by Sarah Brannard Davison
Photoc Archie Uebrmn from Black Star
x
I f my mother and dad road this,
they'll probably say, "Gra
cious, but our little Sarah has
grown." I have, but it's taken 34
years, including college, work, mar
riage, and two children, for me to
find out how the other half lives. By
the other half, I mean parents
those much-maligned members of
society who deserve a better break
than they're getting.
Right now I feel that I'm very
much one of them, helped by the
endearing remarks of my children.
Eddie, for instance, described his
first-grade teacher, who is 25, as
"pretty old." You know what that
makes me! When Ruthie was put
out because I refused to buy her a
new doll, she said, "I always knew
you were bad. If you loved me, you'd
want me to be happy."
The dishes are still in the sink.
The car battery is dead. Eddie has
a dental appointment at four, and
Ruth's dresses need the hems let
down. I must discover,' tactfully,
what happened to the change John
left on his dresser, and why my
children are constantly fighting the
Wilson kids down the block.
My parents know the lines of this
play by heart, but I'm still rehears
ing, and sometimes miss my cues. I
was in the wings for so long, and
from the child's vantage point the
role of parenthood looks different.
I remember the time I came home
from that course in psychology, an
expert in child care, and told them
the error of their ways!
"When I have children," I said,
"things will be different. I won't
stuff them with healthful foods they
hate. I will never spank them. And
I surely will never play household
cop, waiting up to see when they
check in from their dates."
"Well," my mother said patiently,
"we'll see how you feel when you
have children of your own." Mother
and Dad are both much too nice to
say, "I told you so," but the truth is
they did. Their little Sarah now
frets about vitamins. She hates
chewing gum left in the pockets of
jeans. Regularly at 4:30 p.m. she
loses her temper. I've spanked
Eddie for leaving fireflies in my
shoes, and for raiding a dessert pre
pared for company. By the time
Ruth is old enough to go out with
boys, I'll probably make John learn
their "intentions." If they're too shy
to answer, it's a safe bet I'll find out
by acting as chaperone.
Oh, yes, I took the courses and I
know the theories. I try, every day
in every way, but I know now that
this is a big job, with long hours,
little pay, and a lot of critics.
I guess it's the sideline experts
(often single) who bother me most.
They must have badgered Mother
and Father too, but somehow they're
better organized today. They write
books, preach sermons, run schools,
courts, and social-service agencies.
They've rooted out the ills of society
in general and of Tommy Jones in
particular, and when they explain
all the reasons, their fingers always
point to the home and to me.
As a teen-ager I was all for these
" experts. Someone else was
the target then. Now I am,
and it's no longer funny.
Last week, for example, I went to
a meeting and heard a sociologist
discuss juvenile delinquency. "Trou
bled boys come from troubled
homes," he explained. "Over the
years we've learned that there are
no delinquent children. There are
only delinquent parents."
The week before that I picked up
the newspaper and discovered why
Johnny can't read. Bad eyesight or
poor teaching? No, the answer is as
simple as A B C. The child is
emotionally disturbed. Emotional
problems relate to the home, and it
is' Mom who keeps Johnnie from
reading what Philip 'Wylie writes
about her.
Not long ago a well-known athlete
reported that far too many Ameri
can children are soft; that a shock
ing proportion flunk out onrnilitary
fitness tests. Why? . It's simple.
Parents pamper them, keep them out
of competitive athletics. About the
same time a group of doctors an
nounced that parents, especially
those of grammar-school youngsters,
were straining their children's en
durance by stressing the need to
win on the playing field.
Which group of experts do you
It's time we stopped blaming them
for all of Junior's shortcomings,
says a defiant mother.
i
In Defense
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v ' S sur ' T. V-
Most parents, says author, are deeply conscientious, devoting 20 years of their lives to each child. Devotion includes such unsung duties as worrying over
follow? Should a mother go to
work? If she does, she's placing a
premium on material values, risking
her children's security, giving them
responsibility beyond their years.
By supper she'll be as cross as the
three bears. If she stays home, her
children will grow dependent, use
her as a chauffeur and doormat. Out
of sheer boredom she will wind up
a clubwoman and worry about
everyone's children except her own.
Should father help around the
house? If he does, his children may
get a fuzzy picture of the male role,
and they will lack a forceful figure
to look up to. If he doesn't, he's a
Victorian hangover in an era of part
nership marriage, and his family will
miss his camaraderie and a feeling
of family togetherness.
Will your . child go to college?
Are you sure he should, or is it
because you feel this is the thing to
do, the way to a better job or a
brighter marriage? If he doesn't get
there and should, it won't be be
cause of a shortage of scholarships.
You didn't plan ahead or pay atten
tion to the life-insurance ads to
make his future secure. If he should
and could go but doesn't, it's Father
or Mother who failed to motivate
him properly.
If Johnny fails to pass a grade,
flops in business, or fizzles in
marriage, the fault, my friends, lies
in Johnny's seniors, not in his stars.
It's so convenient to have a well
padded progenitor who can carry
the burden of shortcomings, ease
guilts, and shoulder faults. "Poor
Joe," a neighbor's wife said to me,
"how he'd love to be a do-Hyour-self
whiz. But his father robbed him
of the chance. Joe's dad sent him to
camp, prep school, and college, so
he missed out on those years when
fathers teach boys these things."
I'm reminded of my mother's
words when I was about to marry
. and became upset because I couldn't
cook Mother laughed, "Sarah, I've
always known you could read, and
the world is full of cookbooks." What
a wise woman she was!
I'm the last person on earth to
deny the importance of
parents in the life of a child.
But sometimes the cocksure experts
speak up too often, and the poor
parent becomes a scapegoat for all
the ills of the world. If you have .
ulcers, for instance, it's easy to pin
point your trouble. ' Maybe you're
compensating for a lack of mother
ing. If you're asthmatic, your wheeze
may well be rebellion to smothering.
I'm not belittling the importance
of psychosomatic conditions, but I'm
willing to sniffle into my own hankie
once in a while. Not long ago a
skinny little boy I know looked in
the mirror and said angrily, "I
could kick my Pop for skipping his
cereal when he was a kid!" Bright
boy he is, and he's learned enough
biology to know that curly hair, color
blindness, and body build result
from parental genes.- But it's over
doing the act when you resent being
a chip off the old block because your
profile is less than classical, your
stance less than heroic. '
It's too bad that the prejudice
against parents runs so high in so
many quarters. The disease is con
tagious, I think. Each time a judge or
an educator blames the faults of the
nation on the parents, the children
happily take up the chorus. I think
this encourages young people to
listen less, act more defiant, and
look for trouble. After all, the
authorities say the fault lies with
their families. This attitude puts the
parent on the spot. He knows he's
damned if he does, cursed if he
doesn't. He has a feeling of helpless
ness and confusion, a sense that
whatever he attempts will be criti
cized by someone.
In my latter-day wisdom I realize
that 99 out of 100 parents are deeply
conscientious. They spend about 20
years on each child, happily giving
of themselves, their resources, their
time and talent. All they ask in
return is that the recipient of their
efforts will become a contented and
honorable member of adult society.
As I think about my parents the
wounds they bandaged, the pennies
they saved, the love they lavished
I realize how hard a job they've had.
Now that , I'm a parent myself, I .
understand so much more than I did
when I was growing up.
I worry sometimes that I won't
do this job well. It seems that the
doctors and lawyers and judges are
talking directly to me warning me
of the future. But now I know my
parents will say, "Don't be intim
idated by the experts. Think for
yourself and do what you feel is
right. After all, that's all we did."
PARENT
Society calls parents delinquent
for what they fail to do, but
seldom gives them credit for
many things they don't fail to ,
do, such as filling children's lives
with moments of happy laughter.
:
Many parents go beyond merely fulfilling ordinary parental
responsibility, ardently overseeing their children's
proper development, instead of just letting them grow.
15 '
bs 7VVV t-i
$
What child hasn't found comfort in mother's arms?
Family Weekly, May IS, 1958
Family Weekly, May 18, 1958