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Punish defiance from children, not mistakes
Published June 27, 2009
We who are older can remember when there was no air conditioning. Sheldon Elementary School, between Houston and the San Jacinto River, in each classroom had large open windows and one industrial-sized fan on a stand. I came in from recess so sweaty that I lay papers under my arm and the heel of my palm so that I wouldn’t soil the paper on which I wrote my assignments.
The oscillating fan went one way and then the other, sweeping the room with its barely cooler breeze. Staring at the fan, I secretly spoke to it, “Come back this way! Please come on-n-n back this way!” With each passing, I was grateful.
Our building was almost as old as dirt. he stucco auditorium had the appearance of the Alamo. A few feet below the peak of the front of the building was a small window, accented by a black ornamental grill.
Kindergarten wasn’t offered in some country schools at the time, so I started out in first grade. My teacher, Mrs. Treadwell, was a senior citizen with beautiful gray hair and an angelic face. She was as kind as kind could be. Her sweet spirit turned out to be salvation for me.
During a party, with desks pushed back, I swung one of my little classmates round and round, his feet leaving the floor the way adults had done me all my life. Only, in my case, one of his little legs hit the edge of a desk, and I broke his leg. My mother and his parents came to the school. Fear permeated my soul.
Some teachers would have automatically shamed me. They would have said, “This is an indoor party, not a gymnasium! Why couldn’t you just be nice like the other children?”
Not Mrs. Treadwell. She took up for me in front of the principal, the school nurse, parents and students. “It was an accident. Buddy didn’t mean to do this. They were playing as children do.”
Some parents would have gone berserk. They would have taken me home and screamed at me with a spattering of curse words. “How could you be so blankety-blank stupid? Didn’t you think about what you were doing?”
My mother didn’t kick me while I was down. She greeted me with an empathetic hug and stayed by my side. She expressed her regret to the child’s parents. She offered to help them with expenses. She spoke with school officials. In short: She was there for me.
I wonder how she knew to do that; my book on parenting was not yet published … Smile. In “Relief for Hurting Parents,” I encourage parents to consciously evaluate whether the problem was a mistake or defiance. If it was a mistake, support. If it was defiance, discipline. Mother and Mrs. Treadwell didn’t consider it defiance, and they were both supportive.
I so didn’t need scolding. I died inside as my friend cried in pain. I felt so ashamed and alone as his parents drove out of the circle drive, leaving a dust trail, to take him to the hospital. And my heart sank daily as I saw his parents taking care of his cast as they unloaded and reloaded him before and after school. My mistake was ever before me as he made his way on crutches and shifted his weight back and forth in his desk, trying to get comfortable.
Parents and teachers need to be supportive when natural consequences are teaching children lessons. “Twisting the knife” can’t be anything but harmful.
Facts correspondent Buddy Scott is director of His Love Counseling Services in Lake Jackson.
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