Cooked Goose

I owned an Air Supply album, vinyl. More than one. The duo from Australia with their fluffy hair and big collared, unbuttoned, white blouse like shirts. Aahhhyaah! I can practically see them in that fuzzed out edge shot with the dreamy, glow lighting. Singing gently, tenderly … really, crying love songs in that range to which only pre-pubescent boys and eunuchs could ascend. These dudes were barely dudes. Really, only technically. Pretty. They were pretty dudes. And all they sang about was love. “All out of love” “Lost in Love” “Making Love Out of Nothing at All”. And I ate it up. Even now, thirty years removed, I can still sing a line or two, or three. NnooOOOOO!

I wish I can say that Air Supply was the worst mistake I’ve made in life. The ugliest thing I’ve done. It’s not. There have been worse mistakes, greater failures. Some I’ve made as a husband, as a father. Something your kids need to hear from you is this: I was wrong. I am sorry. The beauty of kids is that they believe what you tell them – directly or indirectly. They believe what your actions say about them. When something hurts, feels bad, they don’t go to, “Hmm … I think my Dad is wrong here.” No, they usually conclude, often subconsciously, that you must be right. This is really how it is. By confessing your mistakes, wrongs, transgressions you can shatter this “purveyor of reality” picture your kids have of you. If left to realize it on their own, and they will, that Dad made some mistakes, the effects of your ways will have put well worn grooves in their hearts and minds.

Considering how fallible we are, as a whole, fathers seldom say sorry. We find it hard to say, I was wrong when I said that … or did that … or acted like such and such, I was wrong, I am sorry. Sit them down, look into their eyes and say it. Say it often.

And in this spirit, I’d like to say to you all, being into Air Supply … I was wrong; I am so very sorry.

The How

My Mom sent us to fetch a stick for a spanking. By the way, don’t ever do that: It’s rough enough getting a spanking; don’t make ’em look for the instrument. Don’t make ’em dig their own grave. I was digging around in the closet looking for the most benign “rod”. “Hmm … too thick. Nope. Too thin; whipping effect. Mmm … nah, heavy.” My brother, who has always been much better at “facing the music” got tired of the search and grabbed the squared off stick. “Hey, hey, no no no, not that one. That one’s got edges man.” He walked right past me, and my sniveling protest with a look that said, “Let’s get this thing over with.”

Those edges sure hurt. And they left a mark. Years later my Mom told us about how she was chastised by my Dad for being too harsh. My Dad! Yeah, correcting my Mom for being too harsh. You think you know a guy …

I tell this story to illustrate an important point: For a parent, it’s not just about the what; it’s also very much about the how.

So, here’s a run down on how we went about it. Please do not read this as the “right way” to discipline your child. Like I’ve said before, every child is different, each family unique. You have to figure this out. This is an offering of how one family went about it.

The Instrument
We did not use our hands, not even the slap on the wrist. We decided that they had to feel it without even the remotest chance of injury. Something with some weight, but not too heavy; something hard, but rounded. In the end we went with a good sized, rolled up magazine, taped with packing tape.

Pre-spank
Once the decision was made to spank, we escorted them to the same spot in the house. This did two things: 1. Reminded us of procedure 2. Gave us time to cool off. Once we got to the spot, we took a moment to assess whether we were at the risk of administering the spanking in anger. If we were, we left them at the spot to go cool off some more. (This happened a few times, but amidst their cry for mercy, our anger subsided quickly in most cases)

Before spanking, we took a moment to ask them if they understood why they were getting spanking. We had them tell us why they were getting one. On the occasion when they did not know, we told them. After we saw that they understood, we spanked them.

It was important for us to move through this Pre-spank routine as quickly as possible. Of course without compromising the steps. We felt that the anticipation was worse than the spanking itself, so we tried to minimize their time in it.

Spanky 
We held them by the upper arm, asked them to look away, and gave one, firm swat to the bottom. We thought one was enough to get the point across. And firm because the whole thing would be meaningless unless they felt it.

Post-Spank
After the spanking, we re-affirmed our love for them. Communicated that though it is difficult for us to do, that it is our responsibility in love to discipline them. We briefly reviewed what led to a spanking, and taught them to make an apology. After accepting, we embraced. Once we left the spot, we treated them as though they had not done any wrong. It was forgotten. Often within minutes, we were back to laughter.

Age
Finally, we determined that we would not spank beyond the age seven. With our three kids, it was mostly tapered off around five. Our reasoning was twofold: 1. We wanted the effects without the memory of it  2. At a certain age, spanking becomes humiliating – leading to anger.

Fathers, instilling discipline in your child is your job. It certainly encompasses more than teaching right and wrong, introducing them to the concept of consequences. It’s a long, demanding part of our job, so much so that it is tempting to neglect it. I urge you not abdicate the seat of responsibility that only you are able to occupy. If you do not, someone else will. And that someone will not love your child the way you do.

When and How

It’s touchy; I know. It’s a difficult subject for me too. And if I sound defiant or dogmatic, then I’m not representing myself well. Like I wrote in an earlier post, the older I get, the less I live in certainty. The decision to spank our children was a difficult one for us. Just about every time we did it, we wrestled with some measure of doubt. And yet, despite all this, we concluded it was good for our kids. Again, I’m not trying to convince anyone; up to you. To those of you still with me, I’d like to pass on some practicals, namely the when and the how.

When
In my last post, I wrote my belief that spanking has a very specific, limited usage: Not behavior modification, not teaching. The one purpose is to introduce humility: To say in effect, “You are not the King.” And so, in our home, only one crime led to a spanking: Rebellion. I think parents make the mistake of spanking based on the degrees, the severity of the crime. “If you do something REALLY bad, you get a spanking.” This results in inconsistent, subjective approach to discipline. For the child, there’s no way of knowing the when. What constitutes REALLY bad? Not knowing when promotes fear. And so, we decided, big or small, rebellion and only rebellion would lead to a spanking.  

How do I define rebellion? Let me present a scenario: A child is given a clear directive. After reasonably demonstrating that they understand what you expect of them, they choose to act in direct opposition to your directive.
“Hey, don’t step off the curb.”
He looks at you. Stops at the edge (A reasonable demonstration that he understood). Looking at you, he takes a small step to confirm.
“Don’t step off the curb.”
He steps off the curb.

When he stepped off the curb, when he crossed that proverbial line, there was no counting. No, umpteenth repetition. No yelling, grabbing. No name calling. Usually, it was a calm resigning to what neither of us wanted, “Okay, let’s go.”

The How next issue.

There’s this photo of me sitting on a throne. I was a year old. The throne was gaudy, golden with those opulent curves. It must have made an impression on my one year old self, because I struck a distinctly royal pose: A bit slouched with my head cocked to the side, my expression pouty, bored and condescending. I was king.

A child born in a time of peace and relative prosperity to a decent set of parents lives like a king, a queen. Royalty. As well they should. Her royal highness will eat when she wants, sleep or not sleep as she fancies. Her most excellent greatness will relieve herself where and whenever she chooses. You’ll clean up her mess and wait on her hand and foot. Dressed, bathed, burped. And if anything displeases her, you’ll hear about it. She reigns. Those first few months, the world revolves around her. You’re going to smile, and like it.

But we all know your kid can’t stay on that throne. A time comes when they must be ushered off: Learn to play with others, mind their parents. They have to learn that they’re not above the law, that their wants do not orchestrate the universe. When that time comes, when they look straight at you and cross that proverbial line to say, “What are you going to do about it Pops?” It is the father’s job to lovingly remove the kid from the throne. And a spanking expresses like nothing else, “You’re not the king. You’re not the queen.”

Really, what I’m talking about is an elementary introduction to the most valuable of all virtues, humility. It’s a father’s job to pass this great gift along to a child. And so I reasoned, if an occasional swat on the bottom is going to lead to my child’s first steps away from his/her throne, I’m prepared to administer it.

Context

With most things, context is big. Naked, alone, before stepping into your shower? Perfectly, acceptable. In fact, anything else would be odd. Naked whilst running onto center court at Wimbledon during Federer v Nadal, third set tie break? Unacceptable. You’re likely to get tackled, thrown in a wagon, and locked up. Context. Spanking is no different. And in the case of spanking your child, the relevant context is that of your relationship with your child.

Disciplining your child by spanking must be done within the context of a loving relationship. There has to be no doubt that you love your son, your daughter. And that unshakeable belief must be that of your child, not you. It matters very little what you believe. They have to be convinced.

Now, I get that loving relationship is not a easily quantifiable term. No clear metric for it. Right. Unfortunately, with something as complex and as varied as familial relationships, we’re limited to words like “good” and “loving”. I think most of us have an intuitive sense, but here are a couple words to consider as you assess your loving relationship:
Presence. If asked, would your child describe you as a present Dad. Are you around? Does he/she see you? When you are physically there, do they see your face? Do they get your attention?
Affirming. Would your child describe you as a father who sees the good in them? Who they can tell likes them? Even taking delight in them? Do you tell them they are good, smart, beautiful?

I wrote in my last post that with spanking our kids, we were very, very careful. I believe that care begins with context. You must assess whether or not your child finds him/herself in a loving relationship. In their eyes, are you among other things a present, affirming father? Do they feel safe around you? Are they loved? If there are doubts about a loving context, I wouldn’t do it.

We spanked our kids. All three. That’s getting harder and harder to say. Recently, my wife and I sat in a workshop related to parenting in which the presenter did not use the word spank. Not discipline, not corporal punishment. “If you want to hit your kids,” she said, ” that’s up to you. It’s not illegal.” In a not so subtle way, she drove home the point: Spanking your child is tantamount to hitting your child, to abuse. No it isn’t.

I’m not on some crusade to re-establish spanking in the “tool box” of American parenting. Not going to say that spanking is essential to good parenting. If you don’t want to spank your kid, fine. Good. If you think it’s wrong, that’s your prerogative. If you struggle with self-control, then maybe you really ought to search for an alternative method of discipline. To spank our children was a decision we made, and not one we made lightly. This like all other decisions involving our kids we made trying our best to seek their good.

First, let’s get this out of the way. Is spanking abuse? Dictionary.com defines abuse: 1. To use wrongly or improperly; to misuse. 2. To treat in a harmful, injurious, offensive way. A definition I’m comfortable with at the moment: Physical, emotional, and/or psychological harm/injury done to a child by the unbridled actions of a parent. I believe the parameters of child abuse extend far beyond what is considered criminal; I hope we’re concerned with things beyond that which is prosecutable. So, where then is the line? I would argue that the line is somewhere between instructing and venting, where there is a shift from the child’s need for discipline to the parents’ need to vent. Once the father’s shift turns to his satisfaction there will certainly be excess. Spanking will turn to hitting, kicking, and more. Not only will the child be in danger of bodily harm, he or she will experience what their father’s unbridled anger says about their worth. Spanking and abuse are two different things.

Do I think parents run the risk of abuse by spanking their child? Yes, I do. But if we’re serious about abuse, let’s call things evenly. Let’s not pick and choose, and so shroud ourselves in some selective illusion. Of course spanking your child can cross over to abuse. Do I think parents run the risk of abuse when talking to their children? Yes. As you live in relationship to one another, do you run the risk of abusing your child through the choices you make? Yes. It’s no secret that divorce has a negative affect on children, yet I hear no outcry against divorce as a form of child abuse. The point being when you became a parent, you got yourself into risky business. There are plenty of kids planted in front of a 56″ TVs with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, hours at a time with little or no supervision, who I’d argue are getting their fair share of abuse – abuse of the numbing variety.

As we forge ahead with this risky business of fatherhood, the answer is not to avoid all risk. Too late for that. My take is, especially when handling things like discipline which carries with it a higher level of risk, you have to be very, very careful. And so when it came to spanking, we took pains with procedural integrity.

I don’t remember the crime, just the punishment. My Dad stood us before him as he conducted psychological warfare from his seat on the couch. The glare. The tormenting, rhetorical questions. “Does he want me to answer that or will an answer just get him more pissed?” The demeaning tone. And the intermittent silence with more glaring. All the while he held a flyswatter in his right hand. And without warning, like a lefty pitcher with a great move to first base, he’d burst to swat us across the upper arm. Crack! Man, that thing hurt. The wiry, metal neck was just thin enough to give it that flex for that all important whip effect while being just thick enough to deliver a proper blow. Adding insult to injury was the knowledge that you were being hit with of all things, a flyswatter. You kill bugs with that thing! Once he showed us why he was holding the flyswatter, then his sporadic, unpredictable delivery became yet another weapon in his psychological arsenal. “Just hit us already, and be done with it!” No, no. It was never that easy. We’d have to endure what felt like hours of this, this cruel and unusual punishment until he was convinced we were loathe to ever do “that” again.

Funny thing was, in our house, my Mom carried the bigger stick. She used whatever was near: sticks, rods, whatever. She once came after me with an aluminum crutch. Although she packed more heat, she wasn’t the scary one. She could not hide her kind-heartedness even as she chased me wielding menacingly that aluminum crutch. We knew there was a cap to what she was capable of. My Dad? He got more done with a flyswatter than my Mom could have with a baseball bat.

She walked in like the big hen into her chicken coop. Except, it wasn’t her chicken coop; it was ours … well, our apartment. Handing me the dinner she’d prepared for us – a much appreciated gesture for those foggy, sleep deprived days – she walked past me with her own two kids in tow, and made straight for my wife and the child in her arms. Not long after taking a peak, she launched into a series of questions. Her tone was self-assured; the pacing, deliberate. Clearly, she’d done this before.

“Are you planning on putting him on a schedule?”
“Schedule?”
“Yes. You know, a feeding schedule? Nap schedule.”
The couple look at each other and find in the other’s expression exactly what they’re each feeling: Lost and guilty. The young father thinks, “I haven’t put myself on a schedule.”
“Um, no. We hadn’t … uh.”
“Oh, have you read _____ by ‘So and so’?”
Again the couple look at each other for answers.
“No. We haven’t even heard of that book.”
“Well, you have to read it. It’s so good. Children need structure. It’s comforting to them. A schedule really helps with that. Get them into a good rhythm. It makes them happy. Just read the book; it explains everything.”
The father looks at the lady’s two kids to see if they look happy. They mostly look bored.

I don’t recall anything else about her visit. I do remember though, when she left, we were glad to see her go. We never did read that book. We knew almost nothing about parenting, but we had the good sense to know that there was no “secret” way, no “surefire” method. And certainly the answer could not possibly be in this ostentatiously titled book.

I’m not saying we oughtn’t read books on parenting. In fact over the years, we’ve done quite a bit of reading. We’ve sought counsel; asked questions of both parents and children. What I am saying is there is no “One Way” to raise a child well. Every kid is different. Unique. Beautifully complex. Sure there are principles. I even believe there are principles immune to the wears of time, to the nuances of culture. But because every kid is different, these principles cannot be applied uniformly with the expectation of netting “happy” kids. I don’t buy it; there’s no “One Way”.

Ten things I wish I knew in no particular order …

1. Didn’t think to ask when they do the circumcision. His was at his first in-hospital Dr. check-up. Early morning, day 2. I was not there. Whether you’re 2 days or 40 yrs old, someone taking a knife to boys is frightening to say the least. A familiar voice in the ear couldn’t have hurt. He sniffled in my arms the whole afternoon.
2. Not all diapers are created equal, nor are all babies built the same. Try some different brands to find one that fits your kid’s body. By chance, we discovered that a cheaper brand worked best for our kids. Fewer incidents of the dreaded “blast up the back”.
3. I wish I’d known my wife would suffer from postpartum depression. She didn’t understand it either, and was ashamed of her sadness. She cried everyday for weeks and did so in secret.
4. Compact strollers worked better for us than the huge, Cadillac, 20 cup-holder models.
5. Breast milk is better, but formula isn’t gonna ruin your kid. Your rabid desire to protect your kid is going to make you a bit irrational. Just know that.
6. Full-time breast feeding only lessens your chances of getting pregnant. Doesn’t rule it out. Who knew? Even with the menstrual cycle on pause. (Refer to post Speaking of Latex, March 12)
7. When they have an extremely high fever, you can double down on ibuprofen and acetaminophen. They get processed through different organs – kidneys and liver. Call a doctor to confirm.
8. If you can avoid it, do not take a big trip away from your family during the first year of your child’s life. They change almost daily.
9. A child isolates a mother. Good chance your wife will deal with loneliness.
10. Each day has it’s own joys and challenges. Do not wish for tomorrow; do not long for yesterday. The important life skill of living in the present is made all the more important in fatherhood.

Bonus: Listen to your wife’s intuitions. A mother’s intuition? Yeah, there is such a thing. I’m a believer.

When did discipline become a bad word?

My guess is it did with our tendency to paint things “black and white”. Our generation grew up inhaling the oppressive air that rises out of strict discipline, propriety, children knowing their place. When these become the highest values in parenting, the air reeks of judgement. Behavior modification becomes paramount; relationship gets shoved curbside. Our generation grew up choking on the stifling air of rules and judgement, and we determined that our kids would not experience this type of upbringing.

Now we’re running things, and shonuff we’re clearing the air. Out with all things restrictive, binding, firm.
“Let freedom reign. Let them explore, learn. Take down the boundaries. Put away the rules for now. Yes! Right!”
“Ah … wait a minute man, your kid in his freedom just clocked my kid with that plastic hammer.”

The love and freedom revolution in parenting is all nice until some kid gets clocked with a plastic hammer. The music really stops when that kid is your kid. As your kid is crying his eyes out, the ultra-mellow, understanding parent who gently reasons with the three year old assailant is going to put this whole new parenting focus into question for you. Trust me. More often then not, the kid who rocked your kid is not even paying attention to their parent. You can see the wheels spinning: “If the worst I get for going off is a soothing talking to, then … well, go-off I will. Yeah, yeah, Pops. You done? My hammer?”

After Pops releases the hammer wielding terror back into general population, he’ll look over at you with a smile, and a shrug,
“Sorry about that. Kids, right?”
“Nah, man. If my kid did that, he’ll have to deal with me in a way that will make him think twice before raising that plastic hammer over his head again.”

My Dad got it wrong. Thinking he could not have both, he chose fear rather than love. Today, we choose love rather than fear. Judgement isn’t a bad word, neither is rules, and not even fear. It’s not that “black and white”. We need both. Set a foundation of love that chases out fear. And in this loving relationship, teach your child that particular type of fear he/she cannot live without.