Doc’s Sunrise Rants

Dedication: One of Doc’s readers, without a blog, wants to participate in the Thinking Parent’s April 30th edition wiki. ! You go, City Mom

There is the famous old family story of the day I dumped a bowl of cereal over John’s head. He was seven then. He’s 26 now, and the kids still bring it up and laugh at me. The last time they did this was Saturday night, while we were all sitting by the campfire enjoying the summer night. I looked at their faces illuminated in the firelight, marshmallows and hot dogs extended on skewers. These kids are now in their mid-20s, the age I was when I threw the cereal, and I found myself telling them, “There’s more to that story. John’s teacher had called and given me a big condescending lecture because John was skinny and wanting to eat his lunch at morning recess. She said to make sure I fed him breakfast in the morning, that he was hungry and he needed to eat more. I was absolutely mortified that she thought I wasn’t feeding him, and I was hell-bent on making him eat his breakfast!” Of course the whole thing was a disaster. John wouldn’t eat a bite, slithered around on his chair in the dining room whining and pouting, and it ended up with me chucking the cereal, and as the tale goes, “and the milk dripped off his long curly eyelashes.” After I dumped the cereal, I phoned my mother to come over and help me because I was sure I was headed directly for the nuthouse. As the kids listened to the part of this story they hadn’t heard before—the part about the teacher—their expressions changed from snickering to wide-eyed sympathy. “Oh, Mother! Is that what was going on?”

I told them there was even more to the story. Around this same time a separate disaster happened with Dan, who is a year younger than John. A neighbor came to the door to tell me Dan had thrown rocks at some girls, and had also used foul language. I said I’d talk to him about it. Well, of course Dan clammed up. I demanded to know.

He got a spanking. I behaved like an absolute ass and yelled. Later on, the whole story was told: Some girls they knew had thrown rocks at them, and they lobbed them back. It was all for fun. They weren’t actually throwing them at anyone; nobody was hit, not even close. And the swearing, he probably did do. That sounded like him. Again Saturday night in the firelight, I apologized once more. He waved me off like it was nothing, a generous gesture. But the whole incident was important too because it made me face a part of myself that needed to be dealt with, something to do with insecurity and being a fool.

This was a turning point for me, getting a clue, as they say, at age 24. Here I had been nasty to two little boys I loved, actually hit Dan in a spanking—all spankings are hitting after all—and it’d had nothing to do with me, or them, or eating cereal, or rocks, or bad language. It was all because of judgments I felt put onto us by some third party! I took it all on, and like an idiot felt embarrassed and more concerned about what they thought of me than about what I actually cared about (or didn’t, as the case was.) I didn’t care what the kids ate then, and still don’t, beyond the extent it’s inconvenient for me I say, “Honey, suit yourself.” And as for wise guys tossing rocks—probably not smart, but hardly something to get mad about, and cussing I’ve never cared about. Swearing is a manners issue to me, not a life crisis. And yet here I was, being absolutely asinine to my little boys. That wasn’t guidance. That was my insecure ego.

Additionally ridiculous was that the teacher and the neighbor weren’t even people who had any credibility with me. The teacher was a sour, crabby person, unhelpful and critical all the time. This neighbor—he was no angel. He was one of those unwashed types who left upholstered furniture sit outside in the rain, and more than once I had overheard him swearing all the way over from his yard across the pond to ours. Yet I’d still be ugly to my sons over their judgment. What in the hell was wrong with me anyway??

It was at this point that I decided #1 I would never discipline a kid for someone else, or because of what they thought. I needed to get a hold of some personal integrity on that, and #2 We became a no-hitting house, including spanking. I have never regretted either decision. If I’m going to lose my temper, it at least has to be about something I actually care about. And I will not be spanking anyone, that’s for sure. When I rant and rave and carry on, we call those “Joan Crawford Moments.” (In case you’re wondering, the kids did not spiral into brathood growing up in our no-hitting house. They’re okay. Well, actually a lot better than okay. They are wonderful.)

So I’m at the age now, in my 40s, with 26 years of parenthood experience behind me, where I occasionally feel compelled to give advice. (And we all know how everyone loooves advice.) I say this ruefully laughing because I don’t want to be obnoxious, and I also don’t want anyone to bog down in issues of how a parent should handle clean plates or kids cussing. As you could expect in my giving of advice, I don’t care about the details of family preferences about behavior. What my heartfelt hope is though, is that I might save someone else from making the mistakes I have, that I could steer another mom or dad away from stupidity and asinine behavior, toward a more respectable way to be. The bottom line is that even our “Mommie Dearest” side ought to have a clue, and that’s a good thing to know.

City Mom