I have some pretty rock solid rules when it comes to disciplining my two young boys.
First rule: No blowtorches in the house. Nope, no way - I'm not falling for that one again.
Second rule: uhh.. .. Sorry, drawing a blank here. And to be really honest, there's probably some wiggle room on rule No. 1 - what if one of the toys needs a bit of spot welding? To be really, really honest, I don't actually have much of a disciplining philosophy at all. My philosophy is to make sure the boys don't kill each other and then, in all other situations, wait until my wife reacts to something and then copy her. My goal here, of course, is not to raise perfect little gentlemen who will have the social graces and self regard needed to one day secure a high decorum job such as Canadian senator or mayor of a major metropolis. No, my sole goal is to try to approximate a responsible parent so that my wife won't get mad at me and maybe discipline me by taking away some of my favourite things like beer and potato chips and sex and beer (I like those things preferably in that order - isn't my wife a lucky lady?).
Recently my lucky wife has adopted a new disciplining technique that she picked up from parenting books and online guides. The technique advocates a very sensible approach that involves showing respect for your children while giving them the tools to help them grow into independent adults capable of making good choices and taking responsibility for their own actions.
It all sounded good to me except for when I actually had to do it. The technique involves laying out some expectations and rules with attached consequences and then responding to bad behaviour by setting up life as a series of choices.
For instance, one rule is that we don't yell while at the dinner table. The discipline follows like this: "Son, by screaming 'Be quiet' at your baby brother like an injured dinosaur possessed by Satan, you have chosen to leave the table. You can come back to the table if you choose to speak in a voice that doesn't terrify dogs that are minding their own business three blocks away. It's your choice."
This mantra is repeated over and over to reinforce to the child that it is his choice how he will live his life but also that there are consequences for the choices he makes. Sounds pretty reasonable, doesn't it? My problem, however, lies in the delivery.
Every time that it is my turn to give the lines, I fall apart like a sixth grader auditioning for a school play. It's like I'm Keanu Reeves and someone has told me to "act." It's like I'm Jimmy Fallon trying to keep a straight face while anyone does anything remotely funny in my vicinity. I just can't play the role of the dad who is dead serious about not tolerating his children squeezing the mustard bottle to make fart noises.
I really need to figure it out though because it's obvious that the technique works amazingly well. My wife has been at it for just a few days now but already as soon as she launches into her "by smashing a toy helicopter into your baby brother's brain through his soft spot, you have chosen to be alone" routine, my son gets a panicked, anguished look on his face and frantically pleads for forgiveness. Even better, he's stopped smashing helicopters into his brother's face.
The successes I've seen have made me wonder if the technique would transfer over to other life situations. Maybe if everyone had someone giving them such guidance we could avoid a lot of life's mistakes.
"Mel, by telling a police officer that 'The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world,' you will have chosen to only make movies that star beaver puppets. It's your choice."
"Miley, by stripping down to nude-coloured underwear and pretending to have sex on stage with Alan Thicke's son, you will have chosen to. .. um. .. good Lord Miley what have you chosen to do?" "Rob, by smoking all of that crack you will have chosen not to be mayor anymore. Seriously Rob, hand in your sash. And you can't be mayor if you tackle an elderly city councillor while rushing over to fight a member of the gallery. Wait, did you just tell reporters you were going to eat your wife's. .. holy schnikeys Rob, didn't your parents ever tell you that there are consequences for your actions? Is that a prostitute banging your gavel? Oh what the hell - do whatever you like, your worship. Just don't touch that blowtorch."
