Thu, 28 Apr 2022 03:50:26 -0700WeeblyTue, 28 Jul 2015 22:12:46 GMThttp://thisnearlywasmine.com/blog/the-ultimate-punishmentEvery once in a while, albeit a very long while, I get it right.  I’ve gotten it wrong.  Big time wrong-so when I finally do something right I want to shout it from the rooftops.

In attempting to solve issues with my son, I instituted every suggestion that was ever given to me.  I read every book written about childhood behavioral problems and discipline that I could get my hands on.  I have a Bachelors Degree in Psychology, a Masters Degree in Social Work, and worked with children in one capacity or another for many years before I had my own.  Yet I consulted with and followed behavior modifying techniques suggested to me by very highly paid professionals (pediatricians, psychologists, psychiatrists, neuro-psychologists, psycho-pharmacologists, socials workers).  I took advice from teachers, school principals, friends, family members, people I respected, and people I considered to be idiots.  I trusted my instincts.  I did the exact opposite of my instincts.  I even asked my son for advice.  I failed miserably at every turn.

My husband, who is not typically given to self-pity (as is his wife), said that the reason we were put on this Earth was so other people would view their own problems as rather insignificant, e.g. “Well, at least we don’t have their problems.”  And here I am, about to give advice.

Here’s a freebie:  When he was about 14 years old, my son mentioned in family therapy that the only thing I did right was the way in which I handled his smoking, many years earlier.  My precious little angel started smoking when he was approximately ten years old, often unabashedly in front of his father and me.  Given the extent of the other issues that we had with him at the time, I merely rolled my eyes in disgust and told him I knew this was just a phase and that he would soon stop.  Disappointed that he did not get the ever-so-familiar rise out of me, he questioned how I could be so sure.  I answered that I knew in my heart he was too smart to smoke.  It was not long after that conversation when I received a call from his school counselor telling me that he was selling cigarettes to his peers.  He had found a way to double his money.  To this day, I don’t know how or from where he was getting those cigarettes, but I was selfishly relieved that he had been selling them instead of smoking them.  Many years later, when he was selling his urine to teenagers who, by law, had to be drug tested, I was again relieved that he had clean urine to sell.  We have to be grateful for small favors.

There had been so many “crimes” and so many “punishments,” I can’t even remember exactly how the “Ultimate Punishment” came to be, but it has lived a long life and resurfaced many times with him and my other children.  By the time my son was seven, I had already run out of ideas.  In an effort to change his behavior, teach him something about humility and improve his writing skills, it came to me on a flaming pie (as John Lennon would say):  I made him watch the Shirley Temple movie Curly Top and write a report about it.  He was already a competent writer and was quite capable of following the outline and answering the questions I provided.   Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t sit with me and a watch a Shirley Temple movie if I tied him down and put a gun to his head.  When I first told him what was expected from him, it was perceived not as a punishment, but as an act of cruelty (and really, what mother could ask for more?).  “Please Mommy, can’t you just hit me?” he begged.  He immediately called his closest ally and greatest admirer, my mother, who jokingly threatened to call the 800 Child Abuse Hotline if I didn’t change this draconian tactic.  I persevered.  In his effort to get the ultimate revenge, he actually enjoyed it.  He wrote an absolutely adorable synopsis and answered all my questions about the plot, characters, how he felt about them, which of his friends would like the movie, dislike it, etc.  We worked together, turning it into a work that he could be proud to show his father, grandparents, and teacher.  We spent quality time together and he saw a slice of life that he would not have normally seen.  The fact that it was a learning experience never even entered the picture.

In subsequent years, my children did reports on Cinema Paradiso, Avalon, To Kill A Mockingbird, Inherit the Wind, and The Breakfast Club, among others.  For lesser crimes, there was required classic movie viewing, without the accompanying report.

Just for the record, I have shamelessly used classic movies as a bargaining tool as well as a punishment.  In a sea of mediocre (at best) and (more likely) scatological sophomoric movies that were widely available and almost always requested, I rented what the kids wanted if they agreed to watch something that I wanted them to see (e.g. an Adam Sandler movie for Life Is Beautiful, an Eddie Murphy movie for Cider House Rules).

Epilogue:  When my son was seventeen years old, he told me that of all the papers/reports/essays he had ever written, the piece he enjoyed writing most was the movie report he did on Cinema Paradiso. There is nothing a parent enjoys more than unsolicited praise from their teenager.  Maybe one thing:  my mother has since recanted her initial criticism, praised my creative parenting, and suggested that I write this article to help other beleaguered parents.  I am also grateful for the big favors.]]>