Making Conflict Productive

Conflict is unavoidable. How we respond to it makes a difference in its outcome. Personally I had never before given a whole lot of thought to turning the table on my conflict. Wouldn't it be a wonderful thing if we could all transform our battles so that we could profit from them?

I did not have a whole lot of negative encounters in my young adult life. Things began to change rapidly however, after I became a mother of seven and a full time care-taker. Those who knew the ins and outs of my life continued to treat me with love and respect. I must say that unfortunately society on a whole was not as kind to a woman with seven young children. As a result I began to experience a decline in my self worth. Every negative encounter would make me feel a lot worse.

I had one of my worst encounters at the pinnacle of my sliding self worth. On that day I momentarily forgot the lessons taught me as a child: important lessons which included forgiveness, kindness and the greatest fruit of the spirit, which was love. The realization of this came to me after I started to reflect on a comment a woman at my daughter's dance school made. She called my daughter "a little black girl."

Dance class was just finished for my three-year-old. Some of the mothers were having idle chatter in the hallway. Two other moms and I were changing our children's clothes in a waiting room/ playroom. I was on one side of the room; the other mothers were on the other. One mother had a little boy and the other had a girl. The mother with the boy had him give the girl next to him a candy. It was Valentine's Day and this was the customary thing to do. I was not cognizant of the events that followed. I did however, hear the little girl's mother telling her child in a voice loud enough for me to hear, that my daughter was a little black girl. My daughter was very light skinned, enough so that the other child would not have been able to tell the difference between them.

I looked over in the women's direction after the remark was made. The boy's mother looked shocked. She then instructed her child to give my daughter a candy. The child walked over immediately and handed my daughter the candy. She thanked him and he walked back to his mother.Strangely enough I was not even offended. I just continued doing what I was doing without the slightest change in my demeanor.

Just as I was about to walk out the door with my three children, the girl's mother's said to me, "Do you Home school your daughter?"

I had my seven-year-old daughter and my fourteen-month-old son with me. "Yes," I replied quite politely.

"How is that for you?" she questioned.

"Tedious at times but I need to spend time with her. When she was younger I had someone helping me with my children and I did not get to spend as much time with her."

"Oh, you were working?"

"No. I never worked", I said sharply.

"When I lived in South Africa I had a maid." She was now on the defense.

The little boy's mother tried to come to my defense at this point. "How could you expect her to work? She has three children."

"No," I said pointedly. "I have seven children. Three birth children and four adopted children." I could tell that my response shocked the woman who had tried to come to my defense.

"There are seven children in the house?" she questioned. I did not respond. She took her son and left the room. The girl's mother did not. She inquired about my adopted children's mother. She then continued to tell me about a number of black women she came in contact with in South Africa. The women she talked about had numerous children. They were very poor and oppressed by their husbands. One woman who worked on this woman's parents' farm was tied up by her husband. She was then forced to watch on helplessly as her children starved to death. Another woman had eighteen pregnancies and only one child survived. Men had countless wives with many, many children. The families all had only one income. Her family, she stated, helped numerous black African women obtain sterilization at no cost to the women. On many occasions their husbands were unaware and their consent was not obtained.

As if the picture she was painting was not vivid enough she paused and asked, "Have you ever been to Africa?"

"No," I replied and went on to tell her about some of the countries I had visited and some of the cultural problems I had encountered. Her response to what I was saying was that those were very common problems.

"Because something is common does not make it