Up Against The Wall, Slime Ball!

My second wife, who fancied herself to be accomplished in the art of child-rearing, and whose credentials for the same consisted in the main of having had three children by three fathers (something which leads me to believe child-bearing would have been a more apt description), would often cite the essential secret of her success as having had the will to apply regular beatings.

I myself make no final judgment regarding whether this habit led to successful results. I guess the jury is still out, as is the case with most things in life. I will say that they have grown up to be pretty good kids--or adults, I should say, being now 33, 30, and 21. I would say that they are generally polite, have a basic sense of decency, and probably will not conspire to blow up the world.

On the other hand, I do believe that they fear their mother still, and so perhaps suffered somewhat in growing into a full appreciation of their own independence, their own power of decision making. They have, therefore, some lack in drive, in setting and attaining goals, in overcoming obstacles.

But to return to the point, which I had not actually gotten to yet, it so happened the other day that I remembered an incident in which my second wife (let's call her Georgia, because that is her name) set out to demonstrate to her younger sister how she should go about disciplining her own somewhat unruly children.

You gotta show 'em that you mean business, Georgia said. You gotta put the fear of the devil into 'em.

Fear. The very word has no connection with Chrissy--sweet, quiet, kind-hearted Chrissy. One can no more fear her than he can fear Winnie the Pooh or The Care Bears.

But they're not afraid of me, Chrissy said. How can I make them afraid of me, Georgia?

I'll show ya how, Georgia answers, grabbing at the same time the collar of 8 year old Jason's shirt--Chrissy's first born, and biggest offender.

You jack 'em up against the wall like this! Georgia says, then you stick your knee in their gut like this--

Now Jason is giggling--Auntie Georgia is always so funny--and yet he is always keeping a wary, rather worried eye on his mother's face, watching for any sign that this might actually be dangerous in some way.

And then you get right up in their face and say"Up against the wall, slimeball!"

Having demonstrated the technique, Georgia unhanded Jason, who stood adjusting his collar, straightening his pants.

Now you try it.

Me, Chrissy says. Me? I can't do it. It's not the same.

Chrissy's children are of course laughing uproariously at the very idea.

Go Chrissy! Do it! They're laughing at you! My God, don't ever let 'em laugh, Sis!

Okay! Chrissy says, rushing forward like a fuzzy bunny rabbit, reaching for Jason's shirt front, pulling up the collar as if it were a blanket in a doll's bed.

And in the sweetest, most tender, most apologetic tone of voice, she suddenly pleads with all her force--

Up against the wall, slummm-buggg!

You see, not only had she gotten the technique wrong, but she had bobbled the very words to be used, rendering them not threatening but endearing.

Poor Chrissy. She never did learn.


Author's note: Jason went on to earn a degree at the University of Washington and works now in State goverment. Chrissy's daughter, Becca, trains horses for a living and is happily married with children of her own. Chrissy herself helps to raise her grandchildren in the same ineffectual manner.