Misguided

Sometimes parents think not spanking is best. Sometimes they think words are better. Words that strike at the heart. Words that make a child feel unwanted. Words that are unwarranted by any behavior, except that of a child acting like a child.


Sometimes parents are bullies who gang up on their helpless offspring. By some unspoken invisible signal, they harangue and they oppress. And they tell the child to find someplace else to live because they are utterly disgusted by his behavior. All because he is a child behaving like a child.


Sometimes parents do not see the panic and abject misery in the child's eyes. They think they are not spanking, and that is alright. Because spanking causes pain, and is frowned upon, and will bring social services down on their heads. Instead they throw hateful words that bring tears to the eyes of someone who looks up to them for guidance, for nurturing, for sustenance. For love.


Sometimes parents think they are doing the right thing. But it is no excuse for the abominable behavior that they never let their friends see, that they never show a trace of to their colleagues or bosses or neighbors. But which they feel will be quite alright to show their own child. Someone who is helpless and vulnerable, and now feeling alone. Unwanted. Unnecessary.


Sometime parents think it is okay to order their child to pack his clothes and get out. Or to pull the car over and tell him to hop off to the side of the road, bye-bye. Or to give him a steely eye in the face of his pleas. Because they are not spanking, no. And spanking is the very evil of discipline.


Instead they wound his soul. And they think that is alright.


Sometimes parents are fit to be hanged. Because they do spare the rod, but cause that dancing happiness, that bright spark of spirit to be wiped out completely. Until the child is a wary husk of himself.


And when they see that they are wrong, that perhaps other words could have been used - uplifting words, cajoling words, loving words - they may feel it beneath them to apologize. Because they are adults. And they are parents. And the child depends on them, so why should he complain? He should take what he can get and be grateful for it.


Except that, this child is an extension of them. And sooner or later, his pain will show. His pain will emerge when he is grown. When he will stomp on his parents hearts unknowingly. Because he is now a husk that does not know compassion or forgiveness. When he hurts his own child with his words. Because his parents have raised him that way, and he knows of nothing else.


Sometimes parents will need to look back at the day and think which part of it did they spend letting the child know that he is loved. Despite what he has done. Despite what he is. And they will need to hug that broken spirit lying sleeping in the unhappy dreams that they have caused. And they will need to ruffle his hair, and kiss his forehead, and whisper their regrets.


Sometimes parents will lie in bed awake. Eaten by guilt. And they will look at each other, and then look away. Because they are co-conspirators to the crime of killing their child, this child of their loins, little by little, by their cruel words and cold unfeeling acts. Because they are not fit to be parents of this child, whom they claim to love, but with whom they treat with hate.


And sometimes parents will find that there is no salvation in sleep. No, none at all.