Take a breather in those long conversations
Long conversations - not to be confused with “incessant” or “everlasting” conversations, both of which seem to have obnoxious over- and undertones. Haven’t you found, having reached a certain stage in life, that some conversations go on for a long time? I mean those ones that just don’t seem to come to a satisfying conclusion. You know, when you each have said everything you can think of so you stop talking—not because you are finished speaking about the matter but because your thoughts haven’t kept pace with the words. Then, days or months later, someone will say, “You remember when we were talking about such and so? I think . . .”
When my oldest was in Grade 1, he did his first science project. He was energized about working on volcanoes. He brought books home from school, borrowed more from the library and we dove into volcanology. We (because when a child is learning how to work on a project, having mum or dad around for help and advice can make the exercise) learned about lava and magma and how a volcano is formed. We examined several diagrams of the working parts of an active volcano. My young volcanologist decided (being also inspired by the colour and perspectives of Barbara Reid’s illustrations) to build a diagram of the interior of a volcano using Plasticine in vivid colours. It turned out rather well, labelled clearly by his own hand.
But he wasn’t finished: he wanted to make the erupting model, too. We were out of time and out of Plasticine and none of the substitutes I suggested seemed to sooth the situation. Into school the project went. Son, disgruntled, reported that several other students had brought in erupting volcanoes. When I went with him to pick up the project, I saw them—but his was the one with the winning red ribbon attached!
He grumbled all the way home. And, whenever friends and neighbours stopped by and we showed off the project and the ribbon, his lip drooped to the floor and his brows drew together. Every few years, for a while, I would bring it up but I got no joy of the exercise. This past holiday season, a kit for making an erupting volcano stopped me in my tracks. Never mind that his own sons are older than he was at the time: I sent it to him for his December birthday, along with a note asking “Am I forgiven?”
His reply, full of chuckles, came by telephone. “It was never the erupting volcano, Mum!” Turns out that circumstance prevented him from having that special conversation with the judging team, which could have won him a trip to the national science fair! I’d have been disappointed about that, too.
The next time you find the conversation just doesn’t seem to resolve in a gratifying way? Remind yourself that it may not be over: it’s just time for a breather . . . give it another decade or two.