peas on earth...
It's a
memorable day for me. My daughter, Bethany, turns 25 years old today.
I was 25 when she was born. Several years ago I wrote this story about
her, and I'll share it with you. If you're a parent, you'll relate.
-Rev. Tom
**********
It was a battle of ironclad wills, and I was not about to be shown up by a
darling but obstinate young lady possessing only seven years experience in the
resistance department.
“Bethany, eat those peas.”
“But I DON’T LIKE peas. They’re yucky.”
“And I don’t care if you don’t like peas. Eat them anyway. Sometimes you gotta
do things you don’t like. Eating peas happens to be one of those things.
That’s life. You might as well learn that now. Besides, they’re good for you.”
After several minutes of polite requesting preceded by the magic word,
our conversation had long since degenerated to the “MY WAY or the highway”
stage. Her sour expression precisely conveyed her stubborn state of mind. Her
silence meant it was time for me to draw a line in the sand.
"Okay, very well, young lady. You can eat your peas now, or you can sit at
the table until those peas are finished, even if it takes all night long.
Your choice."
I stood up, cleared the plates, and left her sitting alone with her peas. Her
younger brother Andrew, a pea lover, had already excused himself from his
sparkling clean plate and embarked on evening play time with friends. After
seven years of fatherhood, the word exasperation continued to gain
richness, meaning, and fuller definition for me. What was I supposed to do
about this situation?
Kindly encouragement and role modeling hadn’t worked.
“Please, sweetie...I LOVE peas!”
Creative imagination proved futile.
"Honey, pretend they're little green bowling balls, and every
time you eat one it's like rolling a strike. "Ho ho ho! You're the
Jolly Green Giant!"
Bribery failed.
“If you eat
your peas without complaining, I’ll take you to a movie on Saturday.”
Even that reliable old standard, guilt, fell on ears that refused to
hear.
“I worked hard
all day long, picked you up from school, came home, fixed you a nice dinner, and
you won’t even eat it.”
This wasn’t bowling, it was baseball, hardball to be exact, the bottom of
the ninth, and I had just struck out.
A strict traditionalist would insist that to spare the rod is to spoil the
child. A child psychologist would suggest that I be more flexible, and see my
child as an individual. An astrologer would inform me with a knowing smile that
this is just what happens when two Taurus’ snort, paw at the ground, and face
off in bullheaded fashion. Jesus would say whoever humbles himself as a child
is greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven; that to harm a child is to hang a
millstone around my neck and sink into the drowning depths of the sea.
All well and good, but I was a mortal dad, not a cantankerous old Headmaster,
child psychology wasn't an exact science, who cared what planets squared my moon
when Mercury was retrograde, and in the name of Sweet Jesus,
did they even grow peas in the Holy Land?
MY house, MY rules, MY daughter, MY table, and HER uneaten peas. The clock
ticked, the sun set, Andrew respectfully accepted bedtime, and there at the
table sat Bethany. It was late and I was tired, my weariness matched only by an
unrelenting willingness to make my point at all costs. Only when I retired to
my bedroom to read a book and wait it out did I hear those long sought after
words...
“Dad, I’m finished.”
Morose, but clear.
Success is so very sweet.
After suitably expressed gratitude and praise for doing the right thing, I
whisked her off to bed with a firm hug and a stern kiss, returned to the kitchen
and wrapped up the long day by fulfilling one last parental duty. I took out
the trash. With wisdom unaware, I decided to wait for a few years before
telling her about the little pile of peas I discovered artfully hidden under a
piece of crumpled paper in the kitchen garbage can.
The years, as I had been often warned by more experienced parents, have
dissolved and vanished, replaced by twenty-five years of memories that
exist in my heart like little green peas artfully hidden by a crumpled piece of
paper. I do not throw these memories out, however, I recycle them by reminding
Bethany of this story now and then. It's always good for a laugh.
She still doesn't like peas, but I notice she feeds them to her 19 month old
daughter Sophia, my beloved granddaughter.
I don't think Sophia is too fond of them, either. So when she visits me,
you can be sure her grandpa will never force her to eat peas.
Children Learn What They Live
By Dorothy Law Nolte, PhD
Copyright 1972
If a child lives with criticism,
A child learns to condemn
If a child lives with hostility,
A child learns to fight
If a child lives with ridicule,
A child learns to be shy
If a child lives with shame,
A child learns to feel guilty
If a child lives with tolerance,
A child learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
A child learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
A child learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
A child learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
A child learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
A child learns self-esteem.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
A child learns to find love in the world.
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