It’s How You Say It…

Friday, August 27, 2004

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

It’s How You Say It…

By J’AMY PACHECO

Several months ago, my family visited a theme park with some friends. At one point during the visit, my daughter declared a wish to take her friends—first-timers at this park—to a show we’d seen. The kids were game, but the other mom in our group made it clear she would rather go on rides. I suggested we let the children decide, and she agreed.

“Do you want to wait 45 minutes in line to see some show?” she asked in what had to be the most dreary voice she could muster. “Or,” she continued, brightening with sudden excitement, “do you want to go on rides?” Predictably, her little girls took the bait, and opted to go on rides.

As a parent, I understood. Sometimes, you have to use a little vocal manipulation to get what you want. What you say, and how you say it, can mean the difference between getting what you want, and having to stand in line for a stinking hour to go on some stupid roller coaster you’ve ridden 27 times…but I digress.

Now and then, I get into a battle of wills with stubborn toddlers in my life. I’ve developed a foolproof method for getting strong-willed children to come to me: I open my arms and say, with enthusiasm, “Want to come see? C’mon!”

Although I don’t specify what we’re going to see, I’ve never had a kid fail to come to me. Of course, once they’re in my arms, I have to come up with something interesting to show them. But that’s the easy part, because a toddler can get excited about almost anything, if you make it sound like fun.

“Look, Sweetheart! Stubborn laundry stains! Oooohhhh!” It works every time.

Vocal inflections are important, but sometimes, it’s the words themselves that make a difference.

We recently had dinner with some other friends at a restaurant located in a shopping mall. As we left the restaurant, my daughter stopped the group to show her young pals something she’d previously seen in the mall.

Looking like a small hot tub, a large, square wooden base supported a black tub-like structure that was wide at the top and became narrow as it disappeared inside the wooden box. The black structure was shaped to resemble what I can only describe as a tornado viewed from the top.

The reason this thing exists is to allow people to launch coins from wooden slots located on the edges of the “tub,” then watch the coins roll slowly around the tub portion, lower and lower until they finally disappear into the tornado tube.

And launch coins they do. The object—I have no idea what it’s called—had drawn a large Saturday night crowd, most of whom pulled coins from purses and pockets, launched them, and watched them roll until they finally were sucked into the structure’s black hole.

Our children begged for coins, and as we gave them handfuls. One of my friends eventually asked where the coins ultimately went, and I explained that I’d once seen a sign advertising it as some charitable thing.

But as we scrutinized the signs this visit, we noticed they had been altered to proclaim this money-sucking object “A Mall Amusement Center.” There was no longer any charity involved, and I’m sure the mall mogul who owns the contraption gets a great deal of amusement while laughing all the way to the bank.

Watching my quarters disappear into the tornado, I commented to my friend that the “thing” had been a lot more fun when it was for a good cause. Throwing money away for someone’s “amusement” just wasn’t the same. A simple change to a few words on a sign made all the difference in the world.

(People who write restaurant menus are the best at using words, I think. I don’t care for seafood, but when I see the words “succulent crab” on a menu, I’m always tempted to try it.)

My daughter is about to start third grade, and has been begging me to home school her. I know she’s heard me lamenting the return to a rigorous schedule of packing lunches, helping with homework and struggling to coordinate school with work, and I fear my words have influenced her thinking.

So I’m working on a new approach. “Honey,” I’m going to say in a dreary voice. “Do you want to sit around watching the same old programs until midnight on TV every night, or…” (with excitement), “would your rather go to school with your friends and eat succulent cafeteria food?”

I’m hoping it will make a difference in her outlook. Because I’m not at all sure the stubborn laundry stain maneuver will do the trick…