Mortified at misbehaving as a kid
Somehow we got on the subject of misbehaving in school. I managed to get through 12 years of public education with one severe reprimand and two swats from my mechanical drawing teacher – not for some breach of conduct, but because I dropped a pencil and an eraser in class. He informed us at the start of the semester that the equipment we used was delicate and could be ruined if dropped onto the hard tile floor (we didn’t have wall-to-wall carpeting in those days and still managed to get a good education). So, to impress that point upon us, we would rack up one swat for each mishap to be delivered at year’s end.
The severe reprimand was during first grade. While playing outside, we saw our teacher come out of her classroom and wave to us. We couldn’t hear what she was saying because it was winter and we were properly bundled in our cold-weather earmuffs, boots, hats, etc. She railed at about 10 of us when we returned to the classroom because we didn’t instantly come when she called us. It was more of a misunderstanding, but then kids see it one way and adults another.
So, for that dozen years, I was a pretty good kid. Good marks for deportment, never called to the principal’s office or scolded by teachers.
Why?
Because I knew if I did something terribly wrong at school the punishment I received there would pale in comparison to what I’d get when I went home.
It was like a parental nuclear deterrent. If I was wronged, my parents would go to the ends of the Earth for me. But if I wronged someone, they would likewise make sure my punishment matched my crime.
For example: I once skipped school to go to Pittsburgh with my brother. Leaving the house that morning, presumably to catch the bus for school, I sidetracked to wait for my brother to pick me up. In the process, as I turned a corner, there was my mother, her radar apparently operating involuntarily, walking the dog. I didn’t think she saw me. And if she did, I was in “disguise.’ I was wearing a pair of old glasses (I didn’t wear glasses at that age) and I had the hood on my coat pulled up over my head.
Stupid me. Like that was going to deceive her. What mother can’t spot her son at a mile?
When I arrived home that night, again presumably after a hard day a school, my father called me into the kitchen. “Did you go to school today?’ he asked. “Yes,’ I said. “No you didn’t,’ he replied. “Go to bed without your supper.’
I was 15 years old and had already begun thinking of myself as a man. The sentence he declared was the most demeaning thing I could think of. No paddling, no removing TV privileges or grounding me for a week. But something you’d do to a little kid.
Mortified, I headed to my bed. The humiliation I felt has been unequaled since.
Well, later that evening, Mom snuck me in a bowl of soup and some crackers. But it cured me of ever skipping school again.
There was no way on this planet or the next that I was going to talk back against Dad. Whatever he said went in those days. Was it from fear that he could physically propel me into next year? Sure, he was strong enough to do that. Yet, he never did. It was the fear of disappointing him, of getting caught doing something that displeased him. That’s why the punishment was so appropriate and why it stung so much. I had done wrong and I knew it.
Of course, you have to have a good child-parent relationship for this kind of scenario to be effective. Maybe that’s what’s wrong in some homes today? It’s easy to second-guess parents raising their kids. I can honestly say I don’t envy them. But if I had kids, I’d hope to raise them pretty much in the same vein as my parents raised me.
I don’t think I turned out too bad. And neither do they.
Have a good day.
James Pletcher Jr. is business editor at the Herald-Standard. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at begin Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com end
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