YOUR PARENTS PHILOSOPHY OF RAISING KIDS
This is an ugly topic. Seriously.
I think my mama tempered what she’d learned from her mama. She was as strict as she needed to be. She found ways of being fair. When Dad was at the reservoir (he worked for the city water department and took a turn staying up at the reservoir) mom had me wash dishes for a week and Bob do it the next week.
Each night she’d check. If we did things right we got a star—recorded on the calendar. Whoever earned the most stars earned fifty-cents. Bob, being three years older, seemed to always do better than I did with it; he usually got the fifty-cents.
When dad was around she was a different story. How oft I heard her say, “You just wait ‘til your dad gets home and I tell him.” Oh, that always gave me such a sick feeling in my stomach. It was usually ugly when dad got wind of us being less than perfect.
Dad was a wannabe drill sergeant. You did what he said, when he said it, and didn’t ask questions. Children were to be seen and not heard.
He once told his sister, “I could tell them to walk through that wall and they’d do it.” He’s right. We would have or died trying, because that would be easier than facing him afterward.
Mama did the yelling and name calling. Daddy did the yelling, name calling, mind games, belt whipping, and fist beating. The louder you cried the harder and longer he swung.
I think my mama tempered what she’d learned from her mama. She was as strict as she needed to be. She found ways of being fair. When Dad was at the reservoir (he worked for the city water department and took a turn staying up at the reservoir) mom had me wash dishes for a week and Bob do it the next week.
Each night she’d check. If we did things right we got a star—recorded on the calendar. Whoever earned the most stars earned fifty-cents. Bob, being three years older, seemed to always do better than I did with it; he usually got the fifty-cents.
When dad was around she was a different story. How oft I heard her say, “You just wait ‘til your dad gets home and I tell him.” Oh, that always gave me such a sick feeling in my stomach. It was usually ugly when dad got wind of us being less than perfect.
Dad was a wannabe drill sergeant. You did what he said, when he said it, and didn’t ask questions. Children were to be seen and not heard.
He once told his sister, “I could tell them to walk through that wall and they’d do it.” He’s right. We would have or died trying, because that would be easier than facing him afterward.
Mama did the yelling and name calling. Daddy did the yelling, name calling, mind games, belt whipping, and fist beating. The louder you cried the harder and longer he swung.
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