When I was a little kid (P.P.D.—pre-parent’s divorce), our babysitter was Mrs. Story. My Mom required a regular babysitter almost every day so she could flitter around town or do whatever she did.
Mrs. Story was like an older and not-nice/not-funny version of Nanny McPhee. Even without a snaggle tooth, she was scary. She wore a stern face at all times, her white hair yanked back in a bun, and black clunky shoes (the better to stomp with). She drove an ancient black car that looked like something Bela Lugosi would have transported dead bodies in.
When I used to see her drive up to our house on Hibiscus Drive, I felt sick to my stomach. She was bossy and strict and I didn’t like her one bit. I butted heads with her a lot. Especially about her rule that I take an afternoon nap. My parents had no such rule. They knew it wouldn’t last. [Later, even my kindergarten teacher—who figured out I wasn’t a 'take a nap type of child'— told me to sit quietly and just watch the other kids.]
One day I wanted to go outside and play and Mrs. Story told me I couldn’t because I had to take a nap. There was the usual confrontational dialogue between us:
“I don’t want to.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“I don’t have to do what you say.”
Mrs. Story would not budge an inch. Using the kitchen phone, I pretended to call my Dad at his dental office—right in front of her—and faked an elaborate conversation. After I hung up, I righteously informed her:
“My Daddy says I don’t have to take a nap today.”
And it worked. I ran outside to play, thinking I couldn’t believe I fooled her and wasn’t I so smart!
When my Mom came home, Mrs. Story left. So far so good. Then my Dad came home. I was playing in my room. He sat at the foot of my bed and told me to sit next to him. He said Mrs. Story told my Mom about the no-nap incident. What a blabbermouth I thought.
My Dad said it wasn’t good to lie. I didn’t say a word thinking, Uh oh, I’m in BIG trouble now. He said I should knock it off. Then he kinda chuckled and said he thought what I did was funny. He left the room.
That’s it. A verbal lesson about lying. No punishment.
I learned my lesson. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
P.S. Here’s a sobering statistic: In the U.S, 85% of all male prison inmates grew up in a fatherless home.
Fathers are VITAL to a child’s positive development.
