Every day it goes something like this:
You wade through the pick-up line to see their smiling face waiting for you (or maybe scowling, if you have a moody tween). It has been hours since you saw them and you can’t wait to hear about what they learned and experienced while they were away from you.
“How was school today?” you ask, excited to hear all the details.
It feels a bit like a door slamming in your face, doesn’t it? Each time you ask, you get a variation of the same. You really want to hear, but they really don’t want to tell you.
Or do they? My daughter was the queen of “Fine,” and “I don’t remember,” but I if I’ve learned that if hit her with just the right question, or give her a little quiet space while we drive, I get a gem of a story about her day. I love those little windows into her life away from me. They help me understand her better, which can only be good for our relationship.
But how do you prise out those gems when the mine is locked up with the word, “Fine,” scrolled across the front door?…