Don't Hit The Boys...

To print this article, select file from your browser's menu, then select print.

Don't Hit The Boys...
by Heather Roscoe

The eight-year-old eyed me with disdain, tossed her red hair and folded her arms.

"Did you hear me?" I asked her, trying not to laugh. She poked her chin into the air and refused to speak. "If you don't stop this you're going to have a time out. I'll tell you only one more time: Don't hit the boys"

"You can't tell me what to do!" She snapped.

"Oh yes I can!" And the usual lecture commenced: Hitting the boys is not allowed; it's simply not nice. She replied that the boys were pulling her hair so she was justified. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well," she said in a haughty voice, "a girl's got to have her standard's you know!"

During my high school years I worked as a lifeguard. It was easy to try and boast that I had seen it all where human nature was concerned. However everyday I was amazed and sometimes shocked by what people would do or say. Mostly the swimmers just amused me. This young tyrant had been picking fights all morning and now it was time for the senseless violence to stop.

I let the little girl go back in the water and settled myself comfortably back in my chair. In passing, she gave a freckled boy a small whack on the arm. I opted for the eye contact method, which at times was the most effective form of punishment. Inevitably she looked at me to see if I had seen her act of rebellion. I crossed my arms, lifted my chin and raised my eyebrows. She shrunk into a corner and remained lost in her own tangled thoughts for the next 10 minutes or so.

Although the little rebel had probably been repeating the words her mother had uttered to her, she was on the right track. People ask what happened to us, how come we still hurt each other with weapons, words, looks -- anything that can inflict some small measure of pain. This angry little girl brought the answer to light: People forgot about their standards.

Later that evening, I looked up the word standard in the simplest dictionary that I could find. It read, "A model which stands for or is accepted as a basis for comparison." As expected from such a worthless dictionary -- which shall remain anonymous -- the answer was unsatisfactory; it lacked depth. So I scanned my bookshelf for something else.

And lo, staring at me was a thick, leather-bound book with the words "New American Standard Bible" embossed in gold on the binding. Placing it on the table, it fell open at the middle, and memories came tumbling back.

This is where I found my standard, so many years ago. Every morning, almost without fail, my mother would spend an hour reading to my brothers and me. First she would read a classic piece of literature: Tolkien, Lewis, Homer and Pliny. But coupled with everything else was the Bible -- a story from the Old Testament and always the Psalms and Proverbs.

I scanned the verses on the page. "Do not be wise in your own eyes." That made sense. I had tried the wisdom-in-your-own-eyes approach to life already and it had taken me nowhere. "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth." I cringed, thinking of how many bone-headed mistakes I had made by not listening to that one. "Better an open rebuke, than love that is concealed..." Pages and pages of wisdom, acquired through experience; probing questions; and a deep, personal commitment to a beloved creator.

My thoughts turned toward my many friends who did not have the precious opportunity to be read to every morning before school. My friends without solid standards had suffered indeed. From broken relationships to broken bones, their lives have been perpetual carnival rides of rising hopes and crushed spirits.

After seeing so many friends and peers make bad choices -- become pregnant, addicted, injured and convicted -- it didn't make sense to abandon my standards, although sometimes deviant behavior seems so much more inviting. Oh, yes:

"Deviant, adj. Anything which deviates from a norm, especially from an accepted standard."

The dictionary had hit the mark this time. Deviant behavior is the cause of so many of our society's problems and is the direct result of a lack of standards. For some reason I felt eerie after reading that definition.

The little girl left the pool, but her words have still stayed with me. Another testament to how wise children can be, and how dense adults often are. Even miserable, dripping wet, snot-nosed eight-year-olds can teach you something valuable.