say it out loud—then choose a course of action that makes the most sense. Instead of trying hard to suppress or control emotions—only to have them leak all over everyone as we act out – own the feeling and then act with integrity. Sounds simple, and obvious, but I don’t see a lot of it going on, especially (I am embarrassed to say) with men.
I’ve known for some time that I wanted my boys to know this skill, but I’ve struggled to know how to teach it. As we were getting ready for our Maine Men 2011 trip, I stumbled across an event that seemed tailor made, and on the last day of our trip I saw it in action.
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A few days before the trip Sam said he wanted to go to a State Park that turned out to be on the other end of Maine, so it just wasn’t practical. He knew it wasn’t practical, but he was disappointed – and he did what he usually does when he’s disappointed, which is to pout and then get really ugly with everyone around him. When I asked him what was up, he said “Nothing” in that way that only kids can say – you know, the one where you think someone is poking you in the eye while tickling you? This, I admit with some chagrin, makes me homicidal, and I am generally really bad at stopping myself from saying really stupid things like, “If you won’t let me help you, get out of my sight” – or something equally horrid and sure to lose me the father-of-the-year award.
Somehow, I stopped myself that day, and said instead that we ought to try and work something out before the trip, because this wasn’t going to work for me. I said, in a moment of insight, that I react really badly when someone says one thing but is acting as though they feel another. I told Sam that when he says he’s “fine,” but clearly isn’t, I start to feel responsible for fixing it, and since I can’t I tend to get mad. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but the problem is that I keep trying to fix it, and you don’t want to be fixed, and we end up mad at each other.” I pointed out that the same thing happens with Greg, and then they try to make me happy because I feel like a terrible parent, and pretty soon we’re all mad at each other and we can’t remember why.
“Is that because you’re a psychologist?” Sam asked, which I thought was pretty smart. “Partly,” I admitted, “but mostly I’m just sensitive to how people feel, just like both of you are.” They got that, but didn’t know what to do instead. So I suggested that they say whatever is going on – “If you’re disappointed but trying to work through it, say so. If you’re disappointed but you’re worried that it will upset me to say so, tell me that. Put words on all the parts you feel, and I think it will make it easier.”
So far, so good. We had a name for it, and we had a plan, even if it was a little “high-falutin’”.
We all got on remarkably well during the trip, but on the last day Greg was really disappointed that his suggestion to take the Duck Tour wasn’t going to work out in terms of timing and money. He was upset, but trying really hard not to be, and I was trying really hard to fix it and make everything ok. Uh oh.
Then a miracle occurred. Greg said, “Ok, I really am disappointed, but I’m trying to work it out on my own and I want you to let me do that if you can.”
Wow.
And you know what? It was hard but I backed off and we went on with our alternate plan. I did feel bad and as though I had disappointed him, and I really wanted to fix it. But I didn’t – and I didn’t get angry either because everything was on the table. Within 20 minutes Greg was fine, I stopped feeling guilty and instead paid attention to being with the boys, and Sam was the one who commented on how well it seemed to work when we all said what we felt and what we wanted.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
For us, despite terrible weather 3 of our 6 days in Maine, and despite not being able to do everything exactly when and how we said, the boys dealt with their disappointments and irritations really well. They said what they felt, and moved on – and in the end all agreed it was the best trip yet. I was, and am, very proud of them for how they handled themselves, and how unselfish they were.
Maybe more importantly, I believe it is possible to teach boys how to be emotionally articulate, and to respect their right to work through something on their own. I can’t swear they’ll be better men for this experience, but I wouldn’t bet against it.
What do you do to help your boys grow up to be better men?
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Originally published with a different title at www.leskertay.com
Image credits: (main) what_i_see / flickr, (insets) courtesy of author
Empathise, help them name their feelings and then let them have their feelings. Empower them to solve their own problems, including how to deal with the inevitable disappointments they will face. Letting go of wanting to fix it for them is hard! Thanks for this.
Hi Les,
lovely post. This type of expressing and letting go of disappointment works for any gender. I’ve had similar conversations with my sons, though not nearly as articulate. This article will help us to get at the ‘meat’ of what we’re trying to do, which is just be together and love each other with a minimum of hurt feelings! I need to name it, own it and say it too, just as much as my sweet sons. Thank you very much for this tool. I think I could adapt it for my middle school students, too!
My 13 year old son attends peer group about once a week in school…I am so proud of how he handles himself in group…he has really matured a lot over the years… Sometimes his friends will say something rude or obnoxious and he knows to ignore it if it is insipid and walk away…sometimes he plays XBox with his friends and one player will do something truly annoying…and I have heard him and his other friend call out the other boy on his bad behavior (not in a mean or abusive way, but in a reasoned and measured voice)….he also… Read more »
Wow Leia, sounds like your son is ahead of a lot of adults when it comes to emotional intelligence, kindness and empathy. I hope my son can be just as emotionally mature when he is a teenager.
Hi Les,
I loved this post. What you described is exactly the inner turmoil I go through with my own son, so I could actually feel what you were talking about.
I realized reading this that I own my own emotions and name them when dealing with my son.The missing piece was how to get him to start doing the same, so this extremely helpful.
Thanks
Keith, your comment is the kind of thing that makes writing worthwhile. For me, it was one of those lucky moments where I happened to catch myself and was able to say the right thing. If passing that on can make a difference for you and your son, that is a reward beyond words. Best wishes in raising your son, for the moments of triumph and those, well, not so triumphant. Owning it all will makes us, and our children, better.
“I told Sam that when he says he’s “fine,” but clearly isn’t, I start to feel responsible for fixing it, and since I can’t I tend to get mad. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but the problem is that I keep trying to fix it, and you don’t want to be fixed, and we end up mad at each other.” The above line sounds just like me and my former partner. I’d either say I was fine or somehow show that I wasn’t but wouldn’t talk about it and she would try to fix or help which I usually… Read more »
Thanks for reading it, James, and for sharing. As to being 28 and being better but having a ways to go, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that it keeps getting better if you keep working at it. The bad news is the learning – and the need to learn – never ends. I’m about to turn 60, and I too have a ways to go; some days I think a LONG ways to go. I’m so encouraged to think that there is a generation coming of age that will be better equipped to live… Read more »
I love those moments when you somehow pull out a great parent moment… but not as much as the amazing moment it pays off later. They really are listening and learning.
Indeed, Veronica, they are listening and learning even when I’d rather they didn’t! I, too, love those moments when it all seems to go right – they make up for the moments in between, and for the moments where I’m convinced I’ve done it all wrong. I’m thinking I need to write about those moments too, the ones I wish I could have back, the ones where I’ve done exactly the wrong thing; perhaps sharing them would make us all feel less alone.
Really good thought in this article…emotional disability might be as bad as being too emotional…men can learn a lot from women and vice versa…I completely agree that emotional intelligence = maturity…it’s just the next level of understanding, not only with reason but emotions…
Thank you, Izabela. There is a term in psychology that I first heard when I was learning about addictions treatment: “alexithymia.” Originally it was applied to alcoholics, and means “the inability to name emotions,” or “absence of feeling words.” The more I’ve thought about it over the years, the more I think it is much more common, especially among men, and perhaps is endemic to the culture; also, that it creates all sorts of mischief. The saying “what you don’t know can’t hurt you” seems exactly backwards; more likely, it’s only what we don’t know that hurts us.
Great work, Dr. Kertay. I particularly loved the miracle moment with Greg.
~Cameron
Thanks, Cameron. It was a great moment indeed.
Neat idea, well articulated and described. I was disappointed that you did not describe yourself as participating in the open dialogue. I imagine that is what you are suggesting, that there be reciprocity in the self monitoring. It would have been very supporting for your son if you had, for instance, openly appreciated his statement and acknowledge your own resorting to an unhelpful mindset. I’m guessing you did this, because your trip seems to have been awesome à
Barbara, thanks for your comment, and you make a great point. You are right, it’s the inevitable short-hand that comes from writing a blog post; something always gets left out. I did also talk about my part, though when exactly I did in that experience I now don’t recall. I do know this: when I am able to remember to be forthright and vulnerable about my experience, it makes a huge difference – partly because I’m modeling what I hope they will do, but mostly because it gives them a way to experience me as real. Then again, there are… Read more »