Violence – Part 1: The Discussion Method

My parents don’t believe in using violence to resolve a problem.  They never hit, smacked, spanked, or swatted us while growing up.  The extent of the violence I experienced growing up was from play wrestling with my sister on my mom’s bed.  My parents never touched me.  When they made the decision to follow this style of parenting twenty five years ago, it was a radical notion to say the least.  They had to be very vocal about their parenting decision to other people who took care of us.  My parents had to make sure that everybody knew my sister and I were “not to be punished with violence,” because if they didn’t say anything, it would be assumed that we should be spanked like the rest of the kids.  Our babysitters were under strict rule to never touch us.  Instead, if my sister or I acted up, our caretaker was supposed to “discuss” with us how what we did was wrong, and why it was wrong, and how it affected the people around us, and how we would feel if somebody did this to us, and so on.  We were to be treated as independent thinkers who could learn how to behave without using excessive authoritative measures.  For simplicity’s sake I’ll call this the “discussion method.”  If our caretaker could not follow this method then our parents would give them the boot.  For the most part, however, my sister and I learned our lessons from our parents.  They taught us to think, to engage our brain and make decisions and actions based on that.  Because of that we rarely would have punishment ”discussions” with our babysitters because we rarely acted up around them.  In fact, my sister and I were known as the “good kids” on the block.

Many who know me closely know that I did not grow up as an easy child.  I suffered from a severe chemical imbalance that caused me to lose control of my thoughts, actions, and feelings.  Because of this chemical imbalance, I often came off as a possessed child, but usually only around my parents and close family.  Somehow I had enough strength to fight the disorder when I was around other people.  But when I did have an “episode” from my disorder, I would be an uncontrollable child.  I would kick and scream and try to hurt myself or others.  It was all my mom could do to try to control my tantrums.  Her task was not an easy one, but considering that she went through these tantrums daily whilst never once hitting me puts her on the same level as a Saint.  Had I been put with any other set of parents whose convictions weren’t as strong, I would probably be a bruised and battered child and I most certainly would have never been able to overcome my disorder.

Part 2: Doing The Right Thing