Do it by the book

By the Book
'Heather! How could you do such a wicked thing? You naughty
girl!'
The words were out before Lisa could stop them and immediately she bit
her lips together guiltily. How could she have said what she just had?
After five years of trying to do the right things all her efforts to
become a good mother might have been for nothing after that one hasty,
spontaneous declaration.
Filled with shame now she closed her eyes and imagined that Steve was
looking down at her disapprovingly. He would, she knew, be as appalled
as she was that she had broken yet another rule in the 'Caring for the
Pre-School Child' book, which was in her opinion, second only to the
Bible in its worth as the provider of guidance through the unknown
territory of life. The author of the book knew absolutely everything
about children - and never before had Lisa read anything that was so
sensitive to the needs of a growing child. And the proof - right there
on the cover of the book - was the happy, smiling faces of four well
adjusted and talented teenagers who were gazing adoringly at the
complacent face of the author - their father, Brian Dabbs.
'Never tell a child that he/she is naughty,' she mentally quoted the
brilliantly shrewd Mr. Dabbs. 'Let him/her know that his/her actions
have caused you concern, without allowing the child to identify
personally with the label 'naughty.' If this occurs, then the
unfortunate child will forever afterwards have a low self
esteem&;#8230;'
Her heart sank as she contemplated the damage she had done. Now she
had probably condemned poor Heather to a lifetime of believing herself
worthless. Lisa fought the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes
as she analysed the psychological scars that her five-year-old daughter
would most likely now carry.
In later years would she scream to her boyfriend/fianc?/husband,
'I am naughty! I do wicked things! You can't possibly love me?'
If she did, then it would all be her mother's fault!
'Oh Steve!' she silently cried. 'Why did you have to leave me to do
this alone?' Determinedly she swallowed the tears of self-pity that
threatened to erupt at any moment, accustomed now to dealing with her
own personal sadness at the death of her husband just two weeks before
their daughter was born.
It had been Steve who had bought the book in the first place - and
Lisa wasn't about to let him down by failing to uphold the advice that
it offered. When Heather had been born Lisa had placed flowers on
Steve's grave and had promised him that she would be strong enough for
both of them and she would bring their child up exactly how Steve would
have wished. And now, the idea of breaking that promise and doing
things wrong terrified her. Steve had had faith in Brian Dabbs - and
who was she to dispute what her husband - the most sensitive,
intelligent man she had ever known - believed?
She wrestled with the tiny part of her that believed that Heather
actually had been naughty when she had pulled the legs off the
Daddy-long-legs, leaving the poor creature to squirm dejectedly and
helplessly on the window sill. But still, her reaction - according to
the book - had been completely wrong - and two wrongs didn't make a
right. After all, of what importance was the life of an insect compared
to the emotional damage that she had now inflicted upon the daughter
she adored? Gazing at the mop of soft fair curls she determined to put
things right at once.
('Don't be afraid to admit to your child that you have made a mistake.
The human failings of adults will only serve to bolster the confidence
of the child who believes he/she is the only one who does things
wrong.')
She took Heather by the shoulders and gently turned her round,
ignoring the scowl that puckered her little brow and caused her lips to
turn downwards at the corners.
'Heather darling,' she began. 'I didn't mean that you were naughty a
minute ago. But what you did to that insect has made me feel very
uncomfortable&;#8230;.' (Appeal to your child's love for you - and
his/her desire to please you.)
'Gettoff!' Heather tried to wrench her little body free from Lisa's
grip, and when she couldn't she lashed out with her right foot, kicking
her mother hard on the shin. Lisa let out a cry of pain, but still she
held onto her wriggling daughter.
'Heather! You've hurt Mummy now! You should say the magic words that
will put it right.' ('Never tell your child that he/she has to do
something. The power of suggestion is sufficient&;#8230;')
'Hate you!'
('Remain calm if the child becomes aggressive. Don't allow him/her to
see that his/her words or violent actions have caused you anxiety and
remember to give him/her the opportunity to analyse what he/she has
said or done. Self-correction is much more effective than parental
chastisement.)
'Now Heather - you don't mean that, so why did you say it?'
Heather shrugged and made another attempt to free herself from Lisa's
grip.
'I'll love you again if you stick his legs back on.' Heather gave up
struggling and lifted her wide, angelic blue eyes to her mother's face.
Lisa sighed.
'I'm afraid I can't do that,' she said gravely. 'We'll have to kill it
now to put it out of its misery.' Lisa took off her slipper and whacked
the Daddy-long-legs hard, cringing at the sight of the squashed little
body. 'There!' she cried. 'He's in Heaven now, like Daddy, Granny and
Grand-dad.'
'I hate you! You've killed him! And it's all my fault!' Heather began
to cry inconsolably and Lisa gathered her into her arms.
'Don't allow the child to feel guilty about what he/she has done.
Distract him/her from the act that has caused the problem.'
'What would you like for lunch?' Lisa steered Heather away from the
mangled body and propelled her towards the kitchen. She stopped crying
abruptly and tilted her head to one side as she contemplated the
question.
'Chocolate.' Her mouth set stubbornly and Lisa knew that another
battle was about to commence.
'Certainly you can have chocolate,' she replied. 'But only after
you've eaten something nutritious.'
('Don't be afraid to use complicated words, although you should
explain their meanings in simple terms.')
'By that I mean something that's good for you and will make you grow
big and strong.' Lisa smiled encouragingly and took an egg out of the
fridge. 'How about boiled egg and Marmite soldiers?'
Heather looked at her as though she had suggested eating a live
slug.
'I want chocolate,' she said firmly. Lisa sighed and placed the egg in
a saucepan of water, before placing a slice of bread in the toaster. 'I
said - I WANT CHOCOLATE!'
('If a conflict arises, find a compromise. Allow the child to believe
that he/she has partly won - without giving in entirely to any
unreasonable demand.')
'I'll tell you what!' Lisa smiled widely at the mutinous face that
gave no indication that a compromise was forthcoming. 'You can have one
little piece of chocolate now - and then when you've eaten up all your
lunch you can have the rest.'
Heather pursed her little rosebud lips thoughtfully, and after a
moment she slowly nodded her head.
'All right,' she agreed, taking the small square of chocolate that
Lisa held out. She nibbled at it daintily and when it was finished she
said, 'More chocolate.'
'I've told you, Heather. You can have the rest when you've eaten your
lunch.' Lisa tried to smile as she spread butter and Marmite on the
toast and cut it into fingers.
(Always draw attention to the child's good behaviour and make sure that
he/she realises that you have recognised the positive aspects of
his/her character.)
'Now sit down at the table like the good little girl you really are -
'
'Only if you give me some more chocolate.' Heather's voice broached no
argument and Lisa knew from experience that she would have to give in
just a little bit more if she was going to persuade her to eat her
lunch.
'One tiny bit - and then lunch!' she cried, breaking off another
square. Heather took it with a smile of gratitude. 'Now - what do you
say when someone gives you something?'
'Thank you,' replied Heather meekly. She sat silently nibbling the
chocolate whilst Lisa dished up the egg and placed the fingers of toast
around the egg cup like the sun's rays. With a flourish she placed the
plate before her daughter and beamed encouragingly.
'There! Now eat it up - like you promised!'
'No.'
'But Heather - you did promise - and it's very naugh - er - not a nice
thing to do if you don't keep a promise that you've made.'
Heather shrugged and her eyes drifted towards the bar of chocolate on
the kitchen shelf.
'I didn't promise,' she argued. 'I said I'd eat it if you gave me some
chocolate.' Lisa was mortified.
'But I did give you some chocolate,' she retorted, a little more
sharply than the author of the book would have liked.'
'Yes - but you didn't give me enough. I want some more.'
Lisa sat down at the kitchen table beside her daughter, her blood
beginning to boil in her veins. 'Eat - your - lunch,' she spluttered,
trying desperately to hold onto the shred of patience that was left
inside her now.
'No.'
'I said 'YES.' You will eat your lunch Heather.' Even the author of
the book would insist that the child should be well nourished.
('There may be occasions when a firm stance is necessary. Reassure the
child at all times that you love him/her - and make it quite clear that
you are acting in his/her best interests.')
'I love you very much Heather,' began Lisa. 'But I'm afraid that this
time you are going to do exactly as I say. Chocolate isn't at all good
for you, whereas eggs and Marmite are very good for you indeed.'
'Well I don't want them,' cried Heather, swiping the plate onto the
floor with a right hook that would have impressed Mike Tyson. Lisa
stared in horror at the debris that now littered the kitchen floor.
Yellow yolk oozed out of the broken shell, mingling with the bits of
broken egg cup that had been part of a set given to her by her late
mother. Hot tears pricked her lids and before she knew what she had
done her hand, with an apparent will of its own, slapped her daughter's
arm sharply.
In the stunned silence that followed Lisa didn't know who was the more
surprised. She had never struck Heather before. The book stated in no
uncertain terms that striking a child was a barbaric, antiquated way of
dealing with a problem.
('Never strike your child. The consequences of violence in the home
can be seen in the lawless, violent behaviour of some of our youths
today. Violence breeds violence.')
'Oh my God!'
She searched Heather's face for some sign of forgiveness and saw her
expression change from horror to disbelief, anger, pain - and finally
(strangely) to a grudging respect.
'That hurt,' said Heather - and her voice cracked on the word 'hurt.'
A moment later she had dissolved into floods of tears. Lisa pressed her
fingers to her lips and felt her own tears course down her cheeks. She
was a failure as a mother. Her child would be emotionally scarred for
life because of her. She would grow up believing that she could hit
people in order to get what she wanted.
'I'm so sorry,' she whispered, burying her face in her hands, her
shoulders heaving wretchedly. 'I can't believe I did that - I'm so
sorry&;#8230;' She turned away, ashamed and inconsolable. What must
Steve be thinking now, she wondered? What would the author of the book
say if he knew that she had broken the rules in the worst possible way?
And worse than all that - what was going through Heather's mind now
that she had experienced violence for the first time in her little
life?
As if in answer to her question she felt a tug on her skirt.
'Mummy?' Heather's voice trembled a little, but when Lisa looked down
at her daughter she saw that she was smiling broadly.
'It's all right Mummy. Don't cry. It didn't really hurt - I only said
that to make you feel bad. It's all right - really it is.'
'I shouldn't have hit you,' admitted Lisa miserably, gathering her
daughter into her arms and holding her tightly against her breast. 'I
love you so much sweetheart - you do know that don't you?' Heather
leaned back slightly and stared up into her mother's sad eyes.
'I know you do really,' she said. 'But -'
'But what darling?' Lisa was worried now. Despite her numerous
attempts to reassure Heather that she loved her there seemed to be some
doubt in the child's mind.
'It's just that - well - all the other children in play school get
lots of smacks - and I never get any.' Lisa stared, speechless at the
worried little face that she loved so much. 'And they say that their
Mummies smack them because they love them, so I wondered why you didn't
smack me&;#8230;that's all,' she finished. Lisa stared in disbelief
at her daughter, trying to analyse how violence towards a child could
be a demonstration of love.
'But children who are smacked are violent outside their homes. They
fight with other children,' she quoted almost to herself. It occurred
to her that Heather had been violent anyway - when she had kicked her
earlier - but still she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that a
smack was the answer.
'No Mummy.' Heather was shaking her head wisely. 'That's not
true.'
Lisa sank down onto the stool beside her daughter. Could Brian Dabbs
possibly be wrong? She thought back to the time when Heather had been
two years old and had tried to touch a red hot coal that had fallen
into the grate. Lisa had explained that it would burn her - but the
word 'burn' had meant nothing to the toddler until she had experienced
the painful sensation later that day. Lisa cringed at the memory of the
child's agony after she had then touched the electric fire in her
bedroom and the consequent trip to the casualty department of the local
hospital. Maybe - just maybe - if she had smacked Heather in the first
place, then the child wouldn't have had to endure weeks of pain
following the accident?
There were other things too - like the Daddy-long-legs, the wilful
disregard for anything other than her own desires. The constant refusal
to do as she was told. Heather truly didn't seem to know right from
wrong sometimes. And with a sinking heart Lisa realised that it was all
her fault. She had expected an innocent child to understand these
differences through the power of speech. But if Heather didn't
understand the words, then how could she possibly know whether or not
she was misbehaving?
'We're going to have a bonfire,' she announced suddenly. 'There are
some old clothes that I want to get rid of. Oh yes - and a book that I
don't need any more.' Heather's face lit up.
'A bonfire!' she breathed. 'Oh yes!'
'And you'll stand exactly where I tell you to stand, Heather,' warned
Lisa gravely. 'Because if you don't - I'll smack you!'
'Yes Mummy,' replied Heather meekly, her eyes shining with love for
her mother.

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