“Hop” A Lesson Learned

An old fashioned lesson on discipline your child.

“Hop” A Lesson Learned

When my daughter was born I was determined to be the best parent I could be for her.

In order to do so I watched how other parents were interacting with their children, I read book upon book about childcare, and I talked to seasoned veterans who had already successfully raised their children.

I somehow believed that if I just learned enough, if I just asked the right questions, and if I just spent enough time with her then everything would turn out wonderfully.

When it came to discipline, I believed that if I explained her mistakes to her in a reasonable way and guided her in the right direction then she would learn from them.

I just needed to be smart enough; use my brain, not my brawn.

Now I am sure that my father never read a single book on parenting, never questioned his methods of child raising, and most certainly never believed he had to spend all his free time with me in order for me to become a good person.

He understood his roles were to be the provider for the house and the protector of the family.

Thinking back now though I realized that he knew more than I gave him credit for back then.

When I was a child the words that I feared hearing most from my mother were “Wait till you father gets home!”

It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and it put me into a state of panic.

One day when I was a teenager my mother was upset with me for violating my curfew the previous night.

As she lectured me I tried to lie my way out of it by making excuses.

She saw right through me.

She hated when I lied to her.

To her it was worse than the actual offense.

I knew she was going to punish me like she usually did in situations like this.

She chose though to handle the situation differently this time.

Instead of handing out the punishment herself she decided to tell my father and let him discipline me.

She walked away and left me with my thoughts.

As I waited for the inevitable I could feel the terror building up inside me with each passing hour until he came home.

When he walked through the door my mother pulled him aside and they began talking quietly.

I could not hear them, but I knew it was not good for me.

When they finished I saw my father shake his head yes and then motion for me to come over to him.

I slowly walked toward him.

I was ready for the punishment I thought was coming.

My father dealt with such problems swiftly by way of various types of physical punishment.

My only question was which one would he use on me.

When I reached him he looked me straight in the eyes and asked “Did you lie to your mother?”

I was too afraid to deny it.

He said fine.

You are almost a man now so I am going to give you a chance.

I am going to count to five.

If you can make it out of the front door on the other side of the house before I am done counting and I don’t catch you, then you will not be punished.

I was stunned.

He was literally giving me a “running” chance to avoid a beating.

I said ok.

My father said “go!”

I took off running.

I heard him say “One, two, three.”

Then he was on me.

I hit the floor hard with him on top of me meting out my punishment.

I rolled on my back and cried out in protest.

“You said you would count to five. You only counted to three!
That’s not fair.”

It was then that I father pulled himself up and looking directly into my eyes said: How do you like being lied to?”

Lesson learned.

Not bad for an old man who never took a seminar on raising a child.