When Parents Cross the Line....the Mason-Dixon Line

I come from a long line of Southern sweet tea drankin’, Bible totin’, butt whoopin’ mommas and daddies, and I thank God for that. You see, these Southern parents have mastered the art of cross-curriculum education. Let’s look at the marriage of Speech Communications and Anatomy. If li’l Billy Ray got a smart mouth, he didn’t get a time out:  he got his back porch painted red. And guess what? Billy Ray would remember this anatomic anomaly every time he sat down. This simple lesson has taught a mess of Southern children about the nerve that connects the wagging tongue to the buttocks. Untamed mouth= sore drawers. Simple science.

Another curriculum I am fond of is Physical Education with Physics and Language Arts. When you don’t use the right language, like sir, ma’am, please and thank you, you will quickly learn the factors involved in getting your backside propelled into the yard. Speed, velocity, energy and force all become as clear as the Hooch in July when your granny ejects you into Kujo’s corner. Sweet little Southern grannies are a precious thing, but don’t let ‘em fool you. You disrespect the Bible, your elders or anything else they deem respectable, her size 5 1/5 Sunday shoes are gonna be kickin’ your butt so fast your head will spin. By the time she’s done with you, you’ll be wondering where in the heck she’s been hiding Kevin Butler and the herbal supplements.

This past weekend, one of my sons went to a birthday sleepover at a classmate’s house up the street. Now, the birthday boy is one of the little angels that was picking on my son a few weeks ago. But *ahem* that situation has been remedied, and they are now buddies.  I go to get him on Sunday, and one of the first things my son says is “Momma, he backtalks all the time. His momma will tell him to do something, and he’ll just say ‘whatever’!”  Do you know how happy it made me to realize that my son recognized this? But it wasn’t his telling me about it that made this amusing; it was the look on his face. My son looked like he’d just watched The Exorcist! I’m pretty sure he whimpered. It’s like he was afraid of what I might do to the child the next time I saw him. Now, here is the difference between my people and your skinny jean wearin’, ‘yes dear’ daddies and the yoga chanting, chai tea slurping, candy-is-from-the-Devil mommas. This healthy fear is not a bad thing! Do you think I would ever go nuts and start beatin’ kids right and left in an effort to teach them some manners? No. But do my kids need to know that? Absolutely not.

I’m starting to think this is the key to parenting. (DISCLAIMER:  my children are still young, and because of that, I am labelling myself an inexperienced, Pollyanna parent who probably has no clue what lies ahead.) Your child should know that you love them unconditionally…but that doesn’t mean you love everything they do. Your child should know that it’s ok to make a bad decision every once in a while, but that if they keep on, they’ll be getting that value meal supersized for the three of you on prom night. Your child should know that people get hurt in the real world, but that good momma’s and daddy’s will at least threaten to deal with the offenders in such a way that will make Candy Man look like Mary Freakin’ Poppins. Your child should know that you will be there to catch them when they fall, but that don’t mean you’re gonna make a soft pallet for the landing like Granny would.

My children honestly believe that I am one Snickers bar away from a nuclear meltdown. (And they’re not entirely wrong.) I don’t have an Emergency Broadcasting System warning, but my kids know the signs. My son has actually messaged my husband at work to warn him.

BAD DAY *stop* NO CHOCOLATE *stop* RED EYES *stop* BIBLE? *stop* HERSHEY 911*stop* OH GOD, HURRY *stop*.

And do you know what happens on those days? My children think of past lessons in Anatomy, Language Arts, and Physical Education, and they think before they act. As Phil Robertson would say, “that’s not such a bad thing.” And occasionally, they’ll bring the teacher a small piece of chocolate.