Like Father...
When I was little (about four), my parents made me sit in a small, olive green booster seat in the kitchen corner next to the refrigerator when I was bad. I didn't usually mind, except on those occasions when only my mother was home, and she had me sit in the corner to WAIT FOR MY FATHER TO COME HOME. JUST WAIT, she'd tell me, UNTIL YOUR PAPA COMES HOME.
Sometimes, this would involve spanking. Every time, though, my father would come home, his glasses on, and glare at me as he listened to what I had done. His glare was frightening because he was (and is) far-sighted in one eye and near-sighted in the other, which meant his glasses magnified one eye while making the other look smaller. I could see the blood vessels in the big eye. The other one looked as though it was squinting. At four, looking five feet up from a sitting position, those eyes would squeeze my chest like a vise. I'd do anything to be good again and avoid sitting in the corner when my dad got home. Anything. I'd promise never to do it again. But then I would, and I'd be sitting in the corner, hoping time would stop just once so that my dad wouldn't come home.
I had to discipline my daughter for the first time in either of our lives today. She's learned to throw temper tantrums, a skill that will plague her the rest of her life, and I had to make her do what was right. Hearing my daughter scream and nearly lose her voice was like chewing my heart into a pulp while using a file to sand my eyes. But I did it. I never thought it would be so difficult. I want to be able to promise myself I'll never do it again. But I will, because I love her.
I bet my dad never wanted to get home on those days, either.
Sometimes, this would involve spanking. Every time, though, my father would come home, his glasses on, and glare at me as he listened to what I had done. His glare was frightening because he was (and is) far-sighted in one eye and near-sighted in the other, which meant his glasses magnified one eye while making the other look smaller. I could see the blood vessels in the big eye. The other one looked as though it was squinting. At four, looking five feet up from a sitting position, those eyes would squeeze my chest like a vise. I'd do anything to be good again and avoid sitting in the corner when my dad got home. Anything. I'd promise never to do it again. But then I would, and I'd be sitting in the corner, hoping time would stop just once so that my dad wouldn't come home.
I had to discipline my daughter for the first time in either of our lives today. She's learned to throw temper tantrums, a skill that will plague her the rest of her life, and I had to make her do what was right. Hearing my daughter scream and nearly lose her voice was like chewing my heart into a pulp while using a file to sand my eyes. But I did it. I never thought it would be so difficult. I want to be able to promise myself I'll never do it again. But I will, because I love her.
I bet my dad never wanted to get home on those days, either.