Compassion... or selfish stupidity?

I once heard someone say that people who don't have children know best how to raise them. Of course, this was sarcasm. But I agreed. Because let's be fair: how can anyone justify telling other adults what to do while they can only empathize? 

The more we grow and the more life experience we accrue, the more we're able to differentiate the truth from the lies; the everlasting from the evanescent; and hopefully, the juxtaposition between the standards we should be setting for ourselves versus the ones society has told us are acceptable. I pride myself on my ability to be an objective and overall empathetic person, but I can't help but realize we're becoming way too tolerant. 

Where am I going with this, you ask? Let's just say that after spending considerable time among young children and their parents, I've decided to cut the latter a lot less slack. 

As a married adult, the thought of someday having kids crosses my mind... oh, about every time I see one. Never so much "eeeee I want one!" (ha. ha.), but rather mere observation of subtleties (and  not-so-subtleties) in child-parent interaction, which provoke speculation ("If that were my child, they would NEVER...") and empathization ("I wonder if that would be me"). These thoughts sometimes manifest into conversations with Roberto about how we believe children should be raised, but more often than not they're dismissed with a Well, I can't honestly know until I find out mentality. Never did I possess the gall, motivation or certainty to say I can't wait to have kids JUST SO I CAN SHOW THE WORLD how raising them should be done.

Until recently. 

I was working with five-year-olds when a parent who was running late caught up with us on our way in from the playground. "Here's your group, Johnny. Daddy will see you later!" But Johnny wouldn't let go. 

Now, this occurred every week. From what I understand, this is to be expected from a four year old during his first few days at preschool. But this dude was going on SIX. It was also clear to me from the otherwise patient dad's lack of tolerance for the situation that this little problem was not legitimate, but rather an ongoing misbehavior. Finally the dad managed to slip away, but the biggest problem remained: How the heck am I going to get this stubborn child down two halls to the classroom?

Johnny had hurled his body onto the floor and curled up like a snail in protest. In the classroom I'd spend a minute encouraging him to participate and try to make him feel welcome, and then after that failed I would leave him alone, figuring that excessive attention would only reward undesirable behavior. But in the middle of the hallway? This was a different ballgame.

"I'm going to count to five, and then I'm going to have to give you a timeout later if you're not walking back to the classroom with me."

Here was my frustration: If the only person who had the power to effectively enforce the discipline that is required for an obedient child would do so, I wouldn't have felt like a fool with my hands tied behind my back. But, that person was strutting carefree down the hall towards the parking lot. Sure, it inconveniences him for a few seconds every morning, but only before he drops it all in someone else's lap. You see, the tolls of Easy Street always start out small and far between before ending in a price much higher than the short-sighted payees ever imagined.

"1... 2... 3... 4... 5..."

Great. Now we really weren't going anywhere. I had no idea if I had the strength to throw however much a chubby five-year-old weighed over my shoulder, but I guessed I was about to find out. When all of the sudden---

 "Johnny?!?!?! WHAT'S WRONG."

The director had seen a distraught child and, throwing all discretion to the wind (and probably sensing the need to get him out of the hallway), rushed over with a lollipop. 

A LOLLIPOP.

I just promised a tantruming child a time out, and you're applauding him with sugar. I'm kinda glad his dad doesn't invest in the whole discipline thing, because that would have made what you just did the living definition of counter productivity.

Johnny's “tears” suddenly ceased. A grin spread across his face, his eyes brightened and his worries were far and away. I got my way AND a lollipop? This. is. epic. 

Until the lollipop was gone. Then it was square one all over again. Who saw THAT one coming?

By this time, a second adult made her way over to the scene. Bargaining with a five-year-old didn't work? WHAT?! What if I promised you to be the teacher's helper at story-time? That'll get this problem off all of our backs. Yes, I'll be giving the highest possible reward to the most misbehaved child and yes, it'll confuse the crap out of you and your little peers and negate any ground their parents may have gained in attempts to teach them the concept of consequences. But HEY, it's a temporary fix to a long-term problem. And if I say "awww" at least three times, that converts my laziness to maternal compassion! Yep, that’s it. COMPASSION.

The problem that I have with that is that compassion is a by-product of love. The problem with that is that love is selfless. Selflessness exhibits servanthood, which is the opposite of laziness. Which is all adults are being by not disciplining children when necessary.

Failing to discipline your child is selfish and unloving.

“Well, I wouldn’t reward a tantrum with a lollipop!” you say. You're exercising common sense, and that's great! But have you taught them to respect adults enough to not interrupt them when they’re talking? Do your children act like they’re in a restaurant when they’re in a restaurant (a place where grown adults who are to be respected have paid to be), or do they act like they’re on a playground no matter where they go? Do you follow through with threats, or is your child constantly calling your bluff?

And then there’s the excuses.

“We’ve come to realize that he’s just going to be like that.” Lady, your kid is a pain in the you-know-what and no one wants to be around him. Let’s pretend for a second that children are not the wet clay just waiting to be shaped and molded that they are. He popped right out with his choice of career, pet peeves, and the social security number of his future spouse printed on his forehead. You’re STILL doing him and the world a huge disservice by pulling the “that’s just how he is” card. Cause he’s FIVE. The ONLY thing he is is potential. That’s got to be one of the saddest excuses I’ve ever heard. Sorry, but we are SO far gone from just two generations ago that sugar-coating things is not going to bring anyone back.

If you are going to be a selfish and lazy parent, rock it out! Stop showing up to your daycare or Sunday school making authoritative threats to your child loud and clear when you think other adults are listening, because judging by the way your child acts, there’s no way in hades that anyone is going to believe you bother with that crap at home. So please, for your own sake, stop embarrassing yourself and drop the facade.

All parents love and make sacrifices for their kids, so my goal isn't to make anyone feel bad. But in a society where spanking is considered child abuse, we've lost sight of what it means to hold our children accountable. Which is sad, because they'll never hold themselves accountable or be prepared by any measure for the real world if we don't exercise tough love now.
Don't reward bad behavior. Punish your child when necessary. And if you threaten to do something? You're a joke if you don't follow through. Simple stuff, right?

If you just read all that, I'm impressed. If you have a blog I'd love to follow you! And as always, comments are appreciated.:)

A better place

He shares a room outside with a dozen other guys

and the only roof he knows

is that sometimes starry sky

A tattered sleeping bag on a concrete slab is his bed

and it's too cold to talk tonight

so I just sit with him instead and think

How did I find myself in a better place?

I can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face

'Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye

I got a funny feeling 

I just might be dealin' 

with the face of Christ

I found her gazing in admiration at the display towards the front of the store, which was no doubt what caused her to wander in through the door in the first place. As with every other customer at the place I worked at the time, I greeted her nonchalantly and watched for my first opportunity to engage from out of the corner of my eye. 

None was necessary. 

She made her way over to me and faced me directly. "I need some pants." She was poorly dressed and reeked of a smell like the upholstery of a smoker's old car.

I rubbed my figurative hands together and began to ramble off her options. Fit? Brand? Wash? Bottom opening? Let's start with size. 

"I'm not sure," she stated. She turned around and peeled back the waist of her pants to reveal deep, lashing stretch marks that covered her body. 

"O-ok.. um, have you seen our capris?"

"I can't wear capris." Her voice lowered. The old car smell got stronger as she leaned in. "I'm a stripper. I have cuts on my legs." She lifted the pant legs of her tattered jeans to reveal fresh cuts and scars that covered as far as my eyes could see. I stared in bewilderment. Nothing come out of my mouth for what seemed like awhile; my mind was too busy wondering how she got her scars and reminding my curiosity I probably didn't want to know. 

I moved my gaze back to her eyes and forced myself not to judge her. 

"I think you'll like these," I said, grabbing a full-length pair of jeans off the wall and snapping back to reality. 

I set her up in a dressing room and treated her like any other customer. At one point I walked past her open door and saw a man (who I like to suppose was with her) smacking her butt as she propped it into the air while holding on to the dressing room's metal railing. The next time I went to look for her, she was gone.  

But not from my mind.

What kind of journey brings a person to such circumstances?

How different would her life be today if someone had sat her down and told her she was worth more? More than her "profession"... more than the scars on her body... more than the degrading person she was with.

How much higher do we hold our standards... when we're told we can meet them?

Our words can leave everlasting imprints.
Keep them uplifting.

Aww, did I offend you?

If you go looking for offense, you're going to find it. - Sara Groves.

They shake their head and smile a "what can you do" kind of smile. Oh Shauna, their little bull in a China shop. "She doesn't really mean it." They make an excuse because they love me, and they feel it's appropriate for one to be made. They do it when it's necessary by their standards, and even when it's not. Because they're just used to doing it. Surely it needs to be done. 


There was once a time when they even had me convinced. I found myself scrambling for rationale. Certainly something was wrong with me. Because who says what they mean... right? 

Not to be confused with "who says what they're thinking"; trust me, only Roberto gets the uncensored version of that. No, I meant what they mean. Someone close to me thinks they've coined it quite well: "Shauna, the difference between you and me is that I think it; you say it." This is not true in the sense that I'm actually not an ill-raised middle schooler that has to vent whatever is on the forefront of my mind. However, its truth lies in the fact that there are two kinds of people who get offended in the world: the kind that agree with the point of view, but they themselves lack the assertion they believe the offender has demonstrated and therefore feel they've broken the rules; and the kind that doesn't agree, and hates that the offender would speak truth because we live in a society where everything is relative and no one gets held accountable for much of anything short of manslaughter. It sounds ridiculous. It sounds childish and dramatic. It's all of the above.

Yes, I've realized it would serve me well to keep more of my opinions to myself. But should I have to? I know there are even some of you who are reading this and thinking "Shauna, Shauna. It's not what you say, it's 'how you say it'." 

That's where you're wrong. Because the idiots who would have gotten offended if I didn't sugar coat it will still get offended if I do. I absolutely promise and guarantee it. And in the end, the only difference is that I've settled for compromise. There are always less waves for those who are politically correct, kinda like how it's eerily easy to travel the road frequently traveled. 

A ship in port is safe, but that's not what ships are built for. - Grace Murray Hopper.

I've had many confrontations from people who attempt to bear the flag of vital, for-your-benefit information. "Shauna, I know you don't realize it, but it's the way you say things." Being an objective person who welcomes self-evaluation and introspection, I believed it. But once I finally began to retrospectively evaluate all the people who've tried to give me these little heart-to-hearts, I've realized a disconcerting pattern: every person who seemed oddly comforted by their seemingly selfless solutions? Well, they kinda had a crap ton of issues and a long track record of not dealing with them. 

I'm going on 23 years old, and a grown and married woman. I've moved my life 3 times in the last 7 years. I've lost 80lbs of body weight before I was 20 years old. I've had the closest and dearest friendships in the world, and I've felt I've had no one in life to call a friend at all. I think it's safe to say I'm a biggy kid, and not your typical Elle Wood. I can confidently say I know what I'm doing. When I say smoking is stupid on my Facebook, I haven't failed to realize that some people might get offended. (Completely random but perfect example that coincidentally just happened; I've been meaning to write this blog post, I swear.) I'm not under-socialized; nothing has passed over my head or slipped my mind. I'M not stupid. SMOKING is stupid. If you're smoking, you're being stupid, and you have loved ones who care about you, so that also makes you selfish = if you smoke, it's "highly likely" (threw that in there for those PITA's who like to get technical) that you're selfish and stupid. 

But oh, I'm sorry! Does that offend you? Perhaps you should go tell the 600,000 people who are going to die from second-hand smoke this year alone. Or perhaps the 571,950 who are expected to die of lung cancer, or the 351,585,000 people who are going to mourn because they know them.

Aw, crap. I did it again, didn't I?

Did I weigh the pros and cons of posting something controversial? Yes. But I decided that it was a win-win situation, because when it gets someone's attention, they will either agree with me, re-think smoking, or save me the trouble and annihilate our faux friendship themselves. Win, win, win. 

I beg you to believe me when I say I'm definitely not one of those annoying people who say things for shock value, or play devil's advocate and will debate about the end of the world TILL the end of the world. I just say what I feel needs to be said, unabashedly unconcerned when its importance outweighs the importance of the feelings of those who are consistently hyper-sensitive. When I'm dead, someone will admire me for this blog post and say the author had integrity. Until then, I'll be the black sheep that sleeps very well at night.

Where does my faith play a role in this? Jesus called a spade a spade. He didn't go out of his way to judge or offend, but he held those he loved accountable and wasn't politically correct, either. (Gosh I love that guy.) There is only one thing for which I fear and am apologetic, and that is things left unsaid. Sometimes in a room of 100 in-laws I will fail to remember to greet and kiss everyone. Or, I'll interact with someone whose grandfather just died and completely forget to offer my condolences. These offenses are more along the lines of legitimate, and I work to amend them.

Wake up to the sunrise with your windows open, don't hold in your anger or leave things unspoken. - Point of Grace

It's obvious that free-speech is becoming a thing of the past; what we don't realize is that we're the ones taking it from each other. With cold shoulders. Disapproving facebook comments. Glances of repugnance that couldn't possibly send any message other than "um, what the hell?" In general, I just wish society, who claims objectivism, would put their biggie girlie panties on and practice what they preach. Stop reprimanding people when their opinions don't align with what the majority considers acceptable. Cope when they don't care that you don't like them. Deal with your personal issues instead of trying to rationalize them to someone who doesn't care. Finally, either consider other standpoints or be an adult and say "oh, that's what they think? HUH." and walk away. Because after all,

We're only an audience of what we choose to be. - Me