The Silent Treatment

by Michael Petroff

I felt awful and wished that we could talk like we usually did. Why was Dad shutting me out?

I grew up in a small town surrounded by the beautiful, snow-peaked mountains of central Colorado. Looking back, I remember afternoons spent playing soccer on the high school soccer field, hours of practice in the wrestling room, and workouts with the ski team. Numerous camping and fishing trips were also a part of those days, as were hikes up seemingly endless trails while clear mountain streams trickled alongside.

Those days hold many great memories, and yet perhaps the greatest of them all comes from an experience I had when I was 14. I was the only Mormon boy my age at our high school. Two other young men and my 16-year-old sister made up the rest of the active Mormon student body.

Because of our town’s location, a great flow of tourists came from all over the world to enjoy the seven major ski areas that were all within 30 minutes of us. Drinking, smoking, immorality, and the use of drugs were common among the majority of people.

Many people in our community had made a great deal of money from the heavy tourism and found it easy to support these habits. Soon, our small high school was rated second in the entire state for drug-related problems, second only to a school that had more than three times the number of students.

Growing up in such an environment wasn’t easy. The majority of my friends were involved in such activities, and I soon found myself falling to peer pressure. My attitudes started to change, my grades dropped, and my general outlook on life headed steadily downhill.

My parents became concerned with my actions, and the questions began. “What has gotten into you? Why are you like this? Why are your grades dropping?” I became defensive, and my parents worried even more about the changes taking place in me.

One morning, as I lay in bed before school, my mother came into my room to wake me up. She nudged me gently until I was aware of her presence and then waited until I was awake enough to listen to her.

She began to speak and I soon realized that this wasn’t your average early morning wake-up session. “Last night your father and I spoke with one of his good friends and we were informed of the things you have been involved in during the last few weeks,” she said. “Son, I want you to know that we love you and we will do everything possible to help you overcome this difficult time in your life, but we know you won’t quit until you make the decision to do so.” Then she kissed me and left the room.

I was stunned by what had just happened, and tears filled my eyes as I realized how much my mother loved me. But then my thoughts turned to my father and I wondered how he would react.

My father had been my idol as long as I could remember, and we had a very close relationship. He was a big man, very athletic, and always involved and interested in what I was doing. I had always been proud to say, “Yeah, that’s my dad.”

I got up and got ready for school as usual that day, but as I left only my mother said good-bye. My father didn’t say anything, and I realized he hadn’t spoken to me at all that morning.

After soccer practice that day I came back home and everything seemed to be normal, except that my father still didn’t speak to me. Finally, I approached him and asked how his day had gone, but he didn’t reply.

For the next two days there was an uncomfortable silence between us. I felt awful and wished that we could talk as we had before.

Then, on the evening of the third day, I was told that my father wanted to talk to me. I walked nervously into the room where he was waiting, and many things passed through my mind as I wondered what he would say. I sat down across the table from him, and he was silent for a moment.

Then he explained to me, in a way that I have never forgotten, why our relationship had been so strained and why he had seemed so distant. “Son,” he said, “as you know, I haven’t spoken with you in the last three days, and I want you to know why. I want you to know that I wasn’t angry with you, and I wasn’t trying to punish you. When we are participating in things that are contrary to our knowledge of the commandments, the spirit of God cannot be with us.” He said that just as we hadn’t been able to communicate for the past few days, so it is with the Holy Ghost when we knowingly and willfully reject its promptings.

Although my father’s method of teaching this lesson might not work for everyone, it hit home with me. My father went on to explain the importance of having the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and since then I have enjoyed that companionship many times.

As a missionary, I now enjoy that closeness each day as I serve my Heavenly Father and try to live the commandments he has given us.

Photography by Welden Andersen