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An Hour of Mercy

Difficult children exist.  I have one and I know of a few others out there.  The hands of the parents of these special children should be on display at science museums, just like the old smokey lung is.  Instead of talking about how many cigarettes that person smoked, people would stare at the red, worn out hand and wonder how many whippings it had to execute.

If you poke holes in the bananas at the grocery, I'm going to bust your tail.  If you spit on the playground swings, I'm going to bust your tail.  If you crush a handful of goldfish crackers and sprinkle them on the kneelers at church, I'm going to...pick you up gently, brush you off, and offer you some fruit snacks and the closest crayon I can find.

All public places are fair game for a spanking, except church.   That's where I have to draw the line.  There seems to be something so wrong about saying "Peace Be With You" then hauling off and wailing on someone.  It doesn't mean I don't still want to.  What I want to do is grab the child by the arm, head outside and commence to whipping while everyone else's eyes are still in their purse looking for their offering envelope. 

There is a Twilight Zone episode about a young boy who wishes everyone into the cornfield if he doesn't like them.  His parents fear the same fate, so to prevent this from happening to them, they respond to each of his heinous acts with "That's real good what you did.  I like that you did that."  I imagine that is how I must appear under duress in church, fake smile and all:  "Oh, you just took your red marker to my khaki pants?  Well, that's real good that you did that.  I like red x's on my new pants". 

I have witnessed other parents who deal with their difficult child by means of the "church whisper threat".  After two seconds of a hot breath of threat in their child's ear, they straighten right up.  I tried this once.  I got extremely close to my daughter's ear and whispered ever so softly, "If you rip another page of that hymnal, Fr. Huffman is going to come back here and beat you".  She promptly and fearfully turned to me and said, in playground voice, "No!  Please don't let Fr. Huffman beat me!"

Saints preserve us.




     

  







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