Communication Lessons from my Dad

This is my first Father’s Day without my dad. He passed away last fall at age 89, and this Father’s Day, I’m remembering his communication legacy. Below are a few reflections.

We often inherit our communication style from our family, just as we do our physical features. I often ask people if they inherited their mom’s silent treatment or their father’s yelling style. Perhaps it’s vice versa. We do what we know until we decide to take different actions, often as a result of painful bruises. In my case, I think I would have avoided more than a few bruises if I had inherited more of my father’s communication style.

My dad’s gentle spirit stood out in stark contrast to most people around him, possibly especially me. While I would often be verbally fired up about many, many, things, I can count on one hand how many times I ever heard him raise his voice, unless he was at a basketball game. If his precious Marshals or Wildcats were playing, all bets were off on staying quiet. As a communication coach, I work with people from all over the U.S. and am constantly reminded of how important the simplest things like a lower volume and a slower pace are to keeping tensions down.

It’s a myth that strong communicators are extroverts. Dad was quiet. Again the opposite of this daughter who loves an audience and a microphone, I rarely saw him in front of any audience, aside from leading prayer at church. From my perspective as a child, I saw him serve our church as a deacon for many years, serve our community as a city council member, and serve on the volunteer fire department. In full disclosure, I’m pretty sure my mom wrote in his name on the ballot for city council and was the energy behind starting the voluntary fire department. Yet, when people needed him, he was willing to quietly serve.

My dad was such a solid, calming, and consistent presence. Dad simply wasn’t reactionary; I don’t remember him flipping out or getting loud over bad news or surprise expenses like car repairs. He must have often stressed about paying bills or educating kids, or all the adult things he and mom were responsible for with four children. Even when he and mom disagreed, he was in check. Again, as a communication coach, I know how valuable that skill is; I certainly haven’t mastered it.

I don’t even remember my dad being in a hurry, one more thing that must have skipped a generation. One time when I was in elementary school, he was taking me to my basketball game and when we arrived at the gym, I realized I had forgotten my shorts. I started to panic and he simply drove us back home and back to school without a sharp word. That might have been the night I scored my one and only point for the season.

My dad was generous with kind words and encouragement. He missed few opportunities to tell us that he loved us and was proud of us. This particular trait did stick with me and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Mom and Dad were the very definition of “the two shall become one,” and everyone knew it. They were childhood sweethearts, married for 70 years, and he loved to talk about what a wonderful life they had together as husband and wife. Their devotion to each other was a holy union. Even at the end of his life, when he struggled with dementia, my mom was his rock. I’m sure I’ll never know the blessings of how their marriage impacted my own.

The last time Dad had a real conversation with me, the only thing he wanted to talk about was love. He loved mom. He loved us children and was so proud of us as adults. He loved our life together in our tiny town. At best, the four of us were a challenge to parent, each in our own way. I can think of so many worrisome things we put our parents through and yet, the only thing he chose to remember and share was the love. His blue eyes sparked the whole time and he couldn’t stop smiling when he talked about his family. I’ll always cherish this last conversation, sitting by his side, leaning my head on his shoulder.

It strikes me that any one of these communication qualities that I listed above is a game-changer for the people around us. There are the rare people, like my dad, who have so many admirable communication habits, but if you have any one of these and are maybe working on another, you are in a strong position to be a blessing to others.

Am I remembering my dad through rose-colored glasses? Probably some, but mainly I think he remembered us through rose-colored glasses. I absolutely remember the difficulties, stresses, conflicts, and just major difficulties that we went through as a family. This makes this last conversation so much more meaningful. He chose to remember, share, and treasure the love. Thank you Dad.