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Parents Aren't Teachers--Or Are They?

Even though times were hard in the Twenties and Thirties, Mom and Dad never complained. They simply did what needed to be done, making do with what they had. Their love for each other and their children was obvious. Mom cooked, made our clothes, housecleaned, and taught us to behave. Her methods worked. We were allowed to do almost anything we wanted--except argue with each other. The minute we started fussing or getting mad, Mom made us wash windows. She put one of us on the inside and one on the outside of the same window. Since we were mad, we started making ugly faces at each other. Very soon, we were giggling and laughing, and the "mad" was gone.

When all else failed Mom sent us to the peach tree for a switch. We bawled like dying Comanches on our way there and back to where Mom waited. That was worse than the switching she gave; just two or three little stinging swats on our bare legs and it was all over. However, we never had to be switched more than once for the same disobedience. The last one Mom gave me was when I was about thirteen. I thought I was about grown and was past the age of being spanked. I'm ashamed to say that I was also a little smart-aleck. I thought, "I'll show you!" Picking a branch from the ground that was about the thickness of my wrist, I marched back to the porch, handed it to her, and said, "Here it is! Now just beat me to death with it!" That made her mad, and for a few minutes I thought she was going to fulfill my request. Truthfully, I think she hit me FOUR times instead of the usual two or three. As I said, that was the last time Mom had to spank me.

Mom instilled in us a love of reading. She read to us when we were little, and as we began to learn to read she bought "Big Little Books" which were about five inches square, and about that thick, so they looked like a big block. They were children's stories, with lots of pictures and illustrations. I remember one entitled Mickey Mouse in Blaggard Castle, a spooky story about ghosts inhabiting an old castle. I read it to my sister Gwen, making my voice as scary and mysterious as I could. The book begins, "The wind howl-l-l-ed about the moldy old walls of Blaggard Castle..." and as Gwen shivered, she would say, "Oh, Lowell Ray, don't read any more!" Then in a few seconds, she would ask me to start reading again, "So we can see what happens." We read it so many times that we about had it memorized, but we still loved to read it.

Both of our parents expected us to be good scholars. They helped us with our assignments, correcting grammar errors, and Dad particularly helped with our math. Dad told us when we started to school at Yowell that he would be glad to sign our report cards, IF we made straight A's. His reasoning was that we were mentally capable of making A's, and if we didn't then we were not applying ourselves to our studies. We worked so hard to reach his expectations of us. I remember one report card of mine that didn't "measure up." I made a B in "deportment." I said, "Well, that shouldn't count, because it wasn't one of our school subjects, it was just because I was talking in class instead of listening to the teacher." Dad said, "That's even worse, because you were keeping other students from listening, too." I begged, pleaded, promised to do better, even tried crying--nothing worked! Dad would not sign my report card. I was broken-hearted! Mom even interceded on my behalf, but it was to no avail. Mom had to sign that report card. I was so embarrassed, but it never happened again. That was how Dad taught us you have to face the consequences of your actions.

One of Dad's ways of teaching us math was playing dominoes. He carefully explained the rules, how you needed to play a domino that would make a total of a multiple of five. In doing that, we learned the "five-multiple" table, and also what did not make those multiples. As we played Dad explained what we should do not only to make our score, but also to block an opponent's possible score. After several training sessions Dad played the game with us "for real." When he beat us he laughed like he did when playing dominoes with his brothers. We were upset, and even cried sometimes. Mom wanted him to let us win. His reply? "No. That would make them think life was too easy. They are just learning. When they get to where they do beat me, then they will have more confidence in themselves. As for the 'hoorahing' I'm doing when I win, they have to learn there is always someone who will make fun of them for something! They must learn to laugh at themselves, and take losing in stride. There is only one winner at the domino table, and three losers, so their odds of losing are three to one. The more they apply themselves to learn everything they can about whatever they are doing, the better their skills will be." I remember the first time I DID beat Dad. He was right! My confidence soared. I had earned the right to be proud.

When beginning high school, I asked Dad, "What do you want me to be when I graduate?" He said, "Your profession is your choice. All I ask is that you be the very best in that field." I think that has been a motivation for all three of his children. I know it has been for me.

Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published: November 14, 2005