No Spanking at Sea World

I think this is a good rule. If anyone from Sea World or the Anheuser-Busch corporation reads my blog, promise me you'll do everything in your power to make this a real rule.

My friends J & R went to Sea World with their 5-yr old. On an absolutely sweltering Texas summer day. Along with about 500 million other families. As they were going in, J happened to notice a group of several families, adults and kiddos, also entering. For some reason, they caught her eye. Well, later on that day, J & R stopped at some place in the park, and the same cluster of families was nearby. By this time, one of the kids was crying, and his dad was losing patience with him. Well, before you can say "Shamu," J sees the dad pick up his kid by the arm and begin whacking him on the behind. Right there, in front of everyone.

Now my friend J is not some meek bystander type. So she courageously walks up to the guy and asks, "Do you need to take a break?" And he asks her to repeat herself, so she does. He tells her he does, in fact, not need a break. J says, "That's going to stay with him for the rest of his life." To which Bruiser replies, "I want it to stay with him for the rest of his life." And then his wife, in what J described as a sticky sweet tone, walks up to interrupt, saying, "Ma'am? This doesn't concern you. Please move on." J replied that when someone chooses to physically discipline their child in front of her child, it actually does concern her. And the wife just repeated herself until J moved on.

I think there should be a whole website devoted to how to approach people who spank or shame their kids in public. Because although I so admire J's nerve, I can imagine being totally taken aback, and not knowing what to say, when this dad responded as he did. Someone (maybe even me!) needs to create a place where folks can find (and give) words to say in these moments. Because even if the parents are convinced that what their doing is the very best, one stranger chiming in with a different perspective could get through to that kid. And he might remember it and think back on it when he, for example, grows up and wants to understand why he has certain problems he may have.

When I heard the story, here's what I wish J had said: "Even the most hardcore proponents of spanking say that you shouldn't do it in anger, and you seem kinda angry. And you're at Sea World. And the tickets are REALLY expensive, and I doubt you worked so hard and saved up that much money so you could come here and hit your kid."

The Bear Suit

Oh sure, sometimes it was fun at birthday parties and family gatherings. Inevitably, someone would nudge Nella on the arm, and say, "Hey, why don't you go put on the bear suit!" This had been going on for as long as Nella could remember, and before that, even. After several promptings, she would go and dig into the dark corner of the hall closet, behind the coats and the grey suitcases, until her hand felt the familiar dark brown fur. First she'd push her feet into the bottom paws, then she'd slip her arms into the sleeves and pull the shoulders up over her own before reaching down for the long zipper. The head piece was always a little tricky, and when she was very young, she'd need help hoisting it up, but after awhile she became inured and it was quite automatic.

Nella would walk out into the living room, or out onto the back porch--wherever the family was gathered. She'd raise up her arms inside the furry claws, and she'd raise her knees to make her steps larger. Then the game would begin. Nella would say something quite ordinary, like, for example, "I'd like a cup of lemonade," or "Could I trouble you to pick me up today after school?" and her entire family would do their best imitation of horror. They'd open their mouths wide, gasping, and either run or make a mock screaming sound. After a minute or two, they'd all break out into laughter, after which they'd ask her to do it again.

Nella could not even remember where the bear suit came from. She vaguely recalled that it had belonged to someone in her father's family. She couldn't even say why it was she who was always asked to put it on. That's just the way it had always been, and Nella knew that her being a good sport was part of the game. One day, as her family once again prepared for a celebration, while the food was cooking and Nella set the table, just as the excited murmurs that always preceded such gatherings began to mount, Nella felt the strangest sensation in her chest. It was a tightness, accompanied by the cold, dry feeling she got in her trachea when she sucked on a Wintergreen Life Saver. The step of her heartbeat felt a little stronger. She felt just a twinge of nausea.

For several moments, she just busied herself with preparations and tuned out these feelings, until the tightness also moved behind her neck and into the tops of her shoulders. After she finished placing all of the flatware, Nella went to get a drink of cold water and sat down. She began to think, with dread, about the bear suit: it never truly fit. It was hot. Without even having it on, she remembered the sweaty rivulets she always felt tickling down her back, even on a cool day. She would always have to juggle the bear's head atop her own, tilting one way and then another so the bear's eye holes and her own would align and she could see where she was walking. Her sight was so obscured that even when she could hear the muffled peals of her family's laughter, she couldn't really understand what all the fun was about. And the zipper stuck, so when she was ready to remove the suit and rejoin the festivities, there were always several minutes of struggle.

Right there, Nella decided: she would not put on the bear suit today. Her voice echoed inside her head, as her breath quickened.

I Hate Cats

Well, just one cat, really. He belongs to my neighbor. I met him last week, on my big kid's birthday, just as I was frosting cupcakes. I heard a big scuffle out on the porch, where our mailbox is, inside of which was a nest full of baby birds. For the past three years, the birds (at least I assume they're the same birds) have built a nest in our box.

The first year, we put up a big sign on the mailbox, warning folks that there was a nest inside. We also put a big box on the porch so the mail carrier could use it instead of our mailbox for awhile. All of this was very exciting, as well as educational, for my big kid. The problem that first year was that the sign on the mailbox was too exciting. People would read the sign and the next thing we knew, they'd feel compelled to look inside the box. A few people almost got whapped in the face by the startled bird as she flew out. But after the babies came, the peeking in was too much for the mama. She abandoned her babies and they all died. That was not exciting, yet it was educational for Big Kid, when we had to bury the nest and babies.

The second year was our most successful yet. The second sign said "STOP!" at the top, followed by some warning language. This sign was more effective than the first, as was my story of woe about what happened the previous year. The babies hatched and we got to enjoy their little chirps and watch the big birds care for them until they learned to fly. One day, imperceptibly, one of the babies flew into our house! He/she was so tiny I probably would never have noticed, only I heard the "cheep! cheep!" and it was louder than normal, so I followed it until I discovered it was coming from under a desk in the living room. Big Kid and I carefully opened the door, and away the bird went.

This year, at the first sign of construction, we put up the sign and put out the box. Over the next month, the birds came and went. For awhile I wouldn't see or hear them, and I wondered if this was one of several potential nests--like a construction contractor who takes on a new job and then doesn't come back for several weeks because he has other projects to work on. But lo! The other day we heard the "cheep! cheep!" in the box, and we saw the big birds coming and going.


So anyway, on Big Kid's birthday, I heard a ton of noise out there, and it took awhile to register because I was so distracted with the festivities. When I finally went out to look, I saw a scrawny orange cat, wearing a collar, who was involved in an altercation with the birds. Two big birds flew around screaming at him. A squirrel on a nearby tree joined in the hollering. As I looked out my front window, the cat darted back toward the house, picked up a bird in his mouth, and skulked away. I ran for the broom, thinking I could scare the cat and free the bird, but I was too slow.

So then I put a post on my street's listserv, asking if any of the neighbors owned the cat and could possibly do something to help keep him away from the babies. A day or so later, after a couple of other sympathetic responses, the cat's owner posted. He gave me a condescending lecture about how cat kill birds, but that he didn't blame the cat. He told me that I should not let birds set up a nest in my mailbox, for the sake of both the birds and the mailman. (He didn't even say "mail carrier," he said "mailman," despite the fact that sometimes the "mailman" is a woman." grrrrr...).

I wanted to write back so many things to my neighbor, but I didn't. I thought of everyone else on the list who just didn't need to be involved in my ire. Instead, I said, "I will give that some thought." This is my standard response when someone is saying something to me which a) I think is completely retarded, b) I intend to ignore, and/or c) I would be wasting my breath to give an honest answer to.

So now the birds are gone. My friend Cynthia thinks the big birds came and moved the babies away, and my husband thinks they learned to fly well enough to get to safety. In any case, I have Empty Nest Syndrome. Happy Trails, birdies!