We all have memories of Christmas Past, often of how treasured customs began.
One year, my in-laws were coming to our house on Christmas Eve, and I was making a cake to have as refreshment after Santa left. My son Bruce was 3, and underfoot of course, with a constant stream of chatter.
Suddenly he asked, “Is that Jesus’ birthday cake you‘re making?”
Taken aback for a moment, I thought, “What a good idea”, and told him “yes”.
“Are you going to put candles on it?” he asked, his big brown eyes dancing.
“Of course!” I told him, hoping I had some left over somewhere in the house. I didn’t, but found a seven inch taper in a drawer.
“That’s a good one!” he chortled, “It has to be special for Jesus, huh, Mommy”
This kid was way ahead of me. When I found it, I was all set to try to explain why it was okay to use instead of a ‘real’ birthday candle.
I realized this was a very good way to re-tell the story of the Real Christmas every year, and so was born our Christmas custom of Jesus’ Birthday Cake. And, yes, we did sing Happy Birthday Dear Jesus”. Of course! He is the Birthday Boy on that day!
The next year we added small figures of Jesus in the manger, Mary, Joseph, and an angel. The taper was beside the angel, and was a symbol of the Star. Later, the Magi were added, on the table ‘walking’ toward the Star.
The original figures are continuing the custom for granddaughter Kyla, and her two little girls; my grandson, Sean, has his own set to put on the cake for his three little boys.
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Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Taxing the Rich
Would it surprise you to learn that you are paying the taxes of the rich? Even you on minimum wage, or on welfare! Yes, you. The taxes Congress promised to raise on “The Rich”. Those e-e-evil “Rich,” who make over $250,000 a year. These are often small businesses, so that taxes are a ’cost of doing business‘. You are paying these taxes, which grow whenever Congress makes a big show of making them “pay their fair share“.
You say, “That’s crazy! I don’t make enough to pay income taxes even on what I earn. How do you figure?”
How many times a week do you buy a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a tank of gasoline, even a newspaper?
The price of each and everything you buy is calculated carefully by adding up the costs to produce it. Not just the materials, but the actual full cost. These costs include the building it’s made in, the salaries and benefits of the workers, the cost and maintenance of the tools/machinery used, utilities and, of course the taxes the government imposes on their gross income. Are they entitled to some profit? Of course. Would you work without pay? Remember, they can’t grant raises or expand and create more jobs if they can’t make a decent profit.
And, they must also keep in mind the competition they face in pricing. Too low and they would lose money and inevitably, their business. Too high, and they would lose sales and, no doubt, the business.
That’s just a sampling. I’m sure any business owner could add to the list. Think about this next time your Representative tells you he’s going to raise taxes on ’the rich’. Ask him if he couldn’t lower spending instead. You know, on things like a new statue in his honor, or a bridge to nowhere. Or, how about that project of teaching African men how to wash their private parts? (Wouldn’t you love to have some foreign busy-body come in and teach you how to, uh, well, um. Never mind.)
Just think about the extra taxes you will pay for the rich the next time your congressman promises to make the rich “pay their fair share”. When the cost of his product goes up, so must its price. Then, don't shut up,
just change your call to "Stop spending so much!"
#
You say, “That’s crazy! I don’t make enough to pay income taxes even on what I earn. How do you figure?”
How many times a week do you buy a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a tank of gasoline, even a newspaper?
The price of each and everything you buy is calculated carefully by adding up the costs to produce it. Not just the materials, but the actual full cost. These costs include the building it’s made in, the salaries and benefits of the workers, the cost and maintenance of the tools/machinery used, utilities and, of course the taxes the government imposes on their gross income. Are they entitled to some profit? Of course. Would you work without pay? Remember, they can’t grant raises or expand and create more jobs if they can’t make a decent profit.
And, they must also keep in mind the competition they face in pricing. Too low and they would lose money and inevitably, their business. Too high, and they would lose sales and, no doubt, the business.
That’s just a sampling. I’m sure any business owner could add to the list. Think about this next time your Representative tells you he’s going to raise taxes on ’the rich’. Ask him if he couldn’t lower spending instead. You know, on things like a new statue in his honor, or a bridge to nowhere. Or, how about that project of teaching African men how to wash their private parts? (Wouldn’t you love to have some foreign busy-body come in and teach you how to, uh, well, um. Never mind.)
Just think about the extra taxes you will pay for the rich the next time your congressman promises to make the rich “pay their fair share”. When the cost of his product goes up, so must its price. Then, don't shut up,
just change your call to "Stop spending so much!"
#
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
This message is part of a work I received in an e-mail. It is so real it needs to be read by all!
Guess our national leaders didn't expect this, hmm? On Thursday, Darrell Scott, the father of Rachel Scott, a victim of the Columbine High School shootings in Littleton , Colorado , was invited to address the House Judiciary Committee's subcommittee. What he said to our national leaders during this special session of Congress was painfully truthful.
> They were not prepared for what he was to say, nor was it received well. It needs to be heard by every parent, every teacher, every politician, every sociologist, every psychologist, and every so-called expert! These courageous words spoken by Darrell Scott are powerful, penetrating, and deeply personal. There is no doubt that God sent this man as a voice crying in the wilderness.. The following is a portion of the transcript:
"> Since the dawn of creation there has been both good & evil in the hearts of men and women. We all contain the seeds of kindness or the seeds of violence. The death of my wonderful daughter, Rachel Joy Scott, and the deaths of that heroic teacher, and the other eleven children wdied must not be in vain. Their blood cries out for answers.
> "The first recorded act of violence was when Cain slew his brother Abel out in the field. The villain was not the club he used.. Neither was it the NCA, the National Club Association. The true killer was Cain, and the reason for the murder could only be found in Cain's heart.
> "In the days that followed the Columbine tragedy, I was amazed at how quickly fingers began to be pointed at groups such as the NRA. I am not a member of the NRA. I am not a hunter. I do not even own a gun. I am not here to represent or defend the NRA - because I don't believe that they are responsible for my daughter's death. Therefore I do not believe that they need to be defended. If I believed they had anything to do with Rachel's murder I would be their strongest opponent. > I am here today to declare that Columbine was not just a tragedy -- it was a spiritual event that should be forcing us to look at where the real blame lies! Much of the blame lies here in this room. Much of the blame lies behind the pointing fingers of the accusers themselves. I wrote a poem just four nights ago that expresses my feelings best.
> Your laws ignore our deepest needs,
> Your words are empty air. You've stripped away our heritage,
> You've outlawed simple prayer.
> Now gunshots fill our classrooms,
> And precious children die..
> You seek for answers everywhere,
> And ask the question "Why?"
> You regulate restrictive laws,
> Through legislative creed..
> And yet you fail to understand,
> That God is what we need!
> They were not prepared for what he was to say, nor was it received well. It needs to be heard by every parent, every teacher, every politician, every sociologist, every psychologist, and every so-called expert! These courageous words spoken by Darrell Scott are powerful, penetrating, and deeply personal. There is no doubt that God sent this man as a voice crying in the wilderness.. The following is a portion of the transcript:
"> Since the dawn of creation there has been both good & evil in the hearts of men and women. We all contain the seeds of kindness or the seeds of violence. The death of my wonderful daughter, Rachel Joy Scott, and the deaths of that heroic teacher, and the other eleven children wdied must not be in vain. Their blood cries out for answers.
> "The first recorded act of violence was when Cain slew his brother Abel out in the field. The villain was not the club he used.. Neither was it the NCA, the National Club Association. The true killer was Cain, and the reason for the murder could only be found in Cain's heart.
> "In the days that followed the Columbine tragedy, I was amazed at how quickly fingers began to be pointed at groups such as the NRA. I am not a member of the NRA. I am not a hunter. I do not even own a gun. I am not here to represent or defend the NRA - because I don't believe that they are responsible for my daughter's death. Therefore I do not believe that they need to be defended. If I believed they had anything to do with Rachel's murder I would be their strongest opponent. > I am here today to declare that Columbine was not just a tragedy -- it was a spiritual event that should be forcing us to look at where the real blame lies! Much of the blame lies here in this room. Much of the blame lies behind the pointing fingers of the accusers themselves. I wrote a poem just four nights ago that expresses my feelings best.
> Your laws ignore our deepest needs,
> Your words are empty air. You've stripped away our heritage,
> You've outlawed simple prayer.
> Now gunshots fill our classrooms,
> And precious children die..
> You seek for answers everywhere,
> And ask the question "Why?"
> You regulate restrictive laws,
> Through legislative creed..
> And yet you fail to understand,
> That God is what we need!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Seed Corn
When I was in about the 4th grade, (Early last century, as my Grandson would quip) I remember, during a geography lesson about farmers growing corn and wheat in the mid-west, the teacher posed a question to the class.
“The farmers use some of the corn to feed their livestock, some they sell, and some they carefully store away. Why do you suppose they store some?”
Guesses were few, such as that they couldn’t sell it or that the animals might eat more or have babies and they’d need it later. At last she explained , “Because corn is a seed, and they have to save enough to plant a new crop the next year”.
Now why would I remember that long ago lesson? Because our government seems to need to be reminded of the need for ‘seed corn’.
The Democrats in particular seem to think that taking away “excess” profits is a fine way to get more money for the government to spend. But just as with the farmer’s corn stores that are needed to grow next year’s crop, those dollars wantonly taxed away cause future profits to diminish or even disappear. Burdensome regulations have the same effect of draining dollars away. And the Republicans need to be reminded too, since they seem always to “cave” to the Democrats’ notions.
When a company is earning healthy profits, it begins looking to expand and grow, which makes it necessary to hire new workers. These workers earn a salary that they pay income taxes on. Advertising needs dollars too, and limiting that can lead to less market for the product or service. Less market leads to laying off workers and even of the business closing its doors. That results in loss of revenue, not gain.
Thus it is well known that ‘cutting taxes increases revenue‘.
That seems like an oxymoron if you don’t realize they mean cutting tax rates. I learned that from the late Milton Friedman, a brilliant economist.
Cutting tax rates stirs people to change the way they handle their profits. Instead of sending their profit overseas, or putting it into low-yield tax shelters, they now can afford to put it into productive investments that build the economy, earn more money for themselves and their employees, and thus both pay more in tax revenues. It has the added benefit of increasing employment and yielding more money for everyone including the government. How sweet it is!
Doesn’t that raise a few questions about motive? I can’t believe the Democrats don’t know this. I am led reluctantly to think they are more interested in punishing achievers or in holding the power of the purse over the people than in giving everyone more of the good life… or, could it be, both?
#
“The farmers use some of the corn to feed their livestock, some they sell, and some they carefully store away. Why do you suppose they store some?”
Guesses were few, such as that they couldn’t sell it or that the animals might eat more or have babies and they’d need it later. At last she explained , “Because corn is a seed, and they have to save enough to plant a new crop the next year”.
Now why would I remember that long ago lesson? Because our government seems to need to be reminded of the need for ‘seed corn’.
The Democrats in particular seem to think that taking away “excess” profits is a fine way to get more money for the government to spend. But just as with the farmer’s corn stores that are needed to grow next year’s crop, those dollars wantonly taxed away cause future profits to diminish or even disappear. Burdensome regulations have the same effect of draining dollars away. And the Republicans need to be reminded too, since they seem always to “cave” to the Democrats’ notions.
When a company is earning healthy profits, it begins looking to expand and grow, which makes it necessary to hire new workers. These workers earn a salary that they pay income taxes on. Advertising needs dollars too, and limiting that can lead to less market for the product or service. Less market leads to laying off workers and even of the business closing its doors. That results in loss of revenue, not gain.
Thus it is well known that ‘cutting taxes increases revenue‘.
That seems like an oxymoron if you don’t realize they mean cutting tax rates. I learned that from the late Milton Friedman, a brilliant economist.
Cutting tax rates stirs people to change the way they handle their profits. Instead of sending their profit overseas, or putting it into low-yield tax shelters, they now can afford to put it into productive investments that build the economy, earn more money for themselves and their employees, and thus both pay more in tax revenues. It has the added benefit of increasing employment and yielding more money for everyone including the government. How sweet it is!
Doesn’t that raise a few questions about motive? I can’t believe the Democrats don’t know this. I am led reluctantly to think they are more interested in punishing achievers or in holding the power of the purse over the people than in giving everyone more of the good life… or, could it be, both?
#
Saturday, June 4, 2011
HOW WE MET
At my last posting, I said I would write about how I met my husband. We had nearly 55 years together.
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World War II brought people together in sometimes dramatic ways, even within our own USA borders.
My tall, handsome Bill arrived in the Buffalo NY train station one snowy night in 1945 and saw a big poster inviting all servicemen to our canteen. He and his buddy, Duffy, decided to check it out as soon as they could.
I was a hostess at that canteen. The night they came, I was sitting at the top of the stairs taking names and home towns of the guests. At the bottom of the stairs, Bill nudged his buddy and said, “Duffy, see that redhead? That’s the girl I’m going to marry.’
“You’re crazy!” Duffy said, “You don’t even know her name.”
Shortly after they signed in, I was relieved at the door and went in to the dance. I saw Bill standing in a doorway, so handsome in his Army Air Corps uniform. Grabbing a friend, I said, “Come with me, Clare, and just before we get near that tall, good-looking airman in the doorway, you shut up and let me talk.”
I had no idea what I was going to say. In 1945, even in a canteen girls didn’t boldly walk up and ask a guy to dance. (At least, not unless he had been holding up a wall for some time.)
As I stepped by him I turned to Clare and said, “Yes, I’m the Amazon type.” That got his attention! I was a petite 5’2” and he was 6’3”.
He promptly asked me to dance, and asked me to marry him as soon as we got on the dance floor. “You’re crazy,” I laughed. He sang the new popular song, “Candy” to me, then asked me again.
And he kept asking each night he came to dance. We dated for about 3 weeks, until he was sent overseas, and wrote to each other almost every day for the year he was gone.
When the war was over and he came to Buffalo to see me, we sat up all night talking. At about 4:00 am he asked me once again to marry him, and this time I said yes. We decided to wait for my father to get up so he could ask for my hand. Dad slept an agonizingly long hour later than his usual 5:30 rising, and when we finally did hear him stirring, he disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for work. We thought he’d never come out! When at last he did, Bill blurted out, “Mr Clarke, I’d like to marry your daughter.”
“Well, Bill”, my father replied, “I’ve been expecting this, but not so damned early in the morning!”
Postscript:
About a year after the war, when we were expecting our first child, we read in Life Magazine that Duffy, who had stayed in service, had just been rescued from an ice floe where his plane had gone down. Bill contacted the police chief of his home town and asked him for Duffy’s address. Since it was near Christmas, Bill sent him a card and wrote on it, “Dear Duffy, I married the redhead.”
#
World War II brought people together in sometimes dramatic ways, even within our own USA borders.
My tall, handsome Bill arrived in the Buffalo NY train station one snowy night in 1945 and saw a big poster inviting all servicemen to our canteen. He and his buddy, Duffy, decided to check it out as soon as they could.
I was a hostess at that canteen. The night they came, I was sitting at the top of the stairs taking names and home towns of the guests. At the bottom of the stairs, Bill nudged his buddy and said, “Duffy, see that redhead? That’s the girl I’m going to marry.’
“You’re crazy!” Duffy said, “You don’t even know her name.”
Shortly after they signed in, I was relieved at the door and went in to the dance. I saw Bill standing in a doorway, so handsome in his Army Air Corps uniform. Grabbing a friend, I said, “Come with me, Clare, and just before we get near that tall, good-looking airman in the doorway, you shut up and let me talk.”
I had no idea what I was going to say. In 1945, even in a canteen girls didn’t boldly walk up and ask a guy to dance. (At least, not unless he had been holding up a wall for some time.)
As I stepped by him I turned to Clare and said, “Yes, I’m the Amazon type.” That got his attention! I was a petite 5’2” and he was 6’3”.
He promptly asked me to dance, and asked me to marry him as soon as we got on the dance floor. “You’re crazy,” I laughed. He sang the new popular song, “Candy” to me, then asked me again.
And he kept asking each night he came to dance. We dated for about 3 weeks, until he was sent overseas, and wrote to each other almost every day for the year he was gone.
When the war was over and he came to Buffalo to see me, we sat up all night talking. At about 4:00 am he asked me once again to marry him, and this time I said yes. We decided to wait for my father to get up so he could ask for my hand. Dad slept an agonizingly long hour later than his usual 5:30 rising, and when we finally did hear him stirring, he disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for work. We thought he’d never come out! When at last he did, Bill blurted out, “Mr Clarke, I’d like to marry your daughter.”
“Well, Bill”, my father replied, “I’ve been expecting this, but not so damned early in the morning!”
Postscript:
About a year after the war, when we were expecting our first child, we read in Life Magazine that Duffy, who had stayed in service, had just been rescued from an ice floe where his plane had gone down. Bill contacted the police chief of his home town and asked him for Duffy’s address. Since it was near Christmas, Bill sent him a card and wrote on it, “Dear Duffy, I married the redhead.”
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
GRADUATION
This is the time of year for graduations, for everything from kindergarten to University. I came across a poem I wrote when I was about to graduate from high school, and decided to share it with you. I wrote it as ‘free verse’, but I’m not sure it would be considered that by a real poet…
Graduation
Gates have closed behind us now.
Some stride boldly out, confident
That life holds good for those who seek it.
Others of us hesitate, and look behind,
To peer between the latticework at things no
more for us;
Then slowly turn around to find
A multitude of gates.
Some opening, beckoning.
Some good, some bad.
All life seems one vast maze of gates,
And true enough.
Some must be stormed that do not easy open.
Some must be scorned that beckon us
To ugly things,
Paltry things,
Things of degradation.
This is our challenge to be met;
We venture forth, heads high.
#
In my day, if a family had any money for college, your brothers got it, so I never even considered applying. (Neither did my older brother, since there wasn’t any money for him either.) My plan was to work for awhile, then enlist in the Cadet Nurse Corps, which was a training course for nurses and you paid for it by pledging 4 years to the military. I took an office job at Curtis Wright, the largest airplane factory in the USA, located in Buffalo, NY.
The program and the war ended (WW2) While I was still working and I was laid off. Not knowing what else to do, I took my savings and entered business school.
Next time I’ll write about how I met my husband, which happened in the middle of all this.
Graduation
Gates have closed behind us now.
Some stride boldly out, confident
That life holds good for those who seek it.
Others of us hesitate, and look behind,
To peer between the latticework at things no
more for us;
Then slowly turn around to find
A multitude of gates.
Some opening, beckoning.
Some good, some bad.
All life seems one vast maze of gates,
And true enough.
Some must be stormed that do not easy open.
Some must be scorned that beckon us
To ugly things,
Paltry things,
Things of degradation.
This is our challenge to be met;
We venture forth, heads high.
#
In my day, if a family had any money for college, your brothers got it, so I never even considered applying. (Neither did my older brother, since there wasn’t any money for him either.) My plan was to work for awhile, then enlist in the Cadet Nurse Corps, which was a training course for nurses and you paid for it by pledging 4 years to the military. I took an office job at Curtis Wright, the largest airplane factory in the USA, located in Buffalo, NY.
The program and the war ended (WW2) While I was still working and I was laid off. Not knowing what else to do, I took my savings and entered business school.
Next time I’ll write about how I met my husband, which happened in the middle of all this.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
BULLIES
If you’ve seen the video of a big boy slamming his little tormenter, you probably have mixed feelings---or maybe not. It shows the hall of what seems to be a school, with one boy, (We’ll call him brutus) being poked and tormented by a much smaller boy (call him peanuts). Brutus tells peanuts over and over to stop, but peanuts is having too much fun showing off to a group of other boys. Finally, Brutus grabs peanuts, lifts him up and slams him to the floor. Peanuts limps away.
I had a son who was big for his age. A boy who outgrew the shoulders of his shirts before he grew into the sleeve length. My Brutus was not overweight, he was big boned. In fact, as a man, he was told by a doctor to ignore the weight charts, as his bones weighed more than the charts called normal range for his height. He wore a 17 ½ neck shirt to his Senior Prom, and another inch larger as a man. (And yes, he played Varsity football)
His problem started in about the 3rd or 4th grade, when all boys are super heroes and all girls are ballerinas. The little boys started picking on him, and if he hit back, Teachers scolded him and told him he was ‘too big’ to hit smaller boys. He told me nothing about all this, but it went on for some time. Classmates (sometimes two or three at a time) tried again and again to best him. I had impressed him before he ever started school that he should hit back if someone hit him first, but since he was bigger than his playmates he shouldn’t “drive them into the ground”. I knew he followed that in the neighborhood, where I could quietly observe what was going on.
So I was not surprised to see him in a tussle with a neighbor boy on his way home from school. The boy was poking at him much like we saw peanuts doing to brutus in the video. My son pushed him away, and finally, down. The boy came at him like a bull, ramming into his back, and the fight was on in earnest. A lot of pushing and punching, and finally my Brutus walked away, leaving him lying in the snow. I watched for a moment to be sure he got up and continued on home.
What was that all about?” I asked Bruce when he came in.
“Oh, I dunno. He keeps doing that.” At school, I can’t do anything though. The teacher says I’m too big to hit kids back.” His tone clearly showed he knew how unfair that was.
I decided to go to the school and try to straighten things out. Of course, I well knew I couldn’t go in as an avenging mom. Teacher’s are, after all, just trying to keep the peace among groups of kids she’s responsible for. But first, I decided, I’d talk to my neighbor. We were good friends, so I wanted her to hear what happened. She smiled a bit ruefully, and said, “ I’m afraid that may be my fault. In trying to get him to eat I’ve said to him, ‘How do you ever expect to get big enough to beat (Brutus) if you don’t eat’?” I winced, and she nodded, and continued, “His Dad and I will talk to him.” she promised.
Next I called the school, and asked for a meeting with his teacher. When we met, I told her what Bruce told me. She stiffened a bit, but let me go on.
“I know you have a tough job sometimes, keeping order with a class room full of nine-year-olds, but the fact is, they are all nine years old. Including my son. I know the other boys are no match physically for him, but he is no match in maturity to you. He sees it as totally unfair that the other kids can hit him, and he can’t hit back. And there are no consequences to the smaller boys.
“I have taught him that he can hit back, but only as hard as they hit him.” I continued. “He has been pretty good about that, I think.”
“But I can’t let them battle it out in my classroom,” she countered, “I just can’t let that happen.”
“No,” I agreed. “But you could assign some kind of penalty for
hitting.”
‘Yes,” she said, “I see what you mean. That would be more fair”
Of course, there was a lot more to the conversation before we got to that agreement. I’ve sort of ‘cut to the chase’ here.
.
And of course, that didn’t stop the boys on the way home. What stopped that was ’my Brutus’ hitting them back. In kind, not full force. And if it had to ’escalate’ a little….well, it worked, and no one was ever really hurt.
#
If you’ve seen the video of a big boy slamming his little tormenter, you probably have mixed feelings---or maybe not. It shows the hall of what seems to be a school, with one boy, (We’ll call him brutus) being poked and tormented by a much smaller boy (call him peanuts). Brutus tells peanuts over and over to stop, but peanuts is having too much fun showing off to a group of other boys. Finally, Brutus grabs peanuts, lifts him up and slams him to the floor. Peanuts limps away.
I had a son who was big for his age. A boy who outgrew the shoulders of his shirts before he grew into the sleeve length. My Brutus was not overweight, he was big boned. In fact, as a man, he was told by a doctor to ignore the weight charts, as his bones weighed more than the charts called normal range for his height. He wore a 17 ½ neck shirt to his Senior Prom, and another inch larger as a man. (And yes, he played Varsity football)
His problem started in about the 3rd or 4th grade, when all boys are super heroes and all girls are ballerinas. The little boys started picking on him, and if he hit back, Teachers scolded him and told him he was ‘too big’ to hit smaller boys. He told me nothing about all this, but it went on for some time. Classmates (sometimes two or three at a time) tried again and again to best him. I had impressed him before he ever started school that he should hit back if someone hit him first, but since he was bigger than his playmates he shouldn’t “drive them into the ground”. I knew he followed that in the neighborhood, where I could quietly observe what was going on.
So I was not surprised to see him in a tussle with a neighbor boy on his way home from school. The boy was poking at him much like we saw peanuts doing to brutus in the video. My son pushed him away, and finally, down. The boy came at him like a bull, ramming into his back, and the fight was on in earnest. A lot of pushing and punching, and finally my Brutus walked away, leaving him lying in the snow. I watched for a moment to be sure he got up and continued on home.
What was that all about?” I asked Bruce when he came in.
“Oh, I dunno. He keeps doing that.” At school, I can’t do anything though. The teacher says I’m too big to hit kids back.” His tone clearly showed he knew how unfair that was.
I decided to go to the school and try to straighten things out. Of course, I well knew I couldn’t go in as an avenging mom. Teacher’s are, after all, just trying to keep the peace among groups of kids she’s responsible for. But first, I decided, I’d talk to my neighbor. We were good friends, so I wanted her to hear what happened. She smiled a bit ruefully, and said, “ I’m afraid that may be my fault. In trying to get him to eat I’ve said to him, ‘How do you ever expect to get big enough to beat (Brutus) if you don’t eat’?” I winced, and she nodded, and continued, “His Dad and I will talk to him.” she promised.
Next I called the school, and asked for a meeting with his teacher. When we met, I told her what Bruce told me. She stiffened a bit, but let me go on.
“I know you have a tough job sometimes, keeping order with a class room full of nine-year-olds, but the fact is, they are all nine years old. Including my son. I know the other boys are no match physically for him, but he is no match in maturity to you. He sees it as totally unfair that the other kids can hit him, and he can’t hit back. And there are no consequences to the smaller boys.
“I have taught him that he can hit back, but only as hard as they hit him.” I continued. “He has been pretty good about that, I think.”
“But I can’t let them battle it out in my classroom,” she countered, “I just can’t let that happen.”
“No,” I agreed. “But you could assign some kind of penalty for
hitting.”
‘Yes,” she said, “I see what you mean. That would be more fair”
Of course, there was a lot more to the conversation before we got to that agreement. I’ve sort of ‘cut to the chase’ here.
.
And of course, that didn’t stop the boys on the way home. What stopped that was ’my Brutus’ hitting them back. In kind, not full force. And if it had to ’escalate’ a little….well, it worked, and no one was ever really hurt.
#
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