So after much struggle and agony, my Mother is finally able to admit it… I have been put on a discipline plan at school. But as an even more devastating admission…she isn’t perfect.
“The Plan” goes a little something like this:
Each section of my day is divided into categories (ie: arrival, recess, circle time, snack time, etc.)
If I am able to control the many urges I have to hit, spit, kick or yell profanities at others, I am rewarded with one happy-face sticker for each successful category. Conversely, if I am not able to squelch these compulsions, I do not receive a sticker. Pretty basic.
“The Plan” is appropriately labeled, “I Had A Great Day”.
If I do, “have a great day”, and have obtained all eight happy-face stickers for the day, I am immediately rewarded with an activity that makes all the hard work worth it – swimming at Goldfish Swim School.
After receiving the report from my teacher at “pick-up time”, we head directly to my happy place where I eagerly and enthusiastically share the good news of my great day and brag about how awesome I am.
Since being placed on said plan, we have gone to Goldfish every Tuesday and counting.
Before offering up any congratulations, there is one Tuesday I should address…
Given my track record, it should not come as a surprise that I briefly fell off the wagon of good behavior and did not receive all 8 stickers one grim day. Much to my surprise, we still went to Goldfish. We parked. We walked in. And that’s when it happened. That woman, the one I call Mom, she did the unthinkable.
As usual, after showing off my report, I explained that there were 7 instead of 8 stickers due to a brief lapse in judgment when I used my schoolbag as a demolition ball and knocked a classmate halfway into next week.
And in a most abrupt fashion, I was scooped up, reminded of the missing sticker and escorted to the front door.
WHAT! THE! HELL!
She did it; she actually followed through on her threat to NOT take me swimming if I didn’t follow through on my end of the bargain!
Well, well, well…taking advantage of a teachable moment. Well played, Mother. Well played.
Because it worked. Like I said, we have gone to Goldfish every Tuesday since.
For those of us who already know our Moms aren’t perfect, we are usually also enlightened enough to know that beneath the thickest of skulls and the roughest of exteriors, lies the most sensitive of hearts. And while my Mom is not perfect, she no longer lets my behavior determine her self-esteem or cares if someone sees the imperfect mom that lies beneath. And regardless of the incredibly terrible choices I sometimes make, my imperfect Mom will just keep grasping those brief moments in time when she whispers to my heart and I actually learn something.
At least that's "The Plan".
