It might yet be a while till I’m a father but this discussion still interests me. When it comes to the debate on whether or not to beat your children (and by beat I mean spank) I’ve heard long and drawn out arguments from each side.
- Child abuse
- Discipline
- Lazy parenting
- Necessary parenting
The list goes on and on, and strong arguments are made in this verbal tug-of-war. Occasionally an opinion falls into the flammable cipher and everyone gasps in horror at its simplicity. A point of view so straightforward it surely cannot hold any weight. Can it?
“I’m going to beat my kids because my parents told me to.”
*GASP*
Yes, my parents have both directly and indirectly given me a truck load of reasons to beat my future kids if they step out of line. To suggest that I’ll beat my kids because they told me to sounds more or less spineless and cowardly; I won’t dispute that. So maybe if I break it down for you you’ll let me keep my testicles.
First and foremost, this debate doesn’t hold much weight where I’m from; the capital of Africa, home of the brave 419’ers . . . Beyonce sang our national anthem, that makes her one of us. Jay-Z drew water from our wells . . . but I’m not too keen on him so he can stick to the projects.
In Nigeria its common to beat your children when they step out of line, I’d go as far as saying it’s the number one disciplinary option. I got beats, my bro and sister got beats . . . I went to my cousins’ homes and they got beats . . . I’m certain that if I was raised in Nigeria I would have gone to school and got beats.
This was pretty much the norm in my upbringing. I never liked getting whooped, what kid would? Don’t dislike and discipline go hand in hand?
Would it be fair to say that they beat it into my nature? My culture and environment have imposed several other traits on me after all; I believe that this is another one of them.
I’m not eager to beat my kids; surely that’s when the issue slips into child abuse. But now I appreciate the line that was drawn between me and my parents . . . even though I spent the first half of my life loving but not liking them that much. In that sense I’d say they went too far with the discipline. I never looked at my parents as friends, as buddies, as pals. It was always mum and dad; approach with caution.
Beatings at my expense allowed my parents to maintain the parent child relationship. You could of course argue that other disciplinary forms would have been just as effective at instilling fear and respect. Did my parents know at the time that their disciplinary authority over me was dependant on whether the beatings hurt me or not? Surely they were aware that I’d grow older, that one day they’d dish out a beating and I wouldn’t even flinch, much less cry. They knew right?
Of course they did!
I never got a beating that was unjustified, not one I can remember anyway. And unless caught in the act, I was given the opportunity to plead my case (or think up a good lie). Every beating came with a lecture that usually lasted at least one hour; they sat while I stood. My days, the lectures were honestly more painful than the beatings. The older and smarter I grew, the less beats I received and the longer the lectures lasted. Notice the shift?
To further justify my decision to beat my future children I’ll draw attention to another significant ingredient of my upbringing. That ingredient is religion. Raised as a Christian, I went to church on Sundays, read my Bible, and prayed before I went to bed. I often listened in church with tentative ears, hoping (almost praying) to hear loopholes that would benefit my budding mind. None arose, but several suggested that a Christian lifestyle might better fit the parents.
- Honour thy father and mother
- No sex until you’re married
- Spare the rod, spoil the child
God was on my parents’ side. Another reason to begrudge them . . . and He also had several reasons to be angry with me. Three on one . . . you might even say it was five on one (if your brain has warmed up). Not the kind of odds for a kid to get excited about.
Some relief comes in knowing that when I take the parent role God will be on my side if I have to beat my kids. They won’t like it, but hopefully one day, after I've beaten stupidity and rebelliousness out of them, they’ll see me as more of a friend . . . sort of how I see my parents now.
A to the. . .
- Child abuse
- Discipline
- Lazy parenting
- Necessary parenting
The list goes on and on, and strong arguments are made in this verbal tug-of-war. Occasionally an opinion falls into the flammable cipher and everyone gasps in horror at its simplicity. A point of view so straightforward it surely cannot hold any weight. Can it?
“I’m going to beat my kids because my parents told me to.”
*GASP*
Yes, my parents have both directly and indirectly given me a truck load of reasons to beat my future kids if they step out of line. To suggest that I’ll beat my kids because they told me to sounds more or less spineless and cowardly; I won’t dispute that. So maybe if I break it down for you you’ll let me keep my testicles.
First and foremost, this debate doesn’t hold much weight where I’m from; the capital of Africa, home of the brave 419’ers . . . Beyonce sang our national anthem, that makes her one of us. Jay-Z drew water from our wells . . . but I’m not too keen on him so he can stick to the projects.
In Nigeria its common to beat your children when they step out of line, I’d go as far as saying it’s the number one disciplinary option. I got beats, my bro and sister got beats . . . I went to my cousins’ homes and they got beats . . . I’m certain that if I was raised in Nigeria I would have gone to school and got beats.
This was pretty much the norm in my upbringing. I never liked getting whooped, what kid would? Don’t dislike and discipline go hand in hand?
Would it be fair to say that they beat it into my nature? My culture and environment have imposed several other traits on me after all; I believe that this is another one of them.
I’m not eager to beat my kids; surely that’s when the issue slips into child abuse. But now I appreciate the line that was drawn between me and my parents . . . even though I spent the first half of my life loving but not liking them that much. In that sense I’d say they went too far with the discipline. I never looked at my parents as friends, as buddies, as pals. It was always mum and dad; approach with caution.
Beatings at my expense allowed my parents to maintain the parent child relationship. You could of course argue that other disciplinary forms would have been just as effective at instilling fear and respect. Did my parents know at the time that their disciplinary authority over me was dependant on whether the beatings hurt me or not? Surely they were aware that I’d grow older, that one day they’d dish out a beating and I wouldn’t even flinch, much less cry. They knew right?
Of course they did!
I never got a beating that was unjustified, not one I can remember anyway. And unless caught in the act, I was given the opportunity to plead my case (or think up a good lie). Every beating came with a lecture that usually lasted at least one hour; they sat while I stood. My days, the lectures were honestly more painful than the beatings. The older and smarter I grew, the less beats I received and the longer the lectures lasted. Notice the shift?
To further justify my decision to beat my future children I’ll draw attention to another significant ingredient of my upbringing. That ingredient is religion. Raised as a Christian, I went to church on Sundays, read my Bible, and prayed before I went to bed. I often listened in church with tentative ears, hoping (almost praying) to hear loopholes that would benefit my budding mind. None arose, but several suggested that a Christian lifestyle might better fit the parents.
- Honour thy father and mother
- No sex until you’re married
- Spare the rod, spoil the child
God was on my parents’ side. Another reason to begrudge them . . . and He also had several reasons to be angry with me. Three on one . . . you might even say it was five on one (if your brain has warmed up). Not the kind of odds for a kid to get excited about.
Some relief comes in knowing that when I take the parent role God will be on my side if I have to beat my kids. They won’t like it, but hopefully one day, after I've beaten stupidity and rebelliousness out of them, they’ll see me as more of a friend . . . sort of how I see my parents now.
A to the. . .
