Once I’d sifted through the morass of outrage, impatience and pregnancy hormones to identify why, exactly, I wanted to throttle my beautiful, brilliant firstborn and then discussed the issue ad nauseum with my partner, family and friends (several of whom are teachers, one of which has actually had Colleen in the classroom), I came to the brilliant decision to home school her. And the more I thought about it, the more the idea made sense. It boils down to a couple very basic truths.
1) The definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting different results.
Regardless of the particulars, whether the issue is her homework, her sugar intake, keeping her room clean or doing her chores, Colleen will casually acquiesce to every request, feign agreeability and cooperation and continue to do what she wants, when she wants and how. Meanwhile, I take it on trust that my sweet, good kid is toeing the line and I forget about the issue. Later, I discover that our previous conversation about whatever, was totally ignored and the unwanted behavior has continued and/or the wanted behavior had never been accomplished. So not only have I been ignored and defied but, basically LIED TO!
For instance, Sweet Colleen is too sweet for her own good. She is borderline hyperglycemic, almost an insulin dependant diabetic. She reacts to refined sugar, candy, soda like an alcoholic reacts to booze. She craves it, given the opportunity she will gorge herself on it and, when under the influence, she morphs from a smart, conscientious young woman into a ravening 4-year-old. The kind you see at a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party after the cake and presents have been ripped apart.
Colleen and I have discussed this issue with our doctor. We’ve talked about insulin injections and pancreas pumps. I’ve pointed out family members who are at risk for blindness and amputation. I even had a dear friend die in a diabetic coma while this little power struggle was taking place. She nodded solemnly and promised she wouldn’t eat candy or drink soda while she was with relatives, that she would confine her sweets intake to desserts after dinner and she absolutely would NOT eat candy or drink soda at school.
Well, I popped into the school one morning before classes started and the kids were gathered in the gymnasium. And there sits my Sweet Colleen hunched over a bag of Skittles given to her by a classmate. As it turns out, our School District has a policy of not interfering with what children are eating and drinking. The teacher supervising morning breakfast couldn’t tell Colleen not to eat the candy despite knowing, in a general way, my feelings about her sugar intake and knowing, in a very concrete way, her erratic behavior afterwards.
I was livid. I could have drug her out of that gym by the collar. She gave me a smirk and tried to hide the candy with her hand. I gathered up the candy, threw it away and said, “Be prepared to discuss this when you get home this evening,” and walked out of the school before someone got hurt or I got arrested.
At home, after much deep breathing, I had myself almost convinced that my daughter wasn’t a sociopath and that she simply lacked an internal locus of control. She had spent seven years in an environment, after all, that encouraged her sugar intake and it wasn’t as if she’d had many good examples of self-control in her life. And she was ten-years-old. When I was ten I lived off Starbursts and Hawaiian Punch. All of this was normal, I told myself. But, considering her reaction and statistics on the diabetes epidemic in this country, “normal” wasn’t going to cut it.
So I calmly composed an email explaining Colleen’s situation and my feelings about it, absolutely forbidding her candy and soda intake at school and giving the teachers and staff permission to correct her and/or call me about it if necessary. I sent the email to the school principal, the lunch lady and several of her teachers.
Colleen got home from school that afternoon expecting to get chewed-out, maybe grounded or given some heinous job to do like rolling stumps from one end of the property to the other. Maybe she even expected a spanking. What she got was only this, “I hate liars. I won’t have one living in my house. Since you obviously can’t control yourself I guess I have to do the controlling.” She sniveled a bit, turned red, tried to pump out some tears, told me she was sorry and she’d never do it again.
Then I read her the email.
Sweet Colleen flared bright red and began screaming at me. “You’re crazy! Just crazy! You had no right to do that! No right! How dare you! You just want to ruin my whole life!”
Up until that point I’d had a few nagging doubts about my response to her behavior. After all, she was only ten and, as pointed out to me by friends and family, it WAS only Skittles. But suddenly my ten-year-old was reacting over Skittles like a 16-year-old heroin addict. It wasn’t just Skittles and I felt totally justified in clamping down the iron fist about it.
The above scenario has been played out over candy, grades, getting on or staying off the bus as asked, studying spelling words and taking care of her chores. After 2 ½ years the pattern has become exhaustingly predictable. I “address” an “issue,” she verbally complies with everything I say then ignores it, she takes her punishment but continues to ignore my demands, my punishments escalate. She will only really comply and internalize my demands when I have publicly humiliated her.
It is always my hope that she’ll just say, “Yes, mom,” and be done with it or even argue with me about it up front instead of playing these little avoidance games. But, alas, after 2 ½ years, that has not happened. And it’s driving me insane.
2) Respect is earned, not given.
Lest anyone think that my decision to home school is only a desperate attempt to do anything to shake up the unhappy dynamic between my kid and I, I would like to use the above scenario to illuminate another facet of this issue. A different kid might have complied with her parents out of fear of the consequences, either punishment from her parents or acquiring diabetes. Most ten-year-olds have trouble grasping long-term consequences but they usually have no trouble at all having enough respect for their parents to take dire warnings on faith. “I will not eat the candy because mom and dad will be really mad.”
Not Colleen. Sure, she doesn’t like it when I’m upset with her but when it comes right down to it even my wrath isn’t enough to convince her that I have her best interests at heart. Again, normal for many children, I know, but “normal” children seem to at least have respect enough for their parents just to go with it. Even though they disagree. Or at least argue about it. My child agrees with me just to keep me quiet, then does her own thing anyway. As if I was some sort of senile old woman that she has to humor.
Well, you say, she did spend seven years hearing that you were crazy and pretty much everything you’re telling her goes against what her father did and said.
Yes, I reply, I know that. She has only 2 ½ years of reasons to trust and respect me to counter-act 7 years of damage and disparagement.
All that being said, what better way for us to build that trust and respect, counteract those 7 years of damage and disparagement, then spending high-quality, high-quantity time together?
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