One afternoon I received a call from the City of Berkeley, a charming little city right next door to the one where I work. The person calling asked, “Would you like to give back to the community?”  I said I would love to.

He told me that there was a group of teenagers who were in an “alternative program”.  They needed to learn communication skills and would I teach them for free?  I said, “Sure.”

Then he told me they had all been charged with violent crimes with weapons and were now in a program that was an alternative to prison to help them learn how to deal with life so they wouldn’t resort to more violence.

The City felt communication skills should be a big part of what they needed to learn.  I said, “Absolutely”, I was happy to help.  I donated a series of Saturday mornings.

On the first Saturday morning, I arrived at the office and they were outside waiting for me. 17 large, much larger than me, and sullen.  Eyes filled with resentful distrust. They filed inside the training room and sat down, refusing to make eye contact, looking around the walls, at the floor and out the window. Acting like they couldn’t hear me.

It was easy to see none of them wanted to be there. I quickly figured out they must have been told, “You can do this program or you can go to jail.  And you have to do this communication training as part of the program.”  I started to laugh because I was suddenly struck by the thought, “Well, given the choice, I really am better than jail.”

They weren’t in prison, but they had the sullen faces and defiant eyes of prisoners.  And now they were my prisoners.

I wasn’t in a rush.  My eyes took them all in.  They were from a part of Berkeley I had never seen.  They weren’t from the tree-lined neighborhoods, nor were they from 4th Street where so many charming shops are.  No, they lived in a world I had never encountered.  A world I knew nothing about.

How do you cross from one world into another?

I said, “Communication is about how people exchange ideas.  There’s nothing more powerful than an idea, your idea.  But only if it’s effectively communicated.” 

“I’m going to teach a communications course now. People tell me it’s pretty good. That does not mean that you’re going to like it.”

“I only teach people who want to learn. It’s perfectly okay with me if you don’t. If you’re not interested, feel free to take off.  Or you can check out the rest of the office or hang out outside.   Out back there’s a large deck and a grapefruit tree with a lot of grapefruit on it. The grapefruit are really good if you like grapefruit. Feel free to take some grapefruit with you when you go.”

“I only want the people to stay in the room who really want to learn about communication. The rest of you should feel free to leave or wander around.”

I honestly thought they would all get up and go.  About half the class left.  I went around the room with the ones who stayed and found out what each had done to get them into the program. Pretty scary stuff.  

I began to understand their world.  And I understood them.  Then I started to teach them.  In their language, for their world.  And I began to teach them my language.  And a new world.

It went well.

The next Saturday, the whole class was back. Turns out the ones who stayed told the others they had to come back, “and learn this stuff”. It was funny because there was one girl who literally dragged this really huge guy into the room by the ear, sat him down in the chair and sternly poked her finger at him and told him to pay attention saying, “You need this!” She kept him in line.

It was funny, they actually kept each other in line. When one of them started to act up, the others would get on them and tell them to pay attention.

Anyone who’s had coaching with me knows my students do a series of challenging drills or exercises that demand tremendous communication competence.

I put these kids through the toughest of drills.  Their communication skills needed to match up to the world they lived in, a world that cut them down every chance it got.  I demanded more, got more and only passed them on a drill when their ability was stable and would hold up to and penetrate the fierce violence they faced every night.  It was a lot of practice.  Scenario after scenario.

In this way, they developed some heavy-duty communication skills, one skill at a time, with me challenging, challenging, challenging.  We did this until they could get their ideas across and make themselves understood.  Until they could understand others.  Until they could confront and disarm hostility with communication alone.

As we went on, they treated me with more respect than I usually get from a typical corporate audience. When you earn their respect, it’s powerful.  They treated me like a queen.  They really made me feel special.

Then, the funniest thing happened. The class would be over around 12 PM and I would go to my desk to work on my weekly admin.  And they would hang around, cleaning the place. They would straighten chairs, empty trash, pick grapefruit up from the ground and put it into bowls (laughing here – turns out they hated grapefruit and never took any home after the first time they tried it).  They put order back into the place.

They liked the space.  They took care of it.  They hung out and would occasionally wander into my office to talk to me.  They asked a lot of questions.

We soon finished the series of training sessions and came upon their graduation. They were walking out as people who could handle the world around them, their world, with communication, as skilled communicators. There was a feeling between us that’s impossible to put into words.  Respect, admiration, love.  And, most important, hope.  There was hope in their eyes.  I wished them well.  We were all a little sad.

Then, a couple of weeks later, to my surprise, they started showing up again.  I would be working in my office and they would come around. They would clean up around the place, straighten things up, pick grapefruit.  Sometimes they would wander over to tell me something.  Sometimes they would just hang out.  I loved listening to them chatting, talking, good naturedly teasing each other, laughing.  Their voices created a music that only the voice of friendship creates. It was a completely different tone than the first time.  They were doing well.

As far as I know, none of them ever got into trouble again.  My purpose was to help them live out what C.S. Lewis meant when he wrote:  Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny. 

I know that the ability to communicate gives people that chance.

Our two worlds could not have been more different. The first time we looked into each other’s eyes, we were looking into very strange territory for each of us.

What united us was a hard-won understanding.

Only understanding enables us to cross into another’s world, and for them to cross over into ours.  And only communication enables us to build that bridge to cross.

Once we crossed over, we found ways to help each other.  It’s help that seals the deal in any relationship.  It’s help that builds our strongest relationships.

I helped them.  They helped me.

Understanding and then help.

I started this series with an article about How to Melt Resistance.  It’s clear that understanding is the key.  It’s always the key.  And it’s communication that makes that key turn in the lock.

You can fight.  Or you can communicate.

You can fight.  Or you can help.

They taught me as much as I taught them.  They understood me as much as I understood them.  They helped me as much as I helped them.

I don’t know if I gave back to my community. 

I do know that we became community.  A beautiful one.

Communication, understanding and help.

Be the cause!