No Shame

by Brian Dykstra

So, I'm eating breakfast in this restaurant one day not so long ago. The eggs were perfect, as they often are at the place across the street. My beautiful wife is sitting across from me with some soggy French toast, a side of well done sausage (of which she'll take three bites, leaving me to scarf most of the rest, along with my own crispy bacon), and strangely metallic tasting coffee, when she starts, surprised, even shocked, and leans forward to whisper, "Did you see that?"

To be perfectly honest, I did not. I mean, I did, but I didn't. Nothing I could swear to in Lance Ito's courtroom, but I did see something. A quick movement at a nearby table, a recoil into the booth, a conspicuous silence where there had been none. "No." I answered her, "What happened?"

"That woman just slapped that kid."

I glanced over, in spite of my brides protestations, andit looked about right. One overweight youth, slouched down, while the woman next to him continued her animated "lecture" of the child for some unseen (by us) transgression. This nearby act of violence spurred a conversation on the subject. We talked about "corporal punishment," the "spare the rod" argument, a friend of mine growing up whose mother used to just beat the shit out of him who, I argued "turned out all right." Naturally, during the course of this discussion we forgot about the jumping off point, and followed the topic wherever it lead. I guess we were loud enough in our conversation that the woman correctly figured we were talking about her. When it was time for them to leave, she couldn't. Not without a word with us. The abuser marched herself over to our table, sized up my wife and blasted her. I'll have to paraphrase, because it came out in one defensive rant, "I am a doctor at [some such-and-such] hospital. I know (blah, blah, blah) best for my kid. I do not hit my child." My wife (God Bless Her) was in her face like a shot. Picking up on the "I do not hit my kid" comment and running with it like Jerry Rice on a slant pattern after the free safety falls down.

We were told to mind our own business, while various invective phrases got launched our way. This encounter inspired me to say something that I didn't even know I believed until it came out of my mouth. "Hey. You hit your kid in public. That makes it a public act, open to public discussion. If you don't think you're wrong, why are you in my face, defending yourself?" Anyway, I got the last word with her. After the bitch yanked the poor kid out into the cold, we were surrounded by supporters. A retired school teacher on the one side, a group of college age diners on the other all lent support to what we were saying during this little public skirmish. This led to further reflection on the subject. I know of a nine year-old who's afraid to show her father a test score of 88 because she knows she'll get punished. She even stated that she'll occasionally get in trouble for a 90. Somehow a low A is not good enough. I saw a mother walking her dog the other day screaming over her shoulder at her toddler, the child was maybe two. Screaming at her, "Don't make me wait for you, Goddammit! If I have to wait for you, you'll be sorry!" I believed her. I know an ice skating teacher with all types of students and their parents. There are the kids brimming with confidence, ready to take on the next jump or spin, and then there are the kids who apologize for any mistake, no matter how trivial or how difficult the move. They don't try. They try not to fail. It is no surprise that the confident children have parents who tell them how wonderful they are. It is no surprise that the timid kids have those overbearing, insistent parents, bitching at the skating teacher that their kid requires more attention on the ice, when what they're really lacking is more support off of it.

Aren't there books out there? There are, aren't there? Hell, I know there are. I don't even operate my new vacuum cleaner without reading the manual. I realize that there's nothing to be done about a natural order of things that requires testing to become a hairdresser but nothing to become a parent. I realize that the only requirement is the ability to fuck during what are referred to as, "child bearing years." But books on parenting, at least since 1975, hold fairly common opinions on the subjects of punishment versus encouragement. Don't people read these things and have some of the information actually seep into their "what's good for me is good for my kid" mentality?

I got news for these people. If you hit your kid in anger, you're doing wrong. It's wrong. Period. That's a person. He's only three feet tall. Don't hit him. Don't embarrass him in public. Don't call him stupid. For all the people who counter, "My parents hit me, and I turned out all right." If that's an excuse for striking a child, then my response is, "If you're hitting your kid, you didn't turn out all right." You're fucked up. Get help. What can we do? Here's my new tactic. Look at it. See it. Watch. Make yourself conspicuous. Join the parent police. Let mom or dad see you see them. Burn them down with your stare. Let them know this ain't gonna' fly no more. If you get the all too common, "What are you looking at?" you get to answer. They've invited you to participate in that public act. You get to say something like, "I'm watching you strike that child." That's all it'll take. I bet that gets a hell of a response. I'm betting shame is the emotion that might get some immediate behavior modification. It might get something redirected at you, but maybe that's worth it. Don't worry, it won't happen very often. They won't ask. But in the best of all possible worlds, they notice, and they feel like shit. I realize it's an uphill battle. Fighting fire with shame in this climate is a little like trying to clean the Astrodome after an Anthrax concert with a package of waxed dental floss. We live in a culture where a useful emotion like shame has been supplanted in a society that celebrates boneheads who get on national television with their stories of "Moms who have sex with their daughter's ex-boyfriends step son", or "Men who date men who had a sex change who used to be lesbians." I'm not talking about anything as useless as guilt, I'm talking about shame. There doesn't seem to be any if you can get your face on the tube. No shame if your name is Geraldo, Povich, Sally Jessy, Jerry Springer, or Rikki Fake. Maybe, outside the glare of the network spotlight, shame works like it's supposed to work. If you have something to be ashamed of, stop doing it. Or if you can't stop, get help.

It has been brought to my attention that our little discussion in the diner might do the child more harm than good. When mom gets her little precious home, maybe she takes her angst out on the child in private, where she can really lay into him. I don't think so. I think the abuser never examines his or her behavior. I think the striking is a reflex, unfeeling as it is. When the public makes the statement that it is not acceptable behavior, maybe that's when that kind of self-examination is possible. After all, they're only kids. Why stand by and watch them take a shot? It's none of your business? It is when they make it your business. Hey, they're kids. Whose side would you rather to be on?