Barrett Dorko
27-12-2005, 02:54 PM
It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
Early in the twentieth century Mustafa Kamel Ataturk led an remarkable reformation of Turkish government and society, transforming the country from a fragmented, autocratic and often medieval remnant of the Ottoman Empire into a modern democracy. He died in 1938.
Alex knew enough about the location of the cement plant to head in the right direction, but not much more than that. So he looked up the word “cement” in the Arabic dictionary, got behind the wheel of his vehicle by himself and headed across the desert. The only person he met on the way there was Albanian, so this little bit of local language didn’t help much. Still, he found his way.
Patients arrive in my office for a variety of reasons, and seldom is it because their referral source knows anything at all about my eccentric methods. Their expectations are formed by what happened to their neighbor in therapy and that certainly isn’t going to help them understand my thinking or method. I begin each and every time having to find a way toward them as they shift about mentally and physically in response. I think of it as a dance; they’re leading, but they aren’t yet aware of that.
Seated with two Turkish men in a small office at the back of a cement plant in Iraq, Alex might have thought about how different this setting was than any he’d experienced on Christmas Eve before or how the coffee they offered wasn’t Starbuck’s. Instead, he turned his attention to a poster on the wall. To him, it was familiar figure, it was Ataturk, literally, “The Father of Turkey,” and he told his hosts what he knew about this man’s contribution to their lives.
As I spend that first hour with any patient I look about in their life for something we share and make sure they understand that I can relate on some level. I think the more unexpected this is the more likely it will affect them therapeutically. By that I mean they sense more than a generic connection and begin to appreciate the unique nature of my handling-specifically designed to reveal what they possess that they had not fully expressed. Once I get them past their surprise we begin to dance in a new way-and they learn how to lead.
Alex tells me that the Turkish men were very surprised that he knew of their country’s “one hero” (that’s the way they put it) because they’ve met many US soldiers during the past couple of years and not only didn’t they know of Ataturk, they didn’t especially care about him. Of course, I don’t imagine any of these guys had been political science majors at The Ohio State University either. That makes a difference you know.
“I understand you guys sometimes cook wonderful lamb kebobs for the soldiers,” said Alex. “I’ve been sent here to see if you might do that for the men in my unit on Christmas Day.” The men smiled and said, “When do you want us there?”
When all is said and done, good therapy is dependent upon good communication. And so are so many other things.
To see the result of Alex’s conversation, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/35469288@N00/
Early in the twentieth century Mustafa Kamel Ataturk led an remarkable reformation of Turkish government and society, transforming the country from a fragmented, autocratic and often medieval remnant of the Ottoman Empire into a modern democracy. He died in 1938.
Alex knew enough about the location of the cement plant to head in the right direction, but not much more than that. So he looked up the word “cement” in the Arabic dictionary, got behind the wheel of his vehicle by himself and headed across the desert. The only person he met on the way there was Albanian, so this little bit of local language didn’t help much. Still, he found his way.
Patients arrive in my office for a variety of reasons, and seldom is it because their referral source knows anything at all about my eccentric methods. Their expectations are formed by what happened to their neighbor in therapy and that certainly isn’t going to help them understand my thinking or method. I begin each and every time having to find a way toward them as they shift about mentally and physically in response. I think of it as a dance; they’re leading, but they aren’t yet aware of that.
Seated with two Turkish men in a small office at the back of a cement plant in Iraq, Alex might have thought about how different this setting was than any he’d experienced on Christmas Eve before or how the coffee they offered wasn’t Starbuck’s. Instead, he turned his attention to a poster on the wall. To him, it was familiar figure, it was Ataturk, literally, “The Father of Turkey,” and he told his hosts what he knew about this man’s contribution to their lives.
As I spend that first hour with any patient I look about in their life for something we share and make sure they understand that I can relate on some level. I think the more unexpected this is the more likely it will affect them therapeutically. By that I mean they sense more than a generic connection and begin to appreciate the unique nature of my handling-specifically designed to reveal what they possess that they had not fully expressed. Once I get them past their surprise we begin to dance in a new way-and they learn how to lead.
Alex tells me that the Turkish men were very surprised that he knew of their country’s “one hero” (that’s the way they put it) because they’ve met many US soldiers during the past couple of years and not only didn’t they know of Ataturk, they didn’t especially care about him. Of course, I don’t imagine any of these guys had been political science majors at The Ohio State University either. That makes a difference you know.
“I understand you guys sometimes cook wonderful lamb kebobs for the soldiers,” said Alex. “I’ve been sent here to see if you might do that for the men in my unit on Christmas Day.” The men smiled and said, “When do you want us there?”
When all is said and done, good therapy is dependent upon good communication. And so are so many other things.
To see the result of Alex’s conversation, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/35469288@N00/