A community of discipline

If you are of earlier generations, then you may have lived in a time when your parents actually disciplined you.

I know in my case, there were a few “Go to your room,” when I misbehaved. Of course, our rooms didn’t have TV’s, computers or other electronics. I did have a radio in there and some books and of course toys to play with, so it wasn’t so bad.

But usually, if my mother at some point in the day had said that to me. I also knew come 4:30 p.m. when my father came home, he would call me out and depending on the severity of my offense, I could here the sound of his belt being pulled from his pants at a high rate of speed. Then my posterior would receive reinforcement of the reason I shouldn’t have done whatever I did.

Of course, there were other types of punishments, extra chores, loss of allowance, grounding, removal of participation in some special event I was looking forward to doing.

As my behavior moved throughout the neighborhood, there was a team of mothers who kept a close eye on my friends and I as we played. We had no boundaries, yards where we were welcome, woods, streets, and creeks were all among our sphere of activity.

Every single house we passed had at least one adult that knew one of us, if not all by name. If any of us got out of line in public, the telephone lines would begin humming as calls began going house to house until it reached the appropriate parent. Then we would hear in the distance our name ring out. And usually not just our first name but our first, middle and last name was being yelled out by someone’s mother or father. Then we would hear our co-patriots chiding us because they knew we were about to get it as we got on our bike and peddled or ran off towards our house.

And even beyond a mother’s and father’s discipline, they shared that authority with anyone within whose care we were placed. Aunts, uncles and grandparents were automatic, we got whatever their children got if we were out of line.

This was also true when we went to spend time at a friend’s home. Before that occurred, my folks meet the parents and soon had made a decision whether I would be allowed to spend time under their roof. If I was, I also knew that my folks had given them a blanket notice, if he gets out of line, punish him as you would your own. I can say, I always felt like all the parents’ home I stayed in, I was treated as one of their children.

Of course, as I grew I understood that there was an expectation of behavior in public, or when staying with someone else. If I had acted out to the point my parents would be told, I would not only see retribution with my guest guardians, but I would definitely see worse once I returned home.

This certainly made me and any of my fellow youth more likely not to be a problem.

If we embarrassed our folks in public, say at a store, church or some other public place by “pitching a fit” or not doing what we were told. It is safe to say that retribution was swift, we would be picked up by an arm, an ear or whatever was closest to grab and escorted to a less public place or outside where our posterior would meet with an attitude adjustment. We would then be returned to whence we came, perhaps with a few tears on our cheeks but in a much better and more respectful mood.

I can safely say that as I grew, that discipline shaped me into the respectful, law abiding adult that I am. It also placed within me a deep appreciation for what my parents and various temporary parents did to teach me how to carry myself and participate in the greater society.

While I remember the lessons taught, you know, I don’t remember any pain, or frustrations experienced during those moments of intense fellowship.