How dads communicate - or rather, how they don't

photo Mark Kennedy

My 8-year-old has developed an interest in the National Football League.

I don't think he likes football that much, but he sees me watching games and he wants to share.

I told him that, to be an NFL fan, he needs to pick a team -- any team -- so he has started watching games with more energy. At one point last Sunday he asked me, "Daddy, who is Atphilly?"

"Who's who?" I asked.

"Atphilly," my son repeated, pointing at the television. "The guy on TV just said the Titans play Atphilly next week."

"Oh," I said. "He means the Titans play the Philadelphia Eagles at Philly next week."

"Oh," he said, then posed a follow-up question: "So Atlanta is not really At-lanta, just Lanta?"

My 8-year-old son also attempts to talk to me about cars -- another passion of mine -- but he can only think of one question.

"Daddy, if you could have any car, what would it be?"

He has asked this about 100 times. Still, I try to make my answer sound fresh.

"Let me see, maybe a Jaguar F-Type or a Mercedes S-Class," I say. "But don't hold your breath."

"I'd get a truck," he says flatly.

These little micro-chats serve us both well, like the secret handshake we do a couple of times a day to connect.

I'm not sure why, but it seems that most fathers and sons grope for conversation topics. For my dad and I, the safe subjects were sports, cars and politics. If we wandered too far from any of those topics, our conversations suffered.

I listen to my sons talk to their mom and marvel at how they can talk endlessly, effortlessly, about everything. I think of this when one of the boys gets sick and immediately asks for Mommy. Moms generally have more patience, and they seem to understand that talking things out is part of the medicine.

Most Dads, on the other hand, are fixers. We want to strip communication to its essence because, to us, anything that doesn't get us closer to a solution is just background noise.

If one of my sons says he has a headache, I might not say a word. Instead, I might kiss him on the head and reach for a Tylenol. To me, love is action.

His mom, on the other hand, goes into triage mode: Where does it hurt? How long has it been hurting? Did you fall down? Did your brother hit you? Do you feel well enough to do your math homework? Did you eat your lunch?

It has taken me awhile to realize that these different communication styles aren't a problem in search of a solution. Instead, they're the normal yin and yang of parenthood refined by thousands of years of family life.

A mom's first instinct is to listen. A dad's first impulse is to fix. These are complimentary traits -- not conflicts -- and probably the reason that single parenthood is so arduous.

The problem here, if there is one, is that when spouses talk to one another, they must reduce their fractional communication styles to a common denominator. Dads sometimes need to listen more intentionally. Moms sometimes need to focus more on solutions. Otherwise, talk between them eventually grinds to a halt.

My wife and I shared a laugh the other day when she told me that someone who reads this column said something like: "You and your husband must have great conversations."

We laughed because, like many busy parents, we find ourselves so preoccupied with work and children that we often can't -- or don't -- make time for longer, one-on-one conversations.

I have come to believe that my challenge -- as a writer, a dad, a husband, a man -- is to realize that deep listening is not just a luxury but a family imperative.

And that conversations I have with myself -- even those searching for answers and fixes -- don't count.

Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.

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