It's Not Luck (2 page)

Sharon is on the phone. I wave at her and go down to the kitchen. Since Julie has opened her office, we’ve all gotten used to eating late-night dinners. Being a marriage counselor, Julie says that the best working hours are between four and nine in the evening. For her clients it’s the best. For us, we take consolation in the tapas that Julie prepares. Being in America doesn’t mean that we cannot adopt some European habits.

“Saturday night I’m invited to a very special party.”

“How lovely,” I reply, and finish the last of the chicken liver pâté. “What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a sophomore party. Only four of us who are not sophomores have been invited.”

“My popular daughter,” I wink at her.

“Why not,” Sharon twirls around.

The kids have left me only one cream cheese and olive sandwich. I swallow it in two bites.

“So it’s okay with you?” she asks.

“I don’t see any reason why not.” She sends me a kiss and floats out of the kitchen.

“Wait a minute,” I call her back. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t let you go?”

“Not really,” she says. “You know that I’m almost fourteen.”

“Yes, big girl. If you can call eight months away almost.” Then it dawns on me. “What time is this party supposed to be over?”

“I don’t know,” she says casually. Too casually. “Late, I suppose.”

“How late, Sharon?” I ask, and open the fridge for a beer.

“But, Daddy,” her voice becomes more pinched, “I can’t leave the party before it ends.”

I open the can and head toward the living room. “How late, Sharon?” I repeat.

“Daddy, it’s a sophomore party.” She still doesn’t answer my question. “Don’t you understand?”

“I do,” I say, and switch on the TV. “And I want you home before ten o’clock.”

“But Debbie, Kim and Chris are all going!” Tears start to roll. “How come I have to stay at home?”

“You don’t have to stay home. You just have to be home before ten o’clock.” I switch aimlessly through the channels. “What did your mom say?”

“She said to ask you,” Sharon sniffles.

“So you asked, and you got the answer. That’s it, darling.”

“I told her you wouldn’t understand,” she cries, and runs to her room.

I continue to switch channels. It’s ten minutes before six. In a little while Julie will call with instructions for dinner. What an idea to send Sharon to me for such a thing.

Julie makes sure that I’ll continue to be involved in running our family. That’s okay with me, especially when most of the burden is on her shoulders. But I don’t like it when I’m called in to be the bad guy. Julie should have known I wouldn’t allow Sharon to come home late.

“So, let me check. At seven o’clock I turn the oven on to 350 degrees, and after ten minutes I put in the lasagna.”

“Yes, darling,” Julie confirms. “Everything okay?”

“Not exactly. I’m afraid that Sharon will not be joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Uh-oh. That means you refused her point-blank.”

“Point-blank,” I firmly say. “What did you expect?”

“I expected that you would use the negotiation technique that Jonah taught us.”

“I’m not negotiating with my daughter,” I say, irritated.

“Your prerogative,” Julie says calmly. “You can dictate the answer, but be ready to suffer the consequences. Until at least Saturday, don’t expect to be popular with your little darling.”

When I don’t answer, she continues, “Alex, will you please reconsider? It is a typical case of negotiating. Just use the technique, write the cloud.”

I return to the TV to watch the news. Nothing new. Negotiations. The Serbs and the Muslims, the Israelis and the Arabs, another kidnapping. Everywhere you turn it’s negotiations.

At work, I had too many “opportunities” to negotiate with stubborn, obnoxious, illogical people. It was not fun. No wonder I refused to believe Jonah when he claimed that it’s not personalities to be blamed, but the situation. The situation where what you want and what the other party wants seem to be mutually exclusive; there is no acceptable compromise.

I agreed that such situations are tough, but insisted that the other person’s nasty personality had a lot to do with it. Then Jonah suggested I check to see that if when I start to feel that the other person is obstinate and illogical, the other person is developing exactly the same opinion of me.

I did check. Since then, in all my work negotiations, when things start to get rough, I use his technique. But at home? With Sharon?

Julie is right. Sharon and I were negotiating, and we did reach the point where each of us thinks that the other is illogical. If I don’t want to see a frowning face, I’d better follow Jonah’s guidelines.

“Whenever you identify that you are in a negotiation situation that doesn’t have an acceptable compromise, take the first step: immediately stop the dialogue.” I can hear Jonah’s words.

Sharon has already stopped the dialogue (if you can call two monologues going at the same time a dialogue).

I’m now on the second step, setting the right frame of mind; recognizing that in spite of how emotional it seems, it is not the other party who should be blamed for the situation, but rather that we are both captured in a conflict that does not have an amicable compromise.

This is not easy. I wasn’t the one who created the problem. But I guess that it’s ridiculous to blame Sharon for wanting to go to the party.

Maybe we can compromise? There is nothing holy in the number ten, I can go as far as allowing her to come home at ten-thirty. But that won’t be sufficient for her. And midnight is totally out of the question.

I’d better move to the next step, to write the cloud precisely. I go to the study to find the detailed instructions.

I can’t find them, but it really doesn’t matter—I remember them by heart. Taking a piece of paper and a pen, I start to reconstruct. The first question is: what do I want? In the upper right-hand corner I write, “Sharon home before ten o’clock.” Below it I write the answer to the question: what does she want? “Sharon home around twelve.” No way!

Okay, I calm myself down. Back to the technique. To satisfy what need, do I insist on what I want? “To protect the reputation of my daughter.” Come on, Alex, I say to myself, what harm is there in letting her go to the kids’ party? And what will the neighbors say? Probably nothing, but in any case, who cares?

“What I didn’t allow one kid to do I cannot, all of a sudden, allow the other to do.” I wish I could use this excuse, but with Dave, the issue simply was never raised. Only recently has he shown any tendency to go to parties, and even now he doesn’t return much after midnight. Girls! With boys it’s much easier.

So, why am I so adamant about ten o’clock? How come I know so clearly what I want, but it’s so difficult to verbalize why I want it?

“Disciplined kids,” flashes in my mind. Kids must know there are limitations, that they cannot do everything they want to do. Rules are rules.

But wait a minute, rules must have a reason; they must make sense. Otherwise it’s not discipline that I’m teaching my kids, it’s just showing who is the boss. This approach is dangerous; it will almost guarantee that as soon as they can, they’ll flee from the house.

Julie and I are careful not to institute stupid rules. So where is this ten o’clock rule coming from? Just because at her age I was not allowed to stay out past nine? Inertia? Extrapolating from the past? Can’t be.

“Her safety.” That’s it; that’s why I insist on what I want. I feel relieved.

At the top of the page, in the middle, I write, “Ensure Sharon’s safety.” Now I have to figure out what need of hers causes her to insist on what she wants. How the hell do I know? Who can understand a thirteen-year-old girl? But actually, I do know. She has cried it more than once; she wants to be popular. Good enough. I write it down. Now the toughest question of them all. What is our common objective? Frankly, in the mood that I’m in now, I don’t think that we have anything in common. Kids. We love them. We certainly do, it’s in our genes. But this doesn’t mean that we have to like them. What a headache.

Okay, back to the issue. What is our common objective? Why do we bother to negotiate? Why do we care about finding an acceptable resolution; acceptable to both parties? Because we are a family, because we have to continue to live in one house. On the left I write: “Have a good family life.”

I check what I have written. In order to have a good family life I must ensure Sharon’s safety. Yes, definitely. On the other hand, in order to have a good family life, Sharon must be popular. I don’t see exactly why, but as I said, I’m not pretending to understand a young girl’s mind.

Next, to the conflict. In order to ensure Sharon’s safety, Sharon must be home before ten. But, in order for Sharon to be popular, she must be home around twelve. The conflict is clear. It’s also clear that no compromise is possible. I’m concerned about her safety, and frankly couldn’t care less if she is not so popular with those noisy friends of hers; while for her it’s the exact opposite.

Sighing, I knock on Sharon’s door. This won’t be fun. She looks at me with red eyes.

“Sharon, let’s discuss it.”

“What’s to discuss,” she starts to cry again. “You simply don’t understand.”

“So help me understand,” I say, sitting on her bed. “Look, we have a common objective.”

“Do we?”

“I certainly hope so. What about,” I start to read the cloud from the paper, “to have a good family life? I want it and you want it. Right?” She doesn’t answer.

“I understand that in order for you to have a good family life, you must be popular with your friends.”

“No, not at all. It’s not a matter of popular or not. Don’t you see, Daddy, I have my own friends. I cannot be an exception. Being accepted is very important.”

I don’t see how what I wrote is wrong, but remembering Jonah’s guidelines, I don’t argue. I simply cross out what I’ve written and write “Sharon is accepted by her friends.” “Is that what you mean?”

“Roughly.”

That’s probably the best I can expect at this stage. I keep on. “In order for you to be accepted by your friends, I understand that you must come home from the party around twelve o’clock.”

“I must come home when the party ends, I cannot leave before the party’s over. It’s like standing there shouting, ‘I am a little girl. You were wrong to invite me to this party. Don’t pay any attention to me.’ Don’t you see, Daddy?”

“So, what should I write here?” I ask.

“I think that what you wrote is good enough. The party will be over before twelve. So what’s the problem? It’s about time you understood that I have grown up.”

“Yes, Sharon, I realize it. But for me, in order to have a good family life, I must ensure that you are safe.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, “I understand that.”

“That’s why I want you home before ten.”

“But don’t you realize . . .”

“I do realize, but let’s stop arguing about ten or twelve. That’s not the real issue. The real issues are your safety and your need to be accepted by your friends. So why don’t we examine the assumptions that lead us to believe that ten o’clock is vital for your safety and twelve is vital for your acceptance.”

“I don’t see why coming home late has anything to do with my safety,” she starts to argue.

“Don’t you?”

“No. I’m sure that one of the guys will give us a ride.”

“Oh? Since when are sophomores driving?”

That stops her for a moment. “Daddy, could you give us a ride?” Sharon hesitantly asks.

“Who are these sophomore kids?” I start to question her. When I realize that the sophomores are all from Dave’s high school, I relax. This is a good school, good kids. And it’s no hassle to bring her back. I don’t see any safety issue.

“So you agree? Thank you, Daddy, I knew you’d understand.” Sharon jumps up and down, on me, and then on the phone. “I’m going to call Debbie. Now her father will allow her to come, too.”

Laughing, I rush downstairs to turn on the oven.

I finish updating Julie about the board meeting.

“It doesn’t look too good,” she says.