A teenage girl was visiting the United States from Ethiopia. She complained that Americans were “so rude.”

“Why do you think Americans are rude?” she was asked.

“Because we went to the swimming pool and five or six girls asked me, ‘How do you stay so thin?’ I was so shocked and upset I had to leave.”

In America, a statement such as “How do you stay so thin?” isn’t even a request for information as much as a compliment. However, coming from Ethiopia where plumpness is the most desirable physical body type (ya’ gotta love it!), the girl was insulted by the question.

Here’s another example. Some Europeans have commented that Americans are rude because they’ve noticed that we often whistle as well as clap at large public events. In parts of Europe, whistling after a concert means that the audience disapproved of the performance.

Other visitors to America have commented on how “dirty” Americans are. Some Japanese people, for example, consider Americans to be dirty because, when we take a bath, we clean ourselves in the bath water and then soak in the same water. To some Japanese taking a bath that way makes no sense at all. In Japan, it’s the custom to shower and clean first, then get into the bath to relax.

Some people find the American way of waiting in line to be quite impractical. If someone were waiting in a post office line, for example, and had to fill out a label, everyone behind her would have to wait. In other countries, people crowd around a service window so that many transactions can be going on at once. While you’re filling out your label, someone else is paying for his or her purchase and so on. Many Americans would see this “crowding” as chaotic and would complain that people aren’t taking turns.

Take one other area of communication ­– gestures. In France what we would call the “okay” sign means something or someone is worthless. It means that they are a zero. In Japan, the same gesture is the sign for money. In parts of India, rocking the head from side to side doesn’t mean “No.” Instead it means, “Yes, I’m listening.” Some cultures teach that looking directly at someone is a sign of respect. Others teach just the opposite: to show respect, never look a person of authority in the eye.

Even if you don’t travel to other parts of the world, the fact is people from all over the globe live right here. We’ll want to understand one another because even people from similar backgrounds can misunderstand each other and experience cultural collisions. If some people can misunderstand American values, rituals and gestures so much, what might we be misunderstanding about them?

Hope you enjoyed the Olympics as much as I did!

This article may be reprinted when this full byline is used:

Susan O’Halloran is a story artist, workshop presenter, television personality and keynote speaker whose work explores the complex issues of social justice. She is an author of four books plus diversity curriculums, CDs and films. The Chicago Reader says O’Halloran “has mastered the Irish art of telling stories that are funny and heart-wrenching at the same time.” For a copy of a free teleseminar with Susan, go to www.susanohalloran.com

Q: A few of us at our college would like to perform stories around cultural differences similar to what you do in Tribes& Bridges and More Alike Than Not: Stories of Three Americans – Catholic, Jewish and Muslim. How do we get started?

A: If you are going to perform stories around race and issues of justice, be prepared for deep emotions to arise, yours and others. If you are going to work with others, besides all the difficult, nitty-gritty, normal collaboration issues of schedules and responsibilities, you will be faced with unique challenges precisely because we have been trained to keep quiet about issues of social significance.

First, talking about these issues often breaks many family rules. In order to survive, many families didn’t talk about what they’d been through. For example, after the Holocaust, the internment camps, the Boarding Schools, the Jim Crow mistreatments and lynchings, many parents enforced an unspoken, yet deeply felt, “No talk” agreement.

Speaking the unspeakable as well as even attempting multicultural colleagueship can feel like a betrayal to the people and communities from which we come. As you collaborate and discuss the care and nurturing of your audiences, you must do the same for each other.

Our hurts run deep. Tears will be shed; memories and, therefore, creation can be blocked; doubts will continually surface. We have to have a long and large love for our stories, our country and each other to keep going. Opening the wounds is never pleasant, but healing happens in the light of day.

However, open the wounds gently, gently, gently. Ground rules around support, communication styles and the like are essential. As in any relationship, talking out fears, limitations, preferences and visions beforehand can help make the uncovering process easier. Still, if you are hitting the true repressed veins of our individual and communal psyches, I would imagine your team will experience some of the things we did: fitful sleep, times of “I can’t do this,” and moments of incredible connection and freedom as we finally faced and spoke long-buried truths.

Good luck and let me know how I might support you!

This article may be reprinted when this full byline is used: Susan O’Halloran is a story artist, workshop presenter and keynote speaker whose work explores the complex (and, with Sue, entertaining) issues of social justice and valuing differences. She is an author of four books plus diversity curriculums, CDs and films. The Chicago Reader says O’Halloran “has mastered the Irish art of telling stories that are funny and heart-wrenching at the same time.” Find out more about Susan and her online classes plus download a free audio interview at: www.susanohalloran.com.

Preston, my youngest son, never cared much about traditional school learning. School gave him a chance to sharpen his skills in ditching, fibbing and faking.

When I was a kid growing up in a Chicago working class neighborhood, education was king. From day one, I heard, “You’re going to college. You are going to college.” My parents expected that my brother and I would be on the honor roll. It was more than a family goal; it was a community-wide aspiration since many of the adults in my neighborhood had barely finished high school. We were going to be the first generation to go on to higher education.

When I became a mother, it did not matter that I had adopted my sons. In my mind, my sons were O’Hallorans and that meant… the honor roll and college.

However, when my son, Preston, hit junior high and switched from a pass/fail to a letter-grade system, he continually brought home Ds and Cs. My husband and I responded by mounting a campaign that made several modern wars look like small potatoes. My kitchen walls and several file drawers were filled with charts and formulas such as: “Skip class, trade in two desserts,” or “This many completed assignments equals this many minutes of TV-watching.” Anything to get my son motivated!

Then, one day, I had the good fortune to read some of Howard Gardener’s writing. The educator and author Howard Gardener talks in several of his books about multiple intelligences. He points out that our present-day school system only promotes and rewards two kinds: verbal and logic/math intelligence. There are five others: spatial, musical, kinetic, interpersonal (having people smarts) and intra-personal (being self-reflective or smart about yourself).

My son has several of these non-school intelligences. For example, he has spatial intelligence. If you are going camping, have Preston pack your car. You won’t need rooftop storage; Preston will get everything you need neatly stuffed into your car. Of course, you’ll have to take him along to repack your car or, upon your return, you’ll be forced to leave half your gear behind.

Preston also plays the guitar – musical intelligence – draws hilarious cartoons – visual intelligence – picks up dance steps quickly – kinetic intelligence – and is the one in our house who knew what was going on with everyone else – interpersonal smarts.

Slowly, with Mr. Gardener’s help, the charts and formulas came off the walls. Finally, we caught our breath and asked, “What strengths can we support rather than continually focusing on what’s not working?”  At last, we looked at this kid of ours and said, “Who are you?”

Soon after this revelation, we found ourselves in the chauffeuring business, trying to support Preston’s more natural, outside school talents: soccer, Art Institute lessons and so on. We cut a deal with Preston. “Okay, get C’s and we’ll get off your back. C’s will still keep a few doors open. Maybe someday you’ll decide college is for you.”

I’m still waiting. Today, Preston lives in Alaska working as the head mechanic at a cannery. He loves working outdoors, climbing under trucks or crawling up huge cranes that lift commercial fishing boats out of the water. As long as he’s operating heavy machinery, he’s a happy man.

I say to myself several times a week, “He’s happy. He’s happy. He’s happy.”  But the truth is that every time I see an article that connects years of college with increased earnings, I have to bite my hand to keep from clipping out the article and sending it up north.

I still wish my son had gone to college. I think he would be more economically secure if he had. I cannot get that thought out of my mind, even though it defies reason and experience – we’ve all heard the stories of entrepreneurs who became millionaires without finishing high school. But no matter how progressive I might think I am, I have an emotional commitment to my prejudice. The mantra, “You will go to college. You will go to college,” was repeated in my family with such worry, angst and joyous expectation, I soaked it in. “You will go to college” is written in my DNA.

I cannot eliminate my bias in favor of formal education. I can, however, manage it before I treat my son in a condescending, controlling manner. My children know my opinions on higher education. That’s part of my job as a parent; I have given them guidance. Then, I let go. They’re adults; it’s time for them to live their own lives. I hate that, but it’s true. So I bug out.

All of us have prejudices. The question is: what do we want to do with them? In being aware of and managing my bias, I have the prejudice; it doesn’t have me. Each time I was able to admit that I had a prejudice against one of my sons’ qualities or behaviors, my parenting improved. Only then did I have a choice as to how I would behave rather than responding with unconscious, automatic, less than kind reactions.

Within the larger family of human beings with which we share this earth, the dynamic is much the same: become aware of and manage our prejudices and we can all live more freely and happily together.

This article may be reprinted when this full byline is used:

Susan O’Halloran is a story artist, workshop presenter, television personality and keynote speaker whose work explores the complex issues of social justice. She is an author of four books plus diversity curriculums, CDs and films. The Chicago Reader says O’Halloran “has mastered the Irish art of telling stories that are funny and heart-wrenching at the same time.” For a copy of a free teleseminar with Susan, go to www.susanohalloran.com

* Photo purchased from istockphoto.com