When it comes to discipline my dad was like a stone statue. I’m sitting here, racking my brain, trying to remember a time my dad ever yelled at me. I mean really, red-faced, spittin’ mad yelled at me. I don’t think there ever was a time. He was never a spanker either. I can’t think of a single time my dad ever spanked me. Instead he disciplined in a very secretive, you-don’t-even-know-I’m-punishing-you kind of way. He punished me by letting me know he was disappointed in me. He made me know he knew I could do better.

When I was fifteen I was arrested for shoplifting. After I was shoved in to the back of a police car in handcuffs and drug to the juvenile detention center, they made me call my dad. I sobbed as I told him where I was and what I had done. He came to get me and talked to the police who said the store wasn’t pressing charges against me. As we were walking out of the police station my dad looked at me on the verge of tears and said, “I am so disappointed in you.” I was crushed. At that moment I would have rather they had thrown me in a jail cell to rot rather than having me face my father and seeing the disappointment on his face.

My dad also took away privileges and grounded me as punishment. There was none of this wish washing, I’ll ground you for a week and then give in two days later. If my dad grounded me for a week, I was in my room, reading a book considering myself lucky I could even listen to the radio, for an entire week. Prior to the shoplifting incident we were talking about getting me my own phone line. However, after that little stunt my dad informed me I would never be getting my own phone line…ever. In fact I think if he had his way I’d still have no phone right now more than 15 years later because that was my punishment for being stupid enough to steal from Target.

Now my mom took a different approach. She had a bit more of a temper. Not a beat you down temper, but she definitely yelled more than my dad did [which isn't saying much since, like I said, the man never yells]. She’s a bit more of a freaker-outer and worry wart.

From the age of six on I only spent about ten weeks a year with my mom. She lived out east and I lived in the midwest with my dad. So she didn’t discipline me much. And there wasn’t a whole heck of a lot trouble to get in to in just ten weeks. [Although there was the summer I racked up a $300 long distance bill in just three weeks. Oh she loved that. ;)]

So I don’t remember getting in trouble with my mom very many times. But the one time I do remember has really stuck with me.

I was between nine and eleven and we had gone shopping. Apparently I had forgotten to lock the car door. When we got back to the car my door was unlocked so I jumped in the seat. My mom hadn’t yet unlocked her door so it was obvious that I must have left my door unlocked since she hadn’t gotten in to unlock it for me yet. She was really pissed about it. We got in to an argument about it and she slapped me. Across the face. Hard. I was shocked. I was horrified. I have remembered it for more than twenty years. I can still tell you what the car looked like [it was many, many cars ago] and what I was wearing that day. That’s how big an impact that had on me.

I should mention here that my mom is a wonderful woman. We are best friends. We talk almost daily. So I’m not harboring any ill feelings towards her for slapping me more than twenty years ago. My point is only to show what an impact that had on me.

Before I had children I thought that whole this hurts me more than it’s hurting you saying was a bunch of bull. I mean, how could grounding me possibly hurt you more than me, seriously? But now that I’m the mommy I get it completely. It breaks my heart to see my kids upset, especially when they’re upset with me. And they might as well stab me through the heart when they yell “I hate you.” It would just be so much easier to give in so they’ll like me. Like when you’re in high school and you do things you don’t really want to just so the cool kids will notice you.

But that wouldn’t help my kids. Somebody told me the other day, “you’re not doing your job unless your kids are mad at you at least once a day.” That is so true. It’s my job to teach respect and responsibility. Right now they’re a little egocentric and their whole world revolves around them, but as a parent I need to help them understand their place in the world. It’s just figuring out how to do it that stumps me sometimes.

Now that I’m a mother I look back at the way my mom and dad raised me. I try to remember what worked [seeing my parents proud of me] and what didn’t work [slapping me] and use that knowledge to parent my children. I want my children to respect me and I want them to know I respect them. That means I keep my hands to myself. I’d like to say that I learned from my dad and never yell either, but to be honest I’m a lot more like my mom in that respect. It’s something I’m working on. But I can guarantee you my kids know I love them and they know I will always be here for them. And that’s really all that matters.

Over at Mother Talk we’re discussing discipline and the new book The No-Cry Discipline Solution. Come on over and join the discussion.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 15th, 2007 at 11:04 pm and is filed under Raising Rugrats. Comments are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.