Good heavens … this is getting out of hand. Seriously. I thought I could just ignore the proposed bill by Assemblywoman Sally (Motto: “I have no kids and therefore know more than you do about raising them”) Lieber of Mountain View. But Ms. Lieber, mother of a politically correct cat or something, has become a media darling recently as she touts her plan to let government further intervene in our day-to-day lives – specifically by making it illegal for a parent (or other caregiver) to issue a swat on the bottom of an errant child under the age of four.
If you follow my writing at all, you know I don’t drift too deeply into politics. It’s just too … well, icky there. And I wouldn’t venture there today if not for the fact that I am really tweaked by such an absurd and unenforceable proposal. And who knows – if this bill becomes law, what if they make it – yikes – retroactive? Maybe by some, oh … 30 years or so. If that’s the case, just handcuff me now, although I’m not going quietly; there are a lot of things I’d rather do than tenure in the “Big House.” But here’s the deal:
Thirty-one years ago I gave birth to a beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl. She was pure sweetness and light – until we brought her home from the hospital and she became colicky, fussy – you name it. Of course no parent in their right mind would spank a baby, and since babies don’t come with instructions, I resorted to books about caring for babies. I read late into the night as she screamed and refused to sleep even though she was fed, dry, rocked and loved within an inch of her young baby life.
Her doctor said she’d “outgrow” it, but when she was still crabby at six months, we purchased a wind-up baby swing, which calmed her right down. When she cried for no discernible reason, I’d deposit her there where she swung happily to and fro for hours. I don’t know what it did for her personality, but it did wonders for mine.
Eventually she ceased being fussy because we were entering the “terrible twos,” whereupon she put into operation a battle of wills with her rookie mom, meaning people used words like “strong-willed” and “difficult” when describing her.
“I love her to pieces, but she’s such a challenge,” I’d lament to my mom who lived 800 excruciatingly far-away miles.
“Yes, she is a handful,” my mom agreed when they came for visits. Since I’d been “such a good baby,” my own mother was at a loss how to remedy the situation.
So I relied on books for guidance in disciplining my child. Most were geared toward correction without spanking, which was thought to be harmful to the child’s self-esteem. Self-esteem was a big deal in the mid-to-late 70s, and giving “time outs” was a popular punishment – one minute for every year of your child’s age was the suggested norm. So when my 2-year old began a tantrum, I hauled her kicking and screaming to her room for a two-minute time out.
Of course she didn’t stay there. This, unfortunately, was a piddly little snag the books didn’t mess with. Therefore, I was reduced to ludicrously holding the door shut with all my might as she pushed, kicked and wrestled the door from the other side. When she realized it wasn’t going to budge, she moved to “Plan B,” which was tracking down every toy and piece of furniture she could lay her little hands on and heaving it at her bedroom door. Let me tell you, people, lots of stuff can be chucked at a door in the space of a couple of minutes. Re-opening her door now required brute force because there was a sizeable blockade of “stuff” heaped at the threshold.
This embarrassingly silly exercise in futility was performed for the benefit of company on a few occasions. A friend visiting our home for dinner one evening witnessed one of these encounters. When I sheepishly returned to the table, red-faced and exhausted with the efforts of disciplining our daughter, he stated that (and I am, unfortunately, not making this up) he would be a witness on my behalf at a child abuse trial.
Fortunately, things never went that far. One wonderful day my favorite aunt from Colorado came for a visit. I am not exaggerating when I tell you she was the best mom in the universe. Her daughter, who is seven years my senior, turned out to be a fine, well-adjusted adult so I considered my aunt’s advice about child-rearing sacrosanct.
Inevitably, my daughter kicked off a raging temper tantrum shortly after my aunt’s arrival. As toys and other accoutrements crashed and reverberated on the other side of her bedroom door, my aunt gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and said kindly, “Honey, have you ever considered just paddling her little bottom?”
“What? Do you mean I can do that?” I croaked incredulously. This went against everything I’d ever read on the subject of discipline, but if the world’s greatest mom said it was OK, who was I – and all the “experts” – to argue?
A few “love taps” got my daughter’s attention as nothing else had, and soon thereafter a discernible change occurred around our house. Eventually the “challenging” child became someone who, if you met her today, would strike you as an absolutely lovely young woman – whose self-esteem is totally intact and who has no intention of writing “Mommie Dearest II.”
So, may I respectfully suggest to Ms. Lieber that she do something more constructive with her time like finding a zippier catnip for her feline “child” and leave us parents of human children alone? As a mother, I shudder to think disciplining my firstborn could have landed me behind bars. Besides, I look just terrible in stripes.
Gale Hammond is a 23-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at
Ga*********@ao*.com
.
