Speak from Your Heart

My dad worked at a telephone company for most of his adult life. We grew up with modest means, where we didn’t have the coolest clothes, toys, or cars - or in general, didn’t measure our wealth by material things. But, the one material thing that was prominent in our homes were phones. Apparently in an effort to showcase his pride in his work, Dad installed a phone in just about every room in the house - including our two bathrooms.

Having all these phones did come in handy to be able to pick up a call from any room in the house. (This was obviously before the era of cell phones or even cordless phones.) My Dad’s ingenuity also had discovered a secondary function of some of the phones that he put to good use. The phones in the bathrooms had a handset that emitted a small light when it was used, providing just enough light to see the buttons - and apparently just enough light to assist with seeing the toilet while urinating during the night. This fringe benefit of the phone was apparently a feature that my Dad regularly leveraged. He would pick up the handset, aim it toward this target, do his business, and hang up.

This routine worked great, until it created unintended consequences one night. Kristi, my older sister, was on the phone late at night with a boyfriend. Unexpectedly, in the middle of the call, they could hear someone join the conversation. They stayed quiet wondering if the person would say something. But instead of a voice, they heard the steady stream of my Dad’s urine hitting the toilet, followed by a squirt… delay… squirt… delay… and final squirt (for good measure). The handset was then hung up. Although my Dad claims it was an honest mistake, now that I’m the father of two young girls, I personally think this was his way of “marking his territory.”


When I was a teenager, I was home alone one day and my dog, Barney, who was outside barking. He kept barking and was annoying me. I opened the door and screamed at him to stop. Moments later, our phone rang, and on the other end of the call, was Barney barking. I thought Barney had a lot of nerve - and a lot of talent for a dog - to prank call me with his insistent barking. After hearing his distinctive bark over the phone for about 30 seconds, I found myself asking, “Barney, is that you?” Although Barney responded with his usual nonsensical yapping, another person came onto the phone. She informed me she was with the phone company and was testing our line. I looked out our front window and sure enough I could see a person with the phone company next to our little phone pedestal with a handset in her hand, and a big black dog (named Barney) keeping watch on her.

When our youngest daughter Elizabeth (Lizzie) was 6 years old, I asked what she wanted to be when she grows up. Lizzie promptly replied, “A pet shop owner.” She also added, “and no parrots would be allowed.” I misunderstood her pronunciation of the word “parrot” for “parent.” I asked with a hint of rejection, “Why aren’t parents allowed?” She, thinking I was repeating the word parrots, said, “Because they are so talkative and just plain weird.” Although I candidly recognized some truth in what I thought was her assessment of my silly behavior, I still thought they were pretty harsh words for a 6-year-old. So, being rather disturbed by her strong words, I scolded her saying that was not a nice thing to say. Still hanging on to the thought that parrots should not be permitted in her Pet Shop, Lizzie couldn’t make sense of my disagreement or my distaste for her colorful criticism of parrots. The conversation continued to spiral downward. Trying to turn the conversation more constructive, I started to plead my case of why parents should be allowed; she remained unflappable insisting parrots would not be admitted. The more we argued, the more each side dug into their position. With a wounded voice, I finally shared simply how much her mom and I would like to come to her store. She sat quietly for a moment with a puzzled expression on her face that then shifted to a smile and said, “You and mom can come! I said PARROTS aren’t allowed.”

The moral of all 3 stories: Communication is hard.

When I think about how I communicate, I think about the two competing voices often inside my head: the voice of Analytical Brad and the voice of Emotional Brad. Emotional Brad is the dreamer, the visionary, the storyteller, the listener, the laugher, the cryer. Analytical Brad is the problem solver, the professional, the critiquer, the challenger, the implementer, the doer. Analytical Brad hears an idea, questions the details to better understand it, dissects it into the pros and cons, makes a verdict on its overall merit, identifies the challenges that would need to be overcome during implementation, lists out the milestones and necessary steps, and then goes to work to transform the idea into reality. Meanwhile, Emotional Brad is the guy for after hours. The guy that would tell stories about shit purse and invading homes. Emotional Brad is the guy that likes to make up dance moves just to make his girls laugh. Emotional Brad soaks and savors in the moment of laughing and enjoying people’s stories and company.

Since my diagnosis with cat sores, my view of communication has changed. I thought good communication was primarily about concisely presenting an idea, using logic and reasoning to make a case, and about persuading others. In short, I thought my job - and the world - mostly needed Analytical Brad. But, as I reflect on my life and reflect on my failures of good communication, I realize that Emotional Brad has always been better than Analytical Brad at the following, which are my thoughts on what makes good communication:

Listening to learn - I think good communication begins with a willingness and earnest desire to listen to learn from others. Before we try to convince others of an idea, we must be willing to first understand someone else’s idea and be willing to be convinced or persuaded by those ideas. Even if we disagree with someone’s position, we must allow ourselves to soak in their perspective and truly try to see it from their angle.

Making an emotional connection - We must be willing to admit mistakes, tell stories that may be embarrassing, stories that are empowering, and be willing to share a part of our soul. When I think about how people have persuaded or influenced me and others on something, it is often not through facts and figures, it’s about an emotional story/hook that is not just sensible to my head, but appeals to the heart. Think about JFK’s call to the nation to put a man on the moon or MLK Jr.’s I Have a Dream speech. Or, consider Apple’s incredible comeback as a company that began with their release of their iPod in 2001. They didn’t make the case that the iPod had better specs compared to other MP3 players. They simply said they could put a 1000 songs in your pocket.

Being observant -- Here’s again a failure of Analytical Brad. Too often, I am rehearsing in my head how to make an abstract idea more clear, easier to digest. So, in conversations, I caught myself focused on my own words - trying to make and refine my point in a conversation. But, by focusing on my own words, I too often didn’t spend enough time reading my audience. So, although I may have two more points to make, they may have checked out on me the moment I made point number one.

Being genuine - Most people can sniff out a fake. They can sense false praises, manufactured anger, and forced laughs. Be yourself. Be real.

Being honest -- First and foremost, be honest with yourself and others. Tell people you appreciate them and also tell people when something is upsetting and frustrating.

The above five tips are a starting point for good communication - whether it’s taking place in the boardroom, office cubicle, bedroom, or kitchen. Although it’s easy for me to create a list, I certainly remain a student, not an expert, of good communication. Too often, I find myself trying to respond to Tonya or the kids when they are upset by bringing out Analytical Brad. By nature, I want to problem solve. But, most often, what they really want and need is Emotional Brad. They first and foremost just want to be heard, to be appreciated, and to be loved - just like all of us.

Adding a phone to every room didn’t make us better at communicating when I was a child. Likewise, having a cell phone with access to SnapChat, TikTok, and countless other social media channels won’t make my kids better at communication. And instead of yelling at my dog Barney to shut up when I was a teenager, I should have taken time to understand what was making him bark. Also, as a parent, I too often snap at my kids to curb bad behavior perhaps without first listening to what really has them upset. And, scolding Lizzie for banning “parents” from her future Pet Shop - even though she continued to say “parrots” - only demonstrates my failure of good listening skills at times.

But, one thing that cat sores has taught me is that above all we must be open with the people we love. Our time on this Earth is limited. Life is delicate. When I was first diagnosed with cat sores with such a bleak prognosis, I felt the sands in my hour glass rushing from the top to the bottom of the glass with no way to slow it. I felt a surge of so much that I needed to do and say. I needed to tell Tonya several passwords so she could properly manage our home finances. I needed to clean out our gutters. I needed to tell her about the new way I was organizing our family photos. I needed to make sure she knew the trick to starting our leaf blower. Likewise I felt there were a million life lessons that I needed to share with my girls that ranged from dating, going to college, to just being good people. (It’s what compelled me to start writing.) But, in the end, truthfully what I want the girls and Tonya to know more than anything is simply how much I love them.

Yes, communication is hard. The chemo treatments that I receive make it even more difficult for me to organize and summarize all the thoughts and details that swarm my brain. But, I now realize that all the minutiae that fills my head matters little compared to the love that fills my heart. The love that I have felt has made me realize that being good at communication is not about being an expert orator. It’s not even about effectively conveying all that is in my head. It’s about forming a connection and having an interest in other people’s lives. And finally, it’s about sharing what’s in your heart.

And so, that is also the message that I want to send to my readers - my family, my friends, my colleagues, and people that have stumbled upon my gibberish (these stories) - to YOU (yes, you). Thanks for the love and support you have given to me. Whether we were old friends from grade school, played baseball together in high school, carried plastic cups down the street in college together, cheered for our kids on the sideline together, unboxed and embraced new technology at work together, or were just people that seemed to find a connection in life’s journey, thanks for the laughs, the love, and memories. You’ve made this a life worth living.