Vol. 135 - Outside Voices
On hearing it from someone else
Before we get into this week’s essay, I want to say welcome to all of the new subscribers and followers! Thanks to a recommendation from the pal
and her feature in the excellent series The Grow, we’ve got dozens upon dozens of new members in the BADIHAF community. So happy to have y’all here!Unlike the circus I grew up in (more on that some other time), my wife grew up in what can be described as a proper family. They had the kinds of rules and guidelines that—well, I don’t want to use the word “normal” but I can’t think of a better word so—normal families usually abide.
This isn’t to say I was raised poorly. Quite the opposite. My extended family was an amazing place to grow up full of some of the strongest and kindest people I know (especially the women. I was raised by a group of the smartest, toughest, and realest women I’ve ever met). My family was just… let’s say a bit more chaotic than your normal clan.
Let’s flashback once again to Passover a few weeks ago, where we joined Emily’s extended family for their annual seder.
Whenever we’re in anything resembling an austere setting—whether surrounded by her family, mine, or even people we barely know—Emily is on edge. She attributes it to the way she was raised, again, in far more normal circumstances than I, where children were meant to be more reserved and respectful of their surroundings.
And even though our kids were amazing during her family’s Passover seder, Emily was convinced they were behaving completely out of order, growing more and more agitated as the night wore on. I kept quietly defending them to her, telling her that they were fine, that they were doing nothing wrong.
But she wasn’t hearing it because, in those moments, Emily can become like a raw nerve, super sensitive to any sort of input. And, as I came to Philly straight from playing a festival in Texas, Emily had been a solo parent for the two days prior to the seder—including all the stresses of flying alone with two kids—making her fuse all the shorter.
After the dinner ended, and as it was long past their bedtime, I took the kids upstairs so Emily could have another hour or two to hang out with her family. On the way back to the room (the kids wanted mom to tuck them in), Emily and I got into it. She was upset that the kids were out of order. I told her they did absolutely nothing wrong.
What ensued was one of the biggest fights we’ve had in a long time because, well, you know, nerves, exhaustion, gefilte fish, et cetera. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of it but it was explosive.
A few hours later, Emily came back to our hotel room in a much calmer state. She apologized to me. I apologized to her.
Turns out, she spent the rest of the night talking with her cousin, who, apparently, told her exactly what I had been telling her for hours: that our kids were great, that they did nothing wrong, that they were perfectly behaved.
But, unlike mine, Emily’s cousin’s message—the exact same message I was trying to convey—landed with Emily.
Why?
Because outside voices matter.
Because sometimes, we listen least to the voices closest to us.
And to be clear, this is merely an example of an instance that happened recently. This is NOT an attack on Emily. I ignore her sound advice ALL. THE. TIME. only to be told exactly the same thing by a friend, family member, or professional, shaking my head in agreement and doing exactly what they tell me. Which is exactly what Emily had told me and exactly what I ignored.
I’m sure there’s some psychological reason behind this but it seems horribly counterintuitive. Why wouldn’t we listen to the person closest to us? Why would an outside voice carry more weight than the voices we trust the most?
Outside voices in a relationship are one thing. Outside voices in parenthood are an entirely different matter.
I’ve been playing drums for about thirty years. Granted, I’m hardly the drummer I once was. Once I left home and moved to The Big City (where it’s all but impossible to fit in regular drum practice, especially when you’re young and broke), I shifted my focus almost wholly to guitar playing and songwriting. But alas, I can still keep a tight beat and down in our basement, we have a little rehearsal studio (perks of not living in The Big City) where my drum set sits in the corner.
Since they were both infants, my kids have climbed onto its stool (a “throne” in proper drum parlance) and bashed away. But recently, our son told Emily and me that he wanted to learn to play the drums.
Great! Amazing! I was waiting for this day!
And no, I wouldn’t be teaching him.
Why?
Because there’s something about outside voices that resonates with kids in a way the voices of their parents simply do not.
To wit, between my ages of ten or eleven and twenty-two or twenty-three, there was not a single more clueless person on Earth than my father. He had absolutely no idea what he was talking about in regards to anything and so why would I listen to him? Of course, my coaches, my teachers and eventually professors, and other men in position of authority all knew what they were talking about. But not my old man. So best to completely ignore just about everything he told me.
Of course my father knew what he was talking about (and thankfully, despite my best efforts to ignore him, a lot of it sunk in). But, like most kids, I simply wasn’t interested in listening to him, in hearing it. I was in search of validation and direction from outside voices.
And so, after my son enthusiastically mentioned he wanted to learn how to play the drums, I signed him up for drum lessons at a local music school, thrilled that someone else would be teaching him how to do something I’ve probably spent a few thousand hours doing.
After his first thirty-minute lesson, my son was able to play a beat. By the second lesson, he had five beats in his quiver. Last week, I found a cheap set of electronic drums on Facebook marketplace, bought them, and set them up in a corner of our living room. At least twice a day, he’ll quietly go over to his new e-drums, pull the headphones over his ears, and start tapping out a beat.
He’s absolutely loving every second of learning how to play the drums.
Why?
Probably because someone other than his father is the one teaching him. And so, he’s more than ready to listen.