1974, senior year of college. Envelopes ready for University of Michigan and other sterling clinical psychology programs. Grades where they need to be; highly relevant volunteer time more than adequate; time during my leave of absence working in relevant field, check, check, and check. Double major, complete. Last item on the application for clinical psychology graduate school punch list: obtain critical reference letters. Expectations: an “attaboy,” “happy to help,” and an exit-hand-shake (I’m not a hugger) from my clinical psychology advisor, visiting Professor, James D. Roff.
But my undergraduate psychology advisor’s reaction and counsel defied my expectations. “Michael, I’d be doing you a disservice by writing your reference letter. Your temperament and passion aren’t suited for, nor will you be satisfied being a clinical psychologist for clients. You enjoy discussing social justice matters. Your skills and nature strike me more as an ‘advocate’ or policy change agent. Think about law school, politics, social work. Not clinical psychology.” Meeting adjourned. I was like a deer in the headlights and left angry.
My ego was bruised and I was left rudderless. I graduated and worked for a bit with a police department. Eventually I realized my advisor was spot on and applied to law school. Thanks Professor Roff for telling me what I needed to hear, and showing “you got me.”
Fast forward to my 70th birthday. Retired, I have time to reflect on and appreciate the trajectory Professor helped guide me toward. Thinking of him as I listen to the Stones, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try some time . . . you get what you need.” But most importantly realizing that it actually took me much longer truly to hear, acknowledge, and learn from the “turning point” my advisor encouraged and provided.
My youngest, a dad himself (of my precious 6-month-old granddaughter), recently asked me an unexpected and direct question: “Dad, why do you think Mom left you?” She left years ago. I never saw it coming. Now, I am close with my ex-wife. This time, instead of answering my son with my usual quips, e.g., “because I’m not a mind reader,” I paused.
It has taken me a long while to realize that those same qualities, advocacy and persistence, as well as other skills which helped me become a successful attorney and community advocate, actually interfered with my marriage and parenting.
No, it wasn’t that I was too busy or pre-occupied with work. In some ways just the opposite. As soon as my family or friends came to me with an overt problem, issue or distressed, I “was on it.” Problem solving, advocating, researching, interceding. And yes, I was even quite helpful. But I didn’t “get it.” And even later when I was blessed to be nominated by fellow attorneys and clients for an Individual Pro Bono Attorney state award, I still didn’t “get it.”
But more turning points were ahead. I was blessed and surprised to meet my strong, direct, and independent partner from England in 2007. She can laugh at me, with me, and set me straight. “When I want or need your advice, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise b----- off.” And I just grin ear to ear and take three steps backward. We’ve learned to navigate and synchronize, in part, because we met at a ballroom social dance class, where I could be safely clumsy and work on my two left feet. Now is the time for me to learn and practice other skills which she is capable of teaching.
To everything there is a season. Being a grandparent has been a wonderful and unexpected additional way to learn to “listen, hug, or help.” Not being the dad, it’s not my role to play Superman. And our grown kids (especially those who are parents themselves) don’t want their folks to meddle. So we learn to keep our mouths shut, but our ears open, hearts available. Be there for some much-needed venting, or a shoulder to lean on.
Last week, my oldest sent a spot-on article from the New York Times. It felt like the missing piece of the interpersonal Rubik’s Cube I’ve been working on forever. “When Someone You Love Is Upset, Ask This One Question: Do you want to be helped, heard or hugged?” Thank you daughter, is an understatement, for amplifying and further clarifying the useful (but initially poorly received) advice I received from a college faculty member just shy of 50 years ago. Never too late to fill in the missing links.
Michael is retired and now a full-time Seattle curmudgeon. He volunteers in the community and provides pro bono legal services. He loves being a grandpa and occasionally jogs with his grown kids who can almost walk as fast as he slowly prods along.
