To Spare The Rod ... Or Not To Spare The Rod?

By Allison W. Hartley

 

I've said it before, there is no parent out there who "parents perfectly". But kudos to those who give it their best shot. It's undoubtedly the toughest jobs there is. There is no rest, there are no breaks, and no pay.

I've always considered myself a pretty strict parent. I realized early on that yes, I was raising children during the course, but more importantly, I was responsible for helping that small person grow into a socially acceptable, responsible, God fearing, law abiding adult. That's the way my mother mothered, and my family (both sides) raised their crew, successfully.

Looking at those examples, as well past generations that were raised with enforced structure and guidelines, in my opinion, discipline works. And, it starts from the moment of birth.

All in one week I witnessed four examples of what I feel like, were serious offenses in the acceptable realm of child behavior (and each time, in my mind, I held the parent, not the child, responsible). Without going into great detail of each scenario, it validated what I was already convinced of. Disrespect seems to be growing rampant in the younger generation.

Steve mentioned the other day that the number of “unruly juvenile” police reports seem to be increasing. Most seem to be stemming from lack of respect, for parents, property, authority and the law. What can be done?

Ralph Davis sent this "Encouragement Of The Day" last week. It rang so true I thought I would share it with you.

The other day, someone at a store in our town read that a methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical question, ''Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?"

I replied: "I had a drug problem when I was young. I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals. I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather. I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults.

I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the preacher, or if I didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me. I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profane four-letter word.

I was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower beds and cockleburs out of dad's fields. I was drug to the homes of family, friends, and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood; and, if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.

Those drugs are still in my veins; and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, and think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroin; and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem America would be a better place.

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