Reminiscing about Retributions

I hate it when my children do something wrong because then I have to come up with a punishment. I'm so bad at that! And I don't really understand why I draw a blank, because my dad and mom were professional punishers. With them, the punishment always fit the crime, always taught a lesson, and was never cruel or belittling, though occasionally unusual.

But I'll maintain for all of my parenting years that Mom and Dad were punishing wizards. Our punishments were lessons, and through them we learned the most important lessons of family life.

We learned team work. To the brothers who couldn't get along, my mom tied them together with string until they could. You try making nine brown-sack lunches tied to someone who is aggravating you, and you'll see how quickly you learn team work. In fact, I think corporate America should start employing this tactic. I predict productivity would skyrocket.

We learned forgiveness. To the older sister who cut the littler sister's hair--accidentally--the Mosiac Law was employed: an eye for an eye, a hair follicle for a hair follicle. Of course the older sister pleaded for mercy, and the smaller sister forgave the blubbering barber. And though she was a few locks shy of a whole head of hair, the smaller learned how to stand taller that day.

We learned justice and mercy. To the sister who mouthed off, two thousand rocks had to be collected from the garden and moved to the adjacent rock piles. Considering you could sell your bowl of Wheatina for two hundred rocks, this was a mighty blow. But everyone paid attention when Daddy helped Sister fulfill the demands of the law. We didn't have to ask why he wouldn't just drop the punishment instead of moving rocks with her; we saw, and we learned.

We learned hard work and then play. To the social butterfly of the family who mostly finished the chore, a life sentence of grounding was given. This was so painful a punishment, it caused the perpetrator to ask in agony, "How would you like it if you were grounded for the rest of your life?" When his siblings' response was uproarious laughter, he cried harder. No matter their insistence that he wouldn't--indeed, couldn't--be grounded forever. When the sentence miraculously lifted, he vowed he'd always put the blankets away neatly before going off to play.

The examples are many and varied, but each proves the wisdom of our loving parents.

Which brings me to the point that I'm trying to be wise and loving. Really I am. But it's clear I'm no parental genius.

I did have a break through last month. When we were driving the ten hours home, I was trying to nap, but no one would let me. In that space between asleep and awake, where everything makes sense (including purple unicorns finishing the weeding in the garden), I announced that someone had to take a nap. And if it wasn't going to be me, it would be them. Presto! Silence and a nap were mine to enjoy for a whole half hour.

But when a child colors the white spots on the dog with pink marker, what am I supposed to do?