Great news everyone: I’ve discovered how to stop all of the bad behaviour in the world.
No more going to war. No more overdosing on drugs. No more wearing socks with sandals.
This discovery comes with an admission: I have a tiny Coke habit. It’s not, like, a selling my kidney to a hobo for one shot of Coke kind of habit. It’s just a manageable little itch that sometimes needs to be soothed with a quick application of sugar acid.
It all started when I was young and my parents would host a weekly Bible study group, sending me upstairs with a tin of Coke to keep me happy and quiet. At least, back then they told me it was a Bible study group. They have no recollection of that now – maybe it was all a clever ruse to cover up their bourbon study group. Anyway, they could have been turning water into wine, or wine into awkward prairie folk dancing for all I cared. I just wanted that wonderful weekly Coke.
Thirty years later I still enjoy the odd soda pop, even though I know they are ridiculously unhealthy drinks. I should say that I enjoyed the odd soda pop, in the past tense, because I fear I may never get to taste that sweet sugar water again, at least while my kids are around.
Last week my family picked up some fast food and I, as is my wont on those rare occasions, chose to wash down the salty garbage with sugary poison. Hey, if you’re going to cheat, you might as well go full Barry Bonds, right?
I barely got a sip in, however, before the shaming started.
“Daddy, you can’t drink that!” my six-year-old said.
“That’s just a big cup full of sugar!” my three-year-old said.
“One more sip and then you’re done. No more!”
“It’s not a good choice, daddy.”
It was every parental scolding they’d ever received, flung back at me with righteous, flabbergasted indignation. And then came the big clincher: “You’re not going to be like Josh Donaldson.”
That’s where my life is at right now: With any unhealthy life choice I make I’m reminded that it won’t help me achieve the same physical prowess as the Toronto Blue Jays’ third baseman who is the reigning American League MVP award winner.
The shaming worked, though – I couldn’t finish my drink at the table. Pop is public enemy No. 1 at my house, thanks to my wonderful wife’s sensible parenting skills. At the rate we’re going, I reckon my kids would be willing to try crack before they ever tried Coke.
As we sat eating our meal last week, each sip I took was flavoured with equal parts high fructose corn syrup and guilt. I ended up putting my half-full cup aside and secretly finishing it in a dark corner of the house like some stray cat sneaking licks out of a discarded KFC bucket. I don’t think I want to go through that again, and so I reckon I won’t be having any more fructose juice. This might be the end of my Coke habit.
It got me thinking though – kid shaming may be the weapon our world needs right now.
Keeping it local, maybe we could assign a couple of doe-eyed juniors to every North Shore homeowner who leaves out bear attractants. Would they be so brazen if they had to hear this all day?
“You can’t put your compost bin out today! The garbage man doesn’t come for three days.”
“A fed bear is a dead bear!”
“Pick up that fruit!”
“Make me a smoothie!”
“Can we watch the garbage truck!!”
“You’re not going to be like Josh Donaldson!”
The North Shore would be spotless. Or how about a smoker wanting to quit? Dress up a couple of kids in hazmat suits and get ready to dine on delicious cold turkey.
“You can’t smoke that!”
“That’s like sucking on a big piece of poison!”
“One more puff and you’re done. Forever!”
“You’re not going to be like Josh Donaldson!”
Or presidential nominees.
“You can’t build a wall and tell the people of Mexico they have to pay for it. That doesn’t make sense!”
“Like, a real, huge, concrete wall? Are you being serious?”
“Why are you orange?”
“You called them all rapists. That’s a bad, bad word.”
“You’ll never be Josh Donaldson.”
“Or president.”
It really is hard to resist such sincere, heartfelt and incredibly annoying shaming. It really works. If you want to try it for yourself, I’d be happy to rent out my two children for a day of shaming. My wife can program them with whatever shaming facts you need to get your life straight.
I’m sure it would work. Please, take them away for the day. I could really use a drink.
Andy Prest is the sports editor for the North Shore News and writes a biweekly humour/lifestyle column. [email protected]
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