NOTE: When I finished part 1 of this article I should have ended with "continued next year" instead of "continued next week." Talk about a long cliffhanger! (If you haven't read Part 1, you'll find it in the March, 2009 archives.) Anyhow, without further ado, here's the rest of the story. Well, most of it.
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Yes. Mr. and Mrs.Flicker are still seeing me. (Sometimes the longer you wait to get professional help, the more of it you need.) So, yesterday, I went to greet them and there they were, sitting on opposite ends of the waiting room. Mrs. F. had her arms crossed and was looking straight ahead at nothing. It must have seemed like the better alternative than looking at her "caveman" spouse. Once inside my office, Mr. F. stole a glance at me as the Mrs. stomped her way across the room. He quickly raised his eye brows up and down twice in classic Groucho style, and in my mind I heard a voice: "Say the magic woyd and win a prize. Good luck pal!"
I started the session with this: "I've been thinking, folks: maybe I was wrong last session to get so picky about how you two should talk with each other. All those rules and the little play-it-back thingy.So, today I'd like to propose a "10 and 10": that means you can each raise any topic you want and together you chat about it for 10 minutes. Then you switch to your partner's topic and talk about that for another ten minutes. And I'll stay out of it entirely. If you both agree it went well, then you can continue your talk. Maybe we'll find you don't need much help after all. But, if either of you thinks the talk didn't go too well, then you agree to let me structure up a different approach to the dialog--fair enough?
Mrs. Flicker perked up, and jumped right in: "Good. Now you're talking. No more psychobabble. Mr.Caveman here hasn't talked to me all week--totally stonewalled me! So, now you're saying he has to listen to me and answer me, right?" He rolled his eyes, turned slowly toward me and did the funky brow thing again. I pretended to not notice. Then I got the experimental ball rolling:
"During this discussion remember that both of you will be making choices about how to respond: whether to shut down, to attack, or to stretch yourselves a bit, to really understand and show respect. Let's just see what happens."
Mrs. F. leaned forward toward her husband: "So, okay, Evan. Here goes: simply put: you need to grow and reckon with the fact that you aren't a student anymore. You come home from work, change into your comfies and run away to your little study to read theology books. Um, hello-ohhh! You're married. Do I need to show you the certificate?"
Expressionless, Mr. F. looked at her, and in a stiff monotone voice simply said: "Okay, Esmeralda. Newsflash: you have become more and more like poison to me. Your words turn my stomach like old lutefisk. So, I avoid you like the plague." Then he turned his gaze to the ground and fell silent. Five seconds, ten seconds. A minute passed. He didn't twitch nor move. It was as if he had slipped into a coma. I shined my penlight in his eyes. His pupils wouldn't even dilate. Apparently he had perfected this maneuver. He could retreat to his internal hiding place as fast as a night crawler on a wet golf green at midnight. Whoosh! He's gone!!"
Mrs. F grew angrier with him as each moment of silence elapsed into minutes. She looked her big round wrist watch, then at me, then her watch, then at me and blurted out: "For heaven sakes man. Do something! We're paying you by the minute. Make him talk, or call 9-1-1; or don't make him talk n' I'll make him talk, and then you definitely have to call 9-1-1!"
Now we're getting somewhere, I thought. "Mrs. Flicker..." I began, "I certainly agree with you that this was a most unfortunate and useless discussion. Nothing less than drastic intervention is called for. But this will require you both to do whatever I ask of you. Are you both willing--if its within reason, of course.?"
"Duuuuuhhhh!" seethed Esmeralda. "I'm dyin' over here!" And in less time than a hiccup, Mr. Flicker turned to me and belched his nonchalant affirmative "Yur the boss."
And with that, I reached for my secret weapon!"
To be continued...
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