Reflection 3

While the suggested topic of this reflection is probably referring to facilitating conversation in a group setting, like that of our class, I can’t help but let my personal experience leak into my response. As it is, the prompt reminds me of an experience I endured a few summers ago.

My roommate’s name was Ben Builit. He and I were participants in a program for engineering students at the University of Illinois who wanted to learn about nuclear power in Pisa, Italy. (It can be noted that Italy at the time did not, and does not today, have any operational nuclear power plants. The choice of location for the program remains a mystery to Ben, I, and the other students.) The plan was to spend six weeks in Italy, taking classes on weekdays and excursions on weekends.

The rooms where we stayed were rented out of an apartment building two minutes from the Leaning Tower. The rooms were not large, containing one room divided by a half-height wall, with a bathroom attached the size of a closet. The “bedroom”, which was the northmost half of the large room, held two beds separated by about six inches of empty space. The observant reader should recognize that I am building the setting to be a haven for interroommate tension.

I did not like Ben upon meeting him. He was quiet and detached to the point of seeming unfriendliness. He was much more content reading a book or sleeping than he was in sustaining a conversation. To be honest, though, I wasn’t really bothered by his silence. More, I couldn’t stand the fact that I couldn’t make him laugh.

Humor is my conversation lubricant of choice. (I suppose this is a partial answer to the reflection topic.) I am a firm believer in the idea that making someone laugh is the first step in gaining their respect. Although I don’t believe that it’s right, it seems to me that one is inclined to give authority to someone who can make them laugh. Worthy of it or not, humorous people, if their humor is appropriate, seem smarter, more charismatic. These presumptions allow conversation to flow more freely between two people. Humor, however, seemed to have no effect on Ben.

I won’t bore the reader with a paragraph summarizing my numerous failed attempts at making Ben laugh. Truly, this part of the story is uninteresting and unimportant: let it simply be understood that I tried and I failed.

It wasn’t until the second week of classes, in fact, that I caught Ben expressing amusement at all. Our Italian Language and Culture professor, Irene, was asking for the name of a prominent American sports player.

“Dennis Rodman,” I offered. She repeated the name hesitatingly.

“Den-nis Rod-man,” I said the name slower, really stressing each syllable. Irene walked over to the board and wrote: D-A-N-I-S R-O-B-B-I-N.

She looked back at me and spoke confusedly, “Danis Robbin?”

The class burst into laughter. My eye caught Ben, nodding and chuckling lightly. I felt excitement rise through my chest. I had found Ben’s sense of humor.

I wasn’t sure what it was about Irene’s inability to properly reproduce the name “Dennis Rodman” that tickled Ben, but I was determined to find out. As is sometimes the case, my first try turned out to be effective. That evening when I found him in our apartment reading, I dialed up my most outrageous Italian accent and shouted to him, “Buon giorno, Ben-ne-jammin Byoo-leet!”

Success was mine. Ben was laughing. I had crossed his defenses.

Although it serves little purpose to the reflection, I can’t help but give the expected happy ending. With Italian mispronunciations as our inside joke, Ben and I became good friends and went on to have many meaningful conversations.

I don’t place humor as the skill required to encourage conversation. Instead, I’d say it was the determination to find something in common with Ben that allowed conversation to eventually flow freely. Similarly, (and perhaps even in the group setting of our class,) “breaking the ice” by finding similar ground could work as an effective mechanism to encouraging conversation.