There are lots of ways we convey our messages to each other. Spoken words, tone of voice, and body language are a few ways we speak everyday. We communicate to have our needs and expectations met. 

Along with hearing the, “wee-ooh wee-ooh” from a screaming siren passing our small school it always used to send shivers down my spine. Everyone on the playground would stop and stare as the white and red ambulance drove past our school. We all had an imaginary sixth sense that the ambulance was going to transport our moms, our dads, our grandparents, or our closest neighbor (a mile or two down the road) to the hospital 45 minutes away. We would eventually find out what happened after the long eight hours of school had slowly ticked by. We would anxiously hurry home and ask our mothers, “What happened today? We saw the ambulance go by at recess?” Our parents would usually shrug their shoulders and tell us that they didn’t hear anything about it and as soon as it was broadcasted they would let us know. 

Undoubtedly communication when I was a young girl was very different than it is today. It was face to face, a phone attached to the wall with a long cord, or we waited until someone got home to catch up on the latest news. When our moms would drop us off at a friend’s house we did not hear from them for hours and there was no communication or code text for, “Help me! I don’t want to be here anymore.” We either happily played while the time ticked by quickly or sometimes we endured the time with our friends until our moms came to pick us up. Most of the time they arrived as expected and other times we knew we were safe until they came to get us 30 minutes later than we anticipated.  

Another fun aspect about living in a small community is you knew the sheriff, you knew his wife, his children, and his personal ancestry all the way back to Noah and the flood. The sheriff occasionally stopped down the end of our lane and chatted at the mailbox with my dad as he would sit in his blue striped Chevy and read through the newly delivered mail. If you were an ‘out of towner’ you might assume that my dad was getting ticketed for drunk driving or lingering too long near federal property (the mailbox). This was not the case in our community. The sheriff was usually making his rounds catching up on the news and checking up on families to see how everything was going. I grew up in an era where neighbors occasionally stopped on the road and caught up on how the crops and cattle prices were coming along. 

We rarely missed the school bus because we knew there was no one coming to get us. There was no access to a phone because the school doors were locked and the secretary had gone home for the day. The only way home was to get on the long yellow bus. If by chance we were late for the bus in the morning we would run down our lane until our faces were beat red and yell to the top of our lungs. We hoped the bus driver could hear us and see us. Face to face communication was a part of our everyday lives.

Sometimes communication wires get crossed and messages being conveyed are ignored. In fact this reminds me of a time when I got caught in the cross wires of communication in the fall of 1983. 

I am shy and timid as I walk from the car to the outdoor classroom on my first day of kindergarten. The steps attached to the long brown single wide are painted with a dark brown paint that is chipping from the direct sunlight. The lilacs that are on the other side of the grassy play area are taller than I am and a little sparse. The green bushes provide a long barrier from the kids that are playing on the other side of the school’s lawn. They offer me a sense of protection from what could be lurking through the bushes. I imagine there are sixth grade boys with giant feet, wearing T-shirts too big for their frame, and sweat trickling down their prepubescent upper lip hair. I also visualize the girls being overly bossy with differing colors of layered socks pushed down to their ankles. Their hair is permed tightly with a button up shirt tucked into their stiff jeans and a popped collar. It is important that I stay on this side of the lilacs and do as my teacher and my mom instructed me to do. I would be terrified if I ran into one of those smelly sixth grade boys. I slowly walk into the trailer and  I look around the beige and brown single wide and there are desks lined up neatly for our class. 

My teacher is a dream and she is sweet like maple syrup. She is tall, slender, and her dark hair must have had large curlers set neatly because her curls are perfectly placed all around her head. Her voice and her actions remind me of a mother duck guiding her ducklings away from harm. She is wearing a light blue button up shirt that is neatly pressed and her pants are polyester with a stretch waist and a permanent line creased down the middle. Her pants fall perfectly to her old black tennis shoes. The perfect outfit for a perfect teacher. I think she might shop at the same pant store my grandma does? She is calming and reassuring. She makes me feel so good inside and she is always checking on each of us. 

Big bold letters are taped around the classroom in the front of the single wide trailer. I stare up at each letter and I think to myself, “I already know those things stuck up on the wall. Maybe I need to be in another class?” Our first recess is in the first bedroom of the trailer. There are plastic tubs of wooden blocks, dolls with dresses, and cars. We all cram in the little playroom with the toys as the teacher is preparing our snacks. I am bored and so I turn to walk back into our classroom and Jill yells out in pain and her tears fall to the floor. I look at her and say, ”what happened? She points at the boy standing and staring down at her, “He hit me on the head with a wooden block!” I am irritated at her crying as I leave to get the teacher. The next hour we eat snacks and take a nap that I am not happy about. What did I get myself into? I am not a napper. I know that I am in the wrong class. Finally the day is over and I smile and wave at mom in the van waiting in the parking lot to pick me up. 

The following day I walk up to the long classroom with a little more confidence than the day before. Mom waves goodbye from the car and I cheerfully wave back to her. I walk to the brown faded steps to the classroom and something feels off about today. I push the feeling aside and I reach high to turn the gold doorknob and the doorknob will not turn. I try again and again and then I knock on the aluminum door. There is no one here today. I quickly look over my shoulder to see if mom is still waiting in the parking lot for me to enter the classroom. She is gone. At last, I sit on the steps and my own tears start spilling over. My mom has already driven away! My teacher has abandoned me! My class has deserted me! I sit and think of several scenarios in my mind. Maybe they have locked me out of the classroom or maybe my mom got confused and there is no school today? I am too terrified to walk into the main school building and so I sit in the sun on the brown steps and cry. I sit for a while and stare at the lilacs across the yard that are blurry from my tears. The warm fall sun is heating up the top of my head. I have no solution for my situation and I sit in silence and I wait. I check my surroundings and I find I am in no real danger but I can’t help my tears from falling. All of the big kids on the other side of  the lilacs are still in their classes. and as far as I can tell I am safe to sit on the steps until somebody sees me. 

My tears have dried up and I wait in the quiet of the late morning . My teacher rounds the corner with her arms outstretched, “Oh Dari! I just took the class to the library. I should have waited for you.” She pulls me into a warm hug as I start to cry again. She continues on, “I had a feeling I should have stayed in the classroom longer in case anybody showed up late to school today.” She looked into my reddened blue eyes and said, “I am so sorry dear.” She embraces me again to make sure I feel that I am loved and safe. She unlocks the door to our classroom and we wait until the librarian brings the rest of the class back to our kindergarten room.   

The day goes on as usual. Graham crackers, milk, and a brown scratchy napkin waits on our desks as the rest of the class finishes their library trip. The first recess is in the toy room of the single wide trailer and in the second recess we are able to run through the green grass and play independently of one another. Again my life is a dream full of caring adults and carefree children. I can’t wait until the bell rings so I can tell my mom how brave I was today. Soon moms scattered throughout our town will be waiting at home with a plate full of warm cookies and a loaf of fresh baked bread. 

After school is let out I walk down the long lane kicking the rocks in the dirt and the willow trees are shading the driveway in the afternoon. I count how many dips are in the road where the rain puddled up last fall. My back is hot and sweaty from the large backpack strapped on to me. I long to be home and sit in the cool basement. I open the front door with a smile across my face, “Mom, guess what happened to me today? I got to school and no one was there and I sat on the stairs and I cried until Mrs. Hansen came to get me!” I start to tear up again because of the fear of being left alone. Mom wraps me in a hug and says, “Oh sweetheart, I am so sorry. I dropped you off a little late this morning and I didn’t realize your class would be in the library. I should have communicated with the teacher that you were going to be late today. Are you okay?” I stutter, “I am okay now. My teacher found me on the steps and took me inside.”

Lastly, mistakes are made and every parent has dropped their kids off to school a few minutes after the bell has rang. This small mishap of communication left me feeling a little uneasy but we soon corrected the problem and I was able to go about my day. Our small school was set up a little differently than the schools are today. There was no check -in or check-out policy. People were a little more trusting and things were simpler when I was a child. 

Of course the problem could have been solved through communicating to the teacher the night before. Communication is important because it helps us feel accomplished. Decision making is at its best when we communicate well and it can also bring both parties peace of mind when we speak clearly and directly.   

Try these three things the next time you are in a conversation:

1. Be confident and express yourself. 
2. Keep your body open. (good posture and uncrossed arms and legs)
3. Be specific about your message you are trying to convey. 

A great place to practice your communication skills is over the dinner table. Here is a delicious recipe that will leave your mouth watering. You can practice by asking questions like these: “Let’s plan a fun activity for winter break. What would you like to do?” or, “Is there a new hobby or skill that you would like to try out?” ‘Would you rather’ questions is also another fun way to engage your family and friends at the dinner table. You will be able to feed anyone this tasty dish and they will be talking about it for days. 

Bow ties with Capers and Tomatoes

 1 pound uncooked bow-tie pasta

½ pounds cherry tomatoes, halved 

⅓ cup fresh basil 

½ cup capers, drained and rinsed

⅓ cup olive oil

3 large garlic clove, minced

1 shallot, minced

2 2.25 cans sliced black olives 

¾ up grated parmesan cheese 

crushed red pepper flakes to taste

salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Cook the pasta according to directions. Drain and drizzle with olive oil to keep pasta from sticking. 
2. Meanwhile, slice the tomatoes in half and place them in a large heated sauté pan. Add Capers, olive oil, garlic, shallot, and olives. Sauté your veg. until ingredients are heated through. 
3. Combine your cooked pasta with your sautéed vegetables. Heat through and Add your parmesan cheese, red pepper, and S & P to taste. 
4. Chiffonade your basil for garnish and sprinkle on top.  Drizzle with olive oil and possibly some more parm!

*serve with garlic bread and a caesar salad. Enjoy!!

Resources: 

https://www.yourarticlelibrary.com/management/communication/importance-of-communication-in-management-13-importances/64033#:~:text=This%20article%20throws%20light%20on,Industrial%20Peace%2C%20(6)%20Helps