Who’s in control anyway?

Do you ever really have a choice in what you do? Your development as a person is out of your hands.

You don’t get to pick the country you’re born in. If you were born in another country, there’s no way you’d be the same person you are today. If you were born in a different town in your state, it’d change your development as well.

You don’t get to pick your parents. You don’t get to pick your social class. You don’t get to pick your elementary school. You most likely don’t get to pick where you sit. You’re not a good judge of character as a child so any friends you pick are based on something outside of your own control.

Your parents make decisions for you. They dress you and they teach how to go through life. They shape you into the person they want you to be. You don’t have a choice in any of it. You may resist and say that you want to wear the red shoes and not the green ones. Is that a choice? Or is red just more aesthetically pleasing to your brain? You can’t choose what colors look good to your brain. You don’t get to choose how your taste buds react to foods. You’re at the whims of how your body reacts to things and your temperament. We’ve all seen kids that are hyper. We’ve seen kids that are shy. They don’t choose to act that way. Even if they did, they’re children. They don’t understand the consequences of their choices.

Eventually you come to the time when you believe you can make decisions for yourself. You don’t need mommy and daddy anymore to tell you what to do. But they’re still right there. Their lessons linger in your brain. Your choices are affected by their past teachings. Is it really your choice when so many other factors are present taking the choice out of your hands?

For example, let’s look at the choice to murder or not to murder someone.

Do you make a choice when you murder someone? Like let’s say you find your lover in bed with someone else when you come home from work and you kill them both in your anger right there.

Is that a choice? Or were you blinded by anger? Maybe something happened in your childhood that made you do this. Can you be held responsible for this? Should you be? Was there anything you could have done? Was it inevitable? Can we only say you had a choice? Is the choice there? Or do we just like to pretend that there’s a choice so it makes us feel better?

Let’s go back to this scenario and change it up. What if you found out from a friend that your lover was having an affair? Then you poisoned your lover’s food and they died. It seems like a choice. You could weigh the consequences more than coming home and having the affair sprung on you. But again how much say do you really have if you still ended up murdering them? There must not be something right with you if you weighed the consequences and came up with that result.  So do we consider every murderer to be mentally ill in some way since they can’t follow the rules of our society?

Is it within human capacity to ignore social norms, ignore your teachings, and to put yourself in a vacuum and make a choice?

It makes me feel better if there is. But is there really ever a choice? I can’t say I can ever know for sure.

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Holidays are terrible.

I hate holidays. They are a major inconvenience now that I’m not in high school. I’ve been screwed over by things being closed on holidays.

I suppose if I had a job, I’d want to have off on a random day. That’s the closest I get to liking holidays.

I hate Mother’s Day. I hate Father’s Day. I hate Veteran’s Day. I hate July 4th. I hate September 11th. I hate Christmas. I hate Easter. I hate Thanksgiving.

And Valentine’s Day? St. Patrick’s Day? I despise them.

Holidays suck. And I’ll tell you why they suck.

On any normal day, people act how they normally do. But BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS or some other crappy holiday, people try to act nicer and they’re more generous.

I hate all these messages. Remember it’s Christmas. Treat everyone better.It’s Thanksgiving! Remember to be thankful.

Any decent person wouldn’t need to be told by a day on the calender to be thankful, generous, or to remember their loved ones.

The majority of these holidays are just made up by corporations so they can scrap together even more cash. My mom always asks for a mothers day card. Each year I get more and more reluctant to give her one. I never get her cards. She never asks for them except for this one day of the year. I feel like I’m being coerced.

Holidays are like many ideas people have. Good idea, awful execution.

Let’s look at Thanksgiving. I don’t even know why my family celebrates it. We’re first generation immigrants. What do pilgrims have to do with us? Turkey? Corn?

These traditional foods mean nothing to us. We’ve eaten chicken before. We never eat together at the dinner table except for this one meal. It’s like we’re pretending to be just like everyone else. We’re playing to an audience of no one.

I can eat Turkey any day. Why bother celebrating holidays with messages of togetherness, thankfulness, generosity when you don’t practice those virtues outside of that specific day. Anybody can pretend to be those things for 24 hours. But it takes a great person to continue on after that.

Also another reasons holidays suck is because it’s just another excuse for people to drink! Jesus’s Birthday? I’ll drink to that! New Year? I’ll drink to that! Some random event happened 200 years ago? Just inject the alcohol into my veins already!

Chronicle Number 3 Pt. 2

Questions are an important tool that humans use to understood the environment around us. Why does the apple fall from trees? Why don’t we float into space? Are we the center of the universe? Where did we come from? Why am I here? What is my purpose? What made me?

Religion answers some of these for people. It gives them purpose. It gives them a community that they are a part of. I don’t think religion as an idea is evil. It does motivate people to do good, but also it can bring out the worst in some people.

The big religion on the block today is Christianity. I remember as a child, I was very confused by the different sects of it. Catholic, Protestant, Methodist. What are the differences between these? Are they all correct?  Can they all possibly be? Does everyone in these sects get into heaven?

All my friends went to CCD. I didn’t go to that. Were they all more saved than I was?

I’ll remind you that as kid I didn’t have a clear picture of what God and Jesus represented. They were protectors. They were there to protect us from Satan, Lucifer.

God was the creator of everything. He knew all. He could do anything.

He sent his son, Jesus to die for our sins. Jesus revived and then went somewhere. (As a kid, I never had an idea of where he went. I just knew he left.)

Satan wanted souls so he could torture people in hell. He tricked people and wanted them to sin.

Adam and Eve had been the first two people ever. Eve gave Adam fruit from the Tree of Fruit after being tricked by the snake. This is why mankind needs to be saved.

That was Christianity as I understood it. I also knew some bible stories like Moses, David and Goliath, Noah, Jonah.

It was after I was given this information that I had some questions.

We were told that we were all children of God. I remember asking

“If we’re all children of god, then how come Jesus gets such special treatment? He got to come back after he died.”

The answer I receieved. Jesus and God are one and the same. This only served to confuse me further.

So God sent himself to die for our sins?

The Adam and Eve story confused me immensely. Where were the dinosaurs and cave men? Were they in the garden?

My father told me that parts of the bible weren’t meant to be taken literally.

Which parts do you know are meant to be taken literally then?

I had simple questions like these. They didn’t piss anyone off. My parents were glad to give me answers even if I didn’t understand any of them really. I continued to pray every night until I reached ninth grade. I never enjoyed going to Church, but I had to go because my parents made me. My father moved up the rankings in our church. I never viewed him as incredibly religious at this time.

This one time my cousin took me to a Catholic church. It was a different experience than the one my parents sent me. I understood everything that said. I still didn’t enjoy it.

One day in my English class freshmen year, my teacher made this comment that Shakespeare probably helped to translate the bible. This shook some foundation in me.

I had never once thought of the bible being translated from language to language.

Men translated the bible? What if they made a mistake? My parents didn’t really have an answer for this other than that it was impossible. I wasn’t satisfied with their answer. I set off to the internet.

And I found a variety of answers. I was further confused by this. It was then that I happened upon a website that blew my mind.

http://whywontgodhealamputees.com/

I never went on the site. I just saw the link.

I sat there in my chair. I couldn’t think of a single good reason for why God couldn’t heal amputees. He could do anything. Anything.

If God is good and can do anything, why not do it? Why has this never happened?

The answers I received were

“Man cannot comprehend God.”

“It’s not in God’s plan.”

What? He has all the power in the universe and he can’t make one person’s arm grow back. What plan is this? Why is that not in the plan? That would make more people believe in him. There was one answer that I particularly didn’t like.

“He’s testing them.” Wait. Doesn’t God know everything? Why would he test people if he already knows what’s going to happen? Why test those specific people too?

Then my brain stirred up another question. “Why did God put that Tree in the Garden of Eden, if he know Adam and Eve would eat it?”

My father always had an answer for questioning this.

“God didn’t want mankind to be robots. He gave us free will so we would choose to love and praise him.” This answer didn’t satisfy me either.

“Why does God need praise and love? Isn’t he perfect? Why make a choice between hell and heaven? That’s not much of a choice. It’s basically the same thing as being a robot.”

Why would he make the snake? Why doesn’t he show up today? Why did God need to rest on the seventh day? Why does there need to an apocalypse? Why did God make hell? Why don’t other people come back to life when they die? Are Christians the only ones who can get into heaven? Where does evolution fit in? What about people who are good but aren’t Christians?

The answer to the last question was always “God will judge them accordingly.”

What if they went to hell? That didn’t seem right to me at all.

The internet held a lot of information bringing up the question of God’s existence. The suffering of people particularly made me question my faith in God.
Why is it that someone can be born in a country that they will starve to death and God does not intervene?
Is it beyond him? Why allow this to happen? He can see all. He can do anything. Yet He lets them suffer.

Children are born with defects. They die of cancer. Even devout Christians are not free from the evils of this world. They bleed. They suffer. They can die horrible deaths. Where is their protection? They’ll get into heaven? That’s the best God can do.

The priest at my parent’s church told me this when he heard that I was asking questions.

“Christianity has stood for a long time. People have attacked it for years. And it still stands today for good reason.”

I went home and thought about what he said. I then realized this wasn’t an argument he should be making. It just made Christians seem stubborn in their beliefs. For 2000 years, someone has had a problem with their religion. Their religion with a perfect all loving God. Something was off here.

I looked up the history of Christianity and became more familiar with its criticisms. I looked up atheism and humanism at the same time.  I didn’t like “Do what God says.” aspect of Christianity. Are you really acting good if you’re only doing to get to heaven and because God tells you to? As people, we should do good because we want to.

I came across an atheist rapper known as Greydon Square. I didn’t listen to much rap at that time, but I enjoyed Greydon Square lyrics. There was one lyric in particular I really liked.

“I’m dreamin’ of a world where there’s no such thing as the Bible Belt
Instead of lookin’ up you look inside yourself
and when you do find yourself
You help somebody else”

My parents continued to force me to go to Church. I gave them excuses for not wanting to go like “I don’t understand anything” and “it’s boring.” They still forced me to go. I went there and I hated the sermons. I just had to sit there and listen to an opinion I didn’t agree with.

One day the priest yelled at us, ” I didn’t evolve from some ape.”

I looked around as he said this to a crowd of people who agreed with him. They burst into song. I shook my head, got out of my seat, and walked out. I waited on the stairs for the service to be over. This became my weekly routine.  I’d go and walk out once I had had enough.

Eventually my parents confronted me about it. August 2007. I told them it was because I didn’t like it. I told  them I didn’t understand the language spoke. They offered to send me to my cousin’s church.

I told them no. They keep pushing me for my real answer. So I finally gave it to them.

“I don’t believe in a god.” This was complete honesty. I had no more faith in the religion of my parents.

They were not amused. My mother cried and prayed. My father told me that atheists weren’t happy. My mother said she wouldn’t give me anything to eat if that was the case. My father told me that having an atheist for a son was not the plan he had.

I talked to the ceiling for the last time that day. I asked for a sign.  Of course I received none. I’ve never been able to confide in my parents since that day. I think I grew quite bitter over that. They had such a negative reaction when I told them something honest about myself. I never said it just to make them angry or to rebel. I told them the truth about how I felt. They condemned me for it. In turn, I respected them less. I thought they were there to support me every part of the way.

We’d have arguments over me not going to Church. My father in a last ditch effort to restore my faith tried to hold bible studies for me. It didn’t work. I couldn’t believe in an all powerful, all knowing all loving God. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be a part of their religion. It all seemed like a huge waste of time. Praying, fasting? It didn’t make any difference. You weren’t safe.

Christianity became a sore spot for me. The day after my mother said she wouldn’t feed me anymore, she asked me to fold the clothes for her. I looked at her and asked her which was more important in her life, God or her children.

And she said God. Being a smartass, I told her to ask God to do it for her and walked away. She knew those clothes would not fold themselves no matter how much she prayed so she folded them.

Once I questioned the existence of God, I could question anything. I questioned every rule I met. Why should I be nice to everyone I meet? Why should I leave a tip when I pay at a restaurant? Why do children need to be spanked? Why do people need to get married? Why is alcohol seen as a good thing? Why?

The world made a lot more sense as I looked for the answers for these questions and came up with my own conclusions. I don’t hate anyone who is Christian. I can sorta see where you are coming from. I’m not sure if the world would be a better place without religion. Many people have trouble constructing morals without the bible.

I just wish religion didn’t get in the way of progression some times.

 

Burned Bridges.

Burn!

Do you know how many people hate you? How many people don’t want anything to do with you? Did they used to be a friend of yours? What tore you apart?

I dwell on my burned bridges from time to time. How many of them could I repair? How many of them were my fault? Is it worth repairing them?

I can think of about two people who I know hate me that used to be my friend. There’s probably more. I don’t make it my business to be nice to everyone I meet. There’s a lot of people who I don’t talk to that I used to but I doubt most of them hate me.

We’re just one random meeting away. We’ll have a chat about what we’ve done since the last time we’ve met then head our separate ways.  No burned bridges there.

Even the two who hate me could eventually get over it if they stopped being whiny babies.I’m not mad at either of them.

I know there are people out there who have pissed off a lot more people than I have in their lives. They have plenty of bridges that aren’t ever going to get repaired. I wonder what it’s like to know that there are people out there who completely hate your guts for good reasons.

Even though I think of myself as a jerk, not many people hate me. I don’t think I try hard enough.

Chronicle Number 3: Ascent Into Atheism.

Christianity is a big thing in my family. My father is a choir master and supposedly a big man in the church. His sister is a priest. My mother is an avid churchgoer. My father would sometimes read the bible with me but very rarely. He mostly told me the stories of Anansi the Spider before I went to bed.

As a child, Christianty made sense to me. There had to be something to protect us all. I didn’t want to go to hell. I had to be a good boy.

And I was sometimes. I would go with my mother to church. I didn’t enjoy it very much. It was a Methodist Ghanian church. There was a lot of singing and dancing. They spoke in the Ghanian language. The music was loud. And they always asked for donations. It wasn’t very fun to go every Sunday night with my mom for three hours.

My mother got me to join the youth club. She bought me a bible. I remember getting there very early. It was just the pastor, his wife and me. I told her I had just gotten this bible. The pastor told me to start reading some chapter. His wife told me not to read it like a storybook. I never understood what she meant by that.

She died shortly after that talk with me.

I remember once the school year had started. The pastor had a sermon about making sure that the devil didn’t tempt any of the congregation’s church. He had all of us kids line up and chanted sayings like “Get out of this child! By The Blood of The Christ! This child is saved!” I remember when he grabbed my forehead. He told us to close out eyes before hand. An image of the devil in the sky rising from my body entered my mind.

I was never baptized as a baby.

As a child I used to pray to God. I’d say, “Please protect my brother, my mother, and my father.” I would begin the family prayer before big meals.

“May this food be bountiful for years to come and may you protect all of us. ” My family loved it.

In 2004, we switched churches. My mother stated the pastor of our old church was deeply saddened and shocked by the untimely death of his wife. We joined another Ghanian Methodist Church. I remember me and my father sitting in the car parking lot, December 31st. My father told me that 2003 had been a hard year. I didn’t understand how it could have been. Smackdown Here Comes the Pain had been great. After the clock hit midnight, he brought me inside the church.

We went up and sat. I looked around. There was a chair with a man’s name on it as well as his date of death. I had to sit and look at it. I thought about how I would never meet this man. All I would ever know of him was his name. That I have now long forgotten.

The sermon was in a language I didn’t understand. But then there came the time for first timers to come to the front. There were several of us. I remember my father saying that free time for me was bible study time. I did no such thing. It’s always puzzled me why he said that.

Going to church was always a big hassle. I’d have to be woken up by my dad far earlier than I wanted to be. He’d get really angry if he had to wake me up three times. That’s my dad’s life code. If the first two times, he tells you to do something he’s calm. But that third time, now he’s losing his temper. Some would believe this to be a fair system.

You have to dress nice to go to church. I’d wear my Sunday best just like all the other little boys and girls. We’d go to church and then I’d sit and not understand anything being said. There would be singing of songs. Some of the songs were nice to listen to. The church was adamant about getting everyone to stand and dance. If I didn’t dance I’d be yelled at by my mom or dad until I stood up.

The new church had youth sessions too. I didn’t know any of the other kids well. I didn’t talk to anyone but this one kid who liked video games. He told me he could fix my Pokemon Silver which for some reason didn’t save anymore. I found out years later there was no way he could have fixed it. I’m really mad he still has my Pokemon Silver.

The youth sessions were always about getting us to talk or watching a video. We once watched a video of Adam and Eve. I noticed both of them had pale skin. I asked then where did black people come from if they are both white.

The other kids gave weird answers like Adam actually being rainbow colored and appearing white. I remember the overseer for the kid’s youth group touching me on the arm in a very weird way. He wasn’t like a pedophile. He was just weird.

I didn’t have many interactions with the other kids. I learned one day what they thought of me. This girl thought that I thought I was so good because I carried a bible around all the time.

I didn’t have a choice of going to church or not. When my father would go too early to take me, he’d leave it to my mother to take my brother and me.  Rarely I would get out of it. When I did, I would be punished. My game controllers were taken away. So most of time I ended up sitting there and not understanding what was said.

Then the pastor started having english sermons. Jesus was a protector. He was there to save me. He died for my sins. The devil was there to make sure I went to hell. But with Jesus and I could be saved because as my mom’s favorite church song goes,

God you are wonderful oh God you’re so good.

Hell seemed like a scary place to be. Infinite torture. Fire. Not a desirable end. So I was on Team Jesus.

It’s funny the little things that can make a crack in your faith. It’s probably because my faith was never based on anything stronger than what I was told to believe in.

As a kid, I had a friend named Joe. I don’t know what he’s up to now.

As a kid, Joe was a pretty cool guy.

In 6th grade science class during a talk between he and I, Joe V told me he didn’t believe in anything without seeing it for himself. I was baffled.

“How can you not believe in God?” I asked him.

He shrugged.

This idea became the foundation that would cause me to question things.

In religion, people don’t like it when you ask questions. I learned this the hard way.

Is it time to leave College?

Why did I go to this place? To further my education? To get a chance at a good job?

My family is paying a lot of money we don’t have for me to get some sort of degree. But why?

For 17 years, my education was free. When I got out of high school, I was free. No obligations. I had never had a job before. Now I have this thing hanging over my head.

Debt. Debt. Student Loan.

I remember letting my dad handle that stuff. I didn’t really think it about. The College of New Jersey just seemed like a natural path for me to go. It was a good college my dad said. Going to college was what everyone did. It’s the flow of life. You go to school then college, get a job, hope you’re happy and die when you’re old.

I never gave much thought to not going to college. My parents never talked about that. I couldn’t fathom it. I’d have to go into the real world. I didn’t know what skills I had. I didn’t know what I want to be. I guess I wanted college would be the place I could find that out.

I’ve never been passionate about my education. The majority of high school was bullshit. There’s no reason to have everyone learn all the same things to a certain degree. Does everybody really need to take a Chemistry class? The only thing I remember from that is that the mole is a unit.

I tried criminology. I took a law class in high school. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the semantics of law. I liked the idea of putting criminals in jail. I took two classes and really disliked it. Laws weren’t always just. Some were set in place for the wrong reasons and didn’t benefit anyone. That wasn’t me.

The only thing I liked about it was how people acted like it was a very interesting field. “You’re a criminology major? That’s awesome.”

I also took Spanish, Statistics, a Reading/Writing Short stories class. I loved the idea of just working on stories but I could never just focus on them. I had work in other classes to do. I had tests to take. Books to read. I had obligations. Then the semester ended. Bam! 20,000 dollars that cost me.

Sure I got to meet some cool peeps. I got to have the freshmen year experience. I got to eat at the dining hall which is nowhere near the quality of my mother’s food. I guess the education was worth it.  Maybe I should have made better use of my time. Maybe it’s my fault I look back and think I didn’t get my money’s worth.

20,000 dollars. I’ve never had 20,000 dollars before in my life. Luckily I had a scholarship of 3500 dollars. 16,500. I’ve never had that much money either.

Another year and half went down. I look at the amount I owe and I laugh. I was so stupid. I allowed myself to give into this idea of higher education. I wanted to be independent and at a very high cost. I was their sucker. I signed my name away. I got my aunt to be my cosigner. If I default she has to pay too. For higher education.

I was a sucker. I didn’t realize the price of what I was pursuing. I’m more than halfway through college and I still barely know what I want to be. I’m a journalism major. And I’ve got to stick with it if I hope to get a degree in something. There’s no switching. I don’t have any funds. I’ve got like 700 bucks in the bank to my name.

I realize that if I sold everything I own. All my clothes. All my games. My laptop. And my car, I wouldn’t even come close to paying off the first semester of my freshmen year. My parents are paying now. So much money. For a little piece of paper. A Bachelor’s degree. What a crucial mistake I made.

I feel like an idiot. I realized this far too late. If I leave now, I will have paid so much money to the college and not have got a degree. If I stay and get a degree, who knows if I can get a job?

It’s not going away until the day I die (I’m banking on a heart attack in my late 30’s). There’s no escaping this. The biggest mistake of my life. The tuition goes up each year so the college can redesign buildings and cut back on free printing. There’s a new shining sign in the Student Center. Is this where my money is going?

I wish I could go back and decide not to head down this path. It’s bad enough I’m going to be in debt for the foreseeable future but it’s an insult to injury to see them waste it on such useless shit. I have to pay for textbooks. Absurd amounts of cash. 300 dollars for a Spanish Textbook. 100 dollars for my Journalism textbook.

It’s even more insulting that they force you take classes completely useless to your major in order to graduate. A lab with a science is such a great help to any upcoming journalist. You can’t even take the classes you want.

I’m an idiot. A trapped idiot.

Maybe I’ll leave and start working. Maybe I’ll stay and get the degree.

If I can keep my motivation. Maybe I’ll just stay and take the classes I want and just say screw graduating.

I don’t know how many more finals I can take before I blow up. Maybe I’m just being a whiny child.

The goal of life is to be happy right? I don’t see mine ending up that way.

That’s a Paddling.

We’ve all been bad little children at some point.  Maybe you peed your bed. Maybe you wrote with crayons on the wall. Maybe you ate the family goldfish.

You have to be taught right from wrong. You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions. But how?

Should parents be allowed to beat their kids? Should you be able to use physical force to teach your kid a lesson?

Nope. Nuh uh. No.

I can’t get behind this mentality. I can understand that people don’t believe children can be reasoned with so they need a physical stimulus.

I don’t agree with this.

You’re not allowed to hit another person. You’re not allowed to hit your wife, brother, mother, or any other family relative. No way in the United States is beating a sanctioned punishment for crime to my knowledge.

I don’t see why people think that even though they aren’t allowed to hit their peers that they can put their hands on confused, fragile beings such as children. When I was a child, I used to get spankings on the butt from my father and my mother. My mother would sometimes use a slipper. One time she used a belt. My father never used weapons. He believed it was wrong. He would pinch my skin and hit my back. One time he hit me in the face and immediately apologized.

I had to be younger than ten for the majority of these beatings. I used to be afraid of my father because of this. I once wanted the police to come and take him away.  He never used to hit me that hard even, but I’d still cry. My father had a rule that when hitting a child, if they run to their bed, you leave them alone. Otherwise they have no place to feel safe.

What a stupid rule. When I was a kid, every time I did something wrong, I feared when my father would hear about it. I panicked. My mother would say “Just wait till your father gets home.” That’s when I’d get it. He always got home around 9. I once got out of my deemed suitable punishment by going to sleep early.

The next time he woke me up. I’ve always resented both of my parents for this era of my life. I was helpless. I couldn’t protect myself from their deemed punishment.  Even when they were wrong. I once put a pencil in a water bottle as an experiment for my middle school science class. My father thought I was making a mess and decided hitting me was the best course of action. I quickly gathered my book and showed him with tears in my eyes what I was doing. He apologized and that was it.

As I grew older, I went to a martial arts school. They taught me self-defense. I remember the last time my father tried to hit me as a punishment. He went to raise his hand and I blocked it. “Not today.” That’s what went through my mind. He tried again and I blocked again. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. And it stopped. I wasn’t afraid anymore. My father resorted to yelling and taking away my video games, internet, laptop, action figures, and whatever else he could get his hands on.

My parents weren’t bad people. It was within their tradition to beat children when they did wrong. I know of other families where wooden spoons are used.

Did the punishment make me a better person? It’s debatable.

I don’t think an adult should ever put their hands on a child unless it’s to help them. I’ve babysat some bad little cousins of mine. I’ve never hit them as a punishment. My little three year old cousin, Joel would spit, bite, and do awful things, but I knew not to hit him. He’s a baby. He doesn’t know right from wrong. There’s better way to teach him not to spit. I don’t think children should be afraid of their parents. I only go to my parents for help when it’s an absolute last resort and I think it may stem from the era where I was afraid of them.

The older brother of the three year old, his name is Maxwell. He’s five. There was a party at his father’s apartment because a new baby had been born. I took the two of them to the nearby park to run around. As we took the elevator back, Max peed his pants. This was the worst possible time. I shook my head and told him we’d have to tell his dad.

His eyes shrunk back with fear.

“Don’t tell my daddy.” I could tell from his reaction, he was being spanked on the butt when he did things wrong.

The color was draining from his face. This is right?

No. It’s a barbaric practice that needs to stamped out.  Stop the pain.

I’ve noticed that whenever my mother spanked my little cousins on the butt, they would get up and spank her back. The only thing they picked up from each punishment was fear and to retaliate

There’s studies here and there about how this isn’t the best thing for children.

 

Here’s a great article that details it.

http://www.askdrsears.com/topics/discipline-behavior/spanking/10-reasons-not-hit-your-child