Conflict Resolution - A Practical Example

I was asked to provide a practical example of conflict-resolution. Here it is:

My then junior-high daughter, Jezebel, fell under the spell of a ninth-grade hellion we’ll call “Emma.” Emma had dedicated herself to a precocious mastery of mascara, rock n’ roll, and, worst of all, boys, so naturally we sprang into action to rescue our perfect little angel from Emma’s ruinous clutches.

Now, Emma wasn’t the first bad influence we’d had to deal with, but the only grave-size plot left in the backyard was under my wife’s prized tomato plants, which we hated to spoil because they were coming along so beautifully. Plus, we suspected that if yet another one of Jez’s friends turned up missing it might attract some unwanted attention, so we elected to try a different tack.

Instead of driving Emma off with threats and imprecations - and Jez with her - we embraced her. Told Emma how delighted we were that such a smart and wise older girl was willing to take young Jez under her bat-like wing, and help Jez navigate the shoals of early adolescence. “What a great idea, Emma.” “You are mature beyond your years, Emma.” “What astute insights you have, Emma.” “What a wonderful counselor you would make, Emma.”

We invited Emma everywhere: the beach, amusement parks, restaurants – she especially loved restaurants, where we put her in charge of ordering appetizers for the table - concerts, movies, fairs. And whenever Emma came along, she rode shotgun with full control of the audio system, while my wife kept Jez company in the back. Our conversations waxed long and meaningful. We even took Emma to a risqué comedy club for her sixteenth birthday because “you’re mature enough to handle it,” while we left fourteen-year-old Jez, who wasn’t quite ready for grownup humor, we told her, to play Uno all night with an elderly neighbor and her crew.

And, mirabile dictu, Emma quickly grew into our expectations. Gone were the perforated jeans and bustier tops; in were crisp button-down shirts and stylish jackets and not-painted-on slacks. A light touch for the makeup brush was acquired, and used to apply colors actually found in Nature’s palette. John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” found its way into the CD rotation. She had us over for expertly prepared home-cooked meals, served with an abundance of love.

Then Emma was gone.

“What happened,” we ask Jez.

“I dunno,” she says. “Emma just doesn’t come around anymore. Which reminds me: can I borrow a shovel and about eight feet of plastic sheeting? I’ll bring back the shovel in the morning.”

I cast a long side-eye in her direction.

"Don't worry, Dad," she assures me. "Mom's tomatoes will be fine."

And we haven’t had a hint of trouble with Jez since, though I have to admit, I do miss Emma.