Never knowing what being without my mother was like, I'd always feel so sad for the white carnation wearers. I didn't understand what any of them had to smile about.
I know now.
Good memories of a good mother are priceless.
Then, I thought of all the women who may not have endured the physical labor of childbirth, but they're making a difference in the lives of children just the same.
Last week, I met an extremely overwhelmed grandmother who has been raising her two grandsons.
Then, I thought of all the women who may not have endured the physical labor of childbirth, but they're making a difference in the lives of children just the same.
Last week, I met an extremely overwhelmed grandmother who has been raising her two grandsons.
Four years ago, her daughter was killed.
Her tear-stained face showed the stress of dealing with children who, perhaps because of their loss, or because they are allowed to, take every opportunity they can to act out.
There was something so unbelievably wrong about the scene. The sight of a grandmother, showing outward signs that she's been neglecting herself, sitting in the office of a school, sobbing uncontrollably into crumbling tissues, while her grandson sat dry-eyed and unmoved, was infuriating.
To say that her grandsons stay in trouble at school would be an understatement.
Their behavior is atrocious.
It's the kind of behavior that, back in the day, would have led to a trip to the proverbial woodshed.
It's the kind of behavior that would have gotten them kicked completely out of school.
It's the kind of behavior that keeps teachers from teaching, and scores of students from learning.
It's the kind of behavior that goes on every day in classrooms all over the country, and teachers now feel powerless to do anything about it, except squander precious instructional time scribbling behavioral reports, and referral forms.
Considering how quickly offending students are sent back to the scene of the crime, some teachers no longer bother to document behavioral issues, or phone parents at all.
When did kids get to the point where a trip to the principal's office, threats to contact parents, or even suspension became mere jokes?
(I'm really beginning to wonder if there is a concerted effort to keep disruptive students in class so that no learning takes place--except to learn how to behave like a complete fool without the benefit of compensation or fame. )
What I have learned, as a result of dealing with the younger child, is that he will follow directions.
He's smart.
He knows exactly what he is doing.
He's just been allowed to get away with much too much, for much too long, and there have been no consequences that matter to him.
What I've also noticed is a culture of fearful people who have essentially given up, and a generation of children who learn to say "You better not touch me!" before they even know how to spell their own names.
Everything is now corporal punishment, and kids, armed with the erroneous notion that they don't have to follow directions, have only to say that Miss or Mister so-and-so did this or that, and the attention is off of them and their unruliness, and on the frustrated teachers.
Those who used to be strong; who used to be vocal; who used to see wrong and address it, have had their hands slapped so many times for doing the right thing, that they choose to cope by no longer seeing what's going on around them.
They simply no longer respond.
They no longer dare to correct.
They just concentrate on keeping their jobs.
Their profession used to be in Education.
Now it's Corralling Kids from 8:30 until 3:15.
It was heartbreaking to see the grandmother's swollen face, and hear her say, "Maybe this is too much for me. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I need to get some help. I'm so tired. I'm too old for this".
The counselor did her best to stay on the script-- a useless, weak, mechanical, laughable script, filled with sappy language and mnemonics that never adequately addressed the child's behavior--and made me want to throw up.
Even as she went through the motions, I could hear in her voice that she didn't even believe in what she was saying.
Her scripted words had no teeth.
It's the "merry, merry month of May", doggone it. The school year is practically over.
This kid had done everything from fighting, to cursing, to disrupting class, to leaving the class and playing in the halls, to standing on tables, to destroying school property.
I hear his brother has demonstrated his own brand of havoc on the upper floors of the school.
Now, all of a sudden, a contract between student, teacher, and parent was going to miraculously change things? Or is it that this contract should have been initiated months ago, and something needed to be in writing?
I could tell the child wasn't paying the counselor a lick of attention. He was saying exactly what she wanted to hear, and as soon as the conference ended, would revert back to his uncontrollable self.
One more of the grandmother's tears hit the table, and I'd had enough. I shouted, "Look at your grandmother! Look at her! Look at her tears. Why is she crying?"
Before I knew it, I was crying.
The child got out of his chair, turned to his grandmother, and put his arms around her neck.
The child got out of his chair, turned to his grandmother, and put his arms around her neck.
"I love you, Grandma. I love you, Grandma. Don't cry. I'm gonna be good."
The counselor knew it was time to put the paper down, just be honest, say what we were both thinking, and perhaps, apologize later.
The counselor knew it was time to put the paper down, just be honest, say what we were both thinking, and perhaps, apologize later.
She also had any number of similar sessions scheduled for the day, and had already spent more than the allotted time with this family.
What this family needed wasn't going to be fixed in an hour or two. It had taken years to make the mess, but starting somewhere seemed to be a good idea. First up, was ending the sugar-coating.
We were all in agreement.
Some of the new-fangled ideas about children were ruining them, so why not ditch them, and employ what works?
Children need order.
They need discipline.
They want direction.
They cannot be left to raise themselves.
They can't enjoy equality with the adults around them.
They do have a place.
They can't be allowed to say and do whatever they want.
The difference between right and wrong has to be taught--EARLY.
Consequences have to be effective.
Between the counselor and me, our collective comments weren't anything the grandmother didn't already know:
"It's YOUR house.
YOU'RE the adult.
YOU are in charge.
YOU set the rules.
The Bible says, "Train up a child in the way he should go..." Don't let the child train YOU.
It's not too late to turn this around.
Whatever worked with your children, will work with your grandchildren.
Don't abandon what you know will get results.
I wouldn't have a child in my house I had to be afraid of.
No child could remain in my house who wouldn't listen, or mind their manners--especially not a child I'm feeding, clothing, and sheltering!
I don't ever, EVER remember my Mama throwing up her hands and saying, "I don't know what to do with them." If anybody was going to be stressed out, it wasn't going to be Mama!
I know you're tired; it's all over your face; it's in your body language, but if you're going to continue to raise these children, you have to stand up, and stand up NOW.
Too many people are trying to be friends with children.
Too many are adopting ways that don't work; borrowing stuff off of TV; listening to advice from people who haven't raised a hamster-- let alone a child.
Too many are trying to be politically correct buddies, while children are acting like they're losing their minds, and getting academically dumber by the day.
There's no democracy in your house!
It is a dictatorship. It's a loving dictatorship, but a dictatorship just the same.
You talk. They listen.
You lead. They follow.
Their rights are limited.
They have a right to breathe and be safe.
Their responsibilities are great.
They are to follow directions, and assist in the ways that they can.
YOU are the one who establishes order in your home. Take back control of your house, TODAY.
Stress will kill you quicker than Cancer.
It's past time to let those boys know who's running things, and it's not THEM.
It's not the neighborhood. Bad neighborhoods have been around since the beginning of time.
It's the adults behind the locked doors of the neighborhood homes that make the difference.
No matter what's going on around you, it doesn't have to infect your house--unless you allow it.
Get your strength back.
Make this the LAST time you're seen crying in public because of the wrong THEY have done.
Set the standard in your house, and don't bend.
They have temporarily forgotten who the Mama is. Remind them until they remember."
Motherhood isn't a popularity contest.
Motherhood isn't a popularity contest.
The affirmation, gratitude and thanks may come later than sooner, but they DO come, and the sacrifices and labor are worth it.
God bless any and every woman who is raising a child who proceeded from the womb of another.
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