The New Dare to Discipline (5 page)

I stepped in front of the elderly fellow and suggested that the boys find someone else to torment. They called me names and then sauntered off down the street. I got in my car and was gone about fifteen minutes. I returned to get something I had forgotten, and as I was getting out of my car I saw the same four boys running from a nearby hardware store. The proprietor raced after them, shaking his fist and screaming in protest. I discovered later that they had run down the aisles in his store, raking cans and bottles off the shelves and onto the floor. They also made fun of the fact that he was Jewish and rather overweight.

When the boys saw me coming, I’m sure they thought I viewed myself as Robin Hood II, protector of the innocent and friend of the oppressed. One of the young tormentors ran straight up to my face and stared defiantly in my eyes. He was about half my size, but obviously felt safe because he was a teenager. He said, “You just hit me! I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth!”

I have rather large hands to go with my six-foot-two, 195pound frame. It was obviously time to use them. I grasped his shoulder muscles on both sides, squeezing firmly. He immediately dropped to the ground, holding his neck. He rolled away and ran off with his friends, screaming insults back at me.

I reported the incident and later that evening received a phone call from the police. I was told the four young thugs had been harassing merchants and customers along that block for weeks. Their parents refused to cooperate with authorities, and the police felt hamstrung. Without the parents’ help, they didn’t know what to do. As I reflect now on that incident, I can think of no better way to breed and cultivate juvenile delinquency than for society to allow such early defiance to succeed with impunity. Leonardo da Vinci is quoted as saying, “He who does not punish evil commands it to be done.”

Discipline outside the home is not very different from discipline inside. The principles by which children can be controlled are the same in both settings—only the application changes. A teacher, scoutmaster, or recreation leader who tries to control a group of children with anger is due for incredible frustration. The children will discover how far the adult will go before taking any action, and they invariably push him or her right to that line.

It is surprising to observe how often a teacher or group leader will impose disciplinary measures that children do
not
dislike. I knew a teacher, for example, who would scream and threaten and beg her class to cooperate. When they got completely out of hand, she would climb atop her desk and blow a whistle! The kids loved it! She weighed about two hundred and forty pounds, and the children would plot during lunch and recess about how they could get her atop that desk. She was inadvertently offering entertainment—a reward for their unruliness. It was much more fun than studying multiplication tables! Their attitude was much like that of Brer Rabbit, who begged the fox not to throw him in the briar patch. There was nothing they wanted more.

One should never underestimate a child’s awareness that he is breaking the rules. I think most children are rather analytical about defying adult authority: they consider the deed in advance and weigh its probable consequences. If the odds are too great that justice will triumph, they’ll take a safer course. This observation is verified in millions of homes where a youngster will push one parent to the limit of tolerance, but remain a sweet angel with the other. Mom whimpers, “Rick minds his dad perfectly, but pays no attention to me.” Rick is no dummy. He knows Mom is safer than Dad.

To summarize this point, the parent must recognize that the most successful techniques of control are those which manipulate something of importance to the child. Yakkity-yak discussions and empty threats carry little or no motivational power for the child. “Why don’t you straighten up and do what’s right, Jack? What am I going to do with you, son? Mercy me, it seems like I’m always having to get on you. I just can’t see why you don’t do what you’re told. If one time, just one time, you would act your age.” On and on goes the barrage of words.

Jack endures the endless tirades, month in, month out, year after year. Fortunately for him, he is equipped with a mechanism that allows him to hear what he
wants
to hear and screen out everything else. Just as a person living by railroad tracks eventually does not even hear the trains rumbling by, so Jack has learned to ignore meaningless noise in his environment. Jack (and all his contemporaries) would be much more willing to cooperate if it were clearly to his personal advantage.

4.
Don’t saturate the child with materialism.
Despite the hardships of the Great Depression, at least one question was then easier to answer than it is today: how can I say no to my child’s materialistic desires? It was very simple for parents to tell their children that they couldn’t afford to buy them everything they wanted; Dad could barely keep bread on the table. But in more opulent times, the parental task becomes less believable. It takes considerably more courage to say, “No, I
won’t
buy you Wanda Wee-Wee and Baby-Blow-Her-Nose,” than it did to say, “I’m sorry but you know we can’t afford to buy those dolls.”

A child’s demand for expensive toys is carefully generated through millions of dollars spent on TV advertising by the manufacturers. The commercials are skillfully made so that the toys look like full-sized copies of their real counterparts; jet airplanes, robot monsters, and automatic rifles. The little consumer sits openmouthed in utter fascination. Five minutes later he begins a campaign that will eventually cost his dad $84.95 plus batteries and tax.

The trouble is, Dad often
can
afford to buy the new item, if not with cash, at least with his magic credit card. And when three other children on the block get the coveted toys, Mom and Dad begin to feel the pressure, and even the guilt. They feel selfish because they have indulged themselves for similar luxuries. Suppose the parents are courageous enough to re sist the child’s urging; he is not blocked—grandparents are notoriously easy to “con.” Even if the youngster is unsuccessful in getting his parents or grandparents to buy what he wants, there is an annual, foolproof resource: Santa Claus! When junior asks Santa to bring him something, his parents are in an inescapable trap. What can they say, “Santa can’t afford it”? Is the jolly fat man in the red suit really going to forget and disappoint him? No, the toy will be on Santa’s sleigh.

Some would ask, “And why not? Why shouldn’t we let our children enjoy the fruits of our good times?” Certainly I would not deny boys and girls a reasonable quantity of the things they crave. But many American children are inundated with excesses that work toward their detriment. It has been said that prosperity offers a greater test of character than does adversity, and I’m inclined to agree.

There are few conditions that inhibit a sense of appreciation more than for a child to feel he is entitled to whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. It is enlightening to watch as a boy or girl tears open stacks of presents at a birthday party or perhaps at Christmas time. One after another, the expensive contents are tossed aside with little more than a glance. The child’s mother is made uneasy by his lack of enthusiasm and appreciation, so she says, “Oh Marvin! Look what it is. It’s a little tape recorder! What do you say to Grandmother? Give Grandmother a big hug. Did you hear me, Marvin? Go give Grams a big hug and kiss.”

Marvin may or may not choose to make the proper noises to Grandmother. His lack of exuberance results from the fact that prizes which are won cheaply are of little value, regardless of the cost to the original purchaser.

There is another reason that the child should be denied some of the things he thinks he wants. Although it sounds paradoxical, you actually cheat him of pleasure when you give him too much. A classic example of this saturation principle is evident in my household each year during the Thanksgiving season. Our family is blessed with several of the greatest cooks who ever ruled a kitchen, and several times a year they do their “thing.” The traditional Thanksgiving dinner consists of turkey, dressing, cranberries, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, hot rolls, two kinds of salads, and six or eight other dishes.

Prior to my heart attack in 1990, I joined my family in a disgraceful but wonderful gastronomic ritual during the holiday season. We all ate until we were uncomfortable, not saving room for dessert. Then the apple pie, pound cake, and fresh ambrosia were brought to the table. It just didn’t seem possible that we could eat another bite, yet somehow we did. Finally, taut family members began to stagger away from their plates, looking for a place to fall.

Later, about three o’clock in the afternoon, the internal pressure began to subside and someone passed the candy around. As the usual time for the evening meal arrived, no one was hungry, yet we had come to expect three meals a day. Turkey and roll sandwiches were constructed and consumed, followed by another helping of pie. By this time, everyone is a bit blank-eyed, absent-mindedly eating what they neither wanted nor enjoyed. This ridiculous ritual continued for two or three days, until the thought of food became rather disgusting. Whereas eating ordinarily offers one of life’s greatest pleasures, it loses its thrill when the appetite for food is satisfied.

There is a broader principle to be considered here. Pleasure occurs when an intense need is satisfied. If there is no need, there is no pleasure. A simple glass of water is worth more than gold to a man dying of thirst. The analogy to children should be obvious. If you never allow a child to want something, he never enjoys the pleasure of receiving it. If you buy him a tricycle before he can walk, a bicycle before he can ride, a car before he can drive, and a diamond ring before he knows the value of money, he accepts these gifts with little pleasure and less appreciation. How unfortunate that such a child never had the chance to long for something, dreaming about it at night and plotting for it by day. He might have even gotten desperate enough to work for it. The same possession that brought a yawn could have been a trophy and a treasure. I suggest that you show your child the thrill of temporary deprivation; it’s more fun and much less expensive.

Before leaving this thought, let me share a relevant illustration from the closing days of my father’s life. He had suffered a massive heart attack, which placed his future in jeopardy. As he contemplated his own passing, he became even more fascinated with life. Everything in God’s creation interested him, from science to the arts. He even developed a personal knowledge of and a friendship with the birds that gathered around his house. He named them all and had many eating out of his hand. That is what led to . . . the starling incident.

For some reason, a mother bird abandoned her four baby starlings before they were able to fend for themselves. That precipitated an intense effort in the Dobson household to save the starlings by all means possible. Admittedly, they belonged to a despised, disease-ridden species, but my father was a sucker for
anything
in real need. Thus, a rescue effort was launched. A couple of weeks later, I received the following letter from my mother, describing what had happened to their feathered little friends.

Dear Family: If I could write like you, Jim, I’d make the last eleven days come alive as your dad and I lived them in a bird world. As you know, the four surviving starlings, Eenie, Meenie, Minie and Moe, were evicted from their “under the shingle” nest, and we adopted them. Their feathers were down like fuzz and their bod- ies seemed to consist of legs, wings, and mouths. They chirped constantly to be fed, after which their cries settled into a lovely lullaby. They outgrew their first cozy nest and your dad transferred them to a larger box from which they could not escape. So the only exposure they had to the outside world was the 2’ x 3’ area above their heads. They seemed to know this opening was where the action was, so they huddled together with their heads turned upward, tweet-tweeting their little tunes. When your dad peered over the top with our dog, Benji, all four birds would open their yellow beaks—chirping—“Worms! Worms!”

As the foursome grew, they sat on a tree limb where your dad placed them. Sometime jumping to the ground, they followed him around the yard, cuddling his shoes and not letting him get more than a few inches away. Their jerky movements made it impossible to keep pace.

From the beginning, we were unsure what we should feed them. Your dad gave them soft bread and milk—dipping it with tweezers into their wide open beaks . . . along with worms, grain, and a few drops of water from an eyedropper. However, on the ninth morning, Jimmy found Moe dead. What to do?! The tenth afternoon Meenie died. The eleventh night he looked down at the two remaining birds. Even while he looked at them, Minie gave a long “Chirp,” lay down, stretched out his legs, and died. That left Eenie, the strongest of the birds . . . the one with the most vitality and personality. This morning, however, his vocalizations were desperate and weaker. He only lived until noon. As Jimmy bent over the box nest, Eenie recognized his presence, reached toward him and gave one last “cheep,” and was gone.

How sad we both were—that we somehow had failed the helpless creatures who tried so hard to live and fly in the beautiful sky. Your father’s love for those insignificant birds and his sadness over their loss reveal the soul of the man I married and have lived with for forty-three years. Does anyone wonder why I love this man?

Your Mother

The man who was so loved by my mother was not long for this world. He died a month later while sitting at the dinner table. His last act before falling into her arms was to express a prayer of blessing on the meal he would not live to eat.

And the starlings? The best explanation for their failure to thrive is that my dad simply overfed them. He was fooled by their constant plea for food. In an effort to satisfy their need, my father actually killed the birds he sought desperately to save.

Does the point come through? We parents too, in our great love for our children, can do irreparable harm by yielding to their pleas for more and more things. There are times when the very best reply we can offer is . . . no.