Does the punishment fit the crime?

There is a time in every parents life when they wonder if the punishment fit the crime.  When their child does something they shouldn't do, how do you respond?  Even worse, how do you respond when the crime is serious in the eyes of another and quite ridiculous in your own?

I have attempted to look back to my own past for guidance yet have come up dry.  Perhaps it was because I was vastly more culpable of serious infraction than my child.  On the other hand, it might have something to do with the fact that on one occasion when my mother attempted to seriously punish me the entire affair ended in disaster.  I remember it as clear as day.  In my family there is this spoon.  Legend has it, it was given by a Russian Czarina to my Great Grandmother after she performed a piano concert for her accompanied by the legendary Polish pianist Paderewski.  In truth my grandmother was the family equivalent of a solitary bass fisherman who claims to have hooked a small whale in a local lake.  You never really knew with my grandmother what was the truth compared with what was her truth.  The two did not necessarily coincide.

At any rate, while more likely purchased in a gift shop, the spoon is a lovely historical piece of something with enamel inlay forming a royal eagle with outstretched wings.  I was the fourth grade and eager to impress my friends at show-n-tell I pleaded with my mom to let me show the spoon.  She agreed and I was under strict orders to return the spoon to her that evening.  For some reason that I can't recall I determined I couldn't bring the spoon home and I requested my aged teacher Mrs. Woods to lock the spoon in her desk which she did.

That evening when I returned home my mother asked for the spoon.  I tried to explain what I had done but fury colored her emotions and I found myself at the stinging end of a leather belt.  It was the only whipping I ever had and one I will never forget.  My mother cried and I cried.  Out of concern she contacted Mrs. Woods the following day only to learn that every word I had said was the truth.  The spoon was safely in her custody.  My mother's shame and regret over the incident lasted the remainder of my childhood and I was never struck again.

I am blessed with a child whose errors pale in comparison to my own.  Over the years the notices from his school seemed more comical than real.  Each was veiled in seriousness but after reading it was all I could do not to smile and laugh.  In the first grade it was a severe notice that he flicked a booger on another student.  A few years later he the school sent home a grave notice to inform me that he and another student, had dumped red cool aid in a toilet.  I half expected them to say that as punishment he would no longer be allowed to urinate.

Noah's anxiety far surpasses his actual act.  Whenever anything happens to him he is quick to notify me without ever knowing for sure if anyone else ever will.  As a child, that was the last thing I would ever do.  Only if I was given a dreaded pink piece of paper that required signature were my parents to become involved.  With Noah I have always tried to impress on him that it is much better to speak to me first than for me to hear something from someone else.  It is a lesson that he has apparently learned well. The result was that the other day, while sitting in front of the computer my son sat with me like a priest in a confessional to confess his crime.

"Pop," he said.  "I was at school and I was talking to some other kids.  They were talking about what Jesus looked like and I said he was black."

"Good job son," I thought. "finally something that is historically accurate.  He was at least quite brown.  It was the best news since he took a diagram of evolutionary man to Baptist preschool."  Incidentally he was asked to put away the chart and never take it out again.

"I don't remember why but I said FUCK and a teacher was standing right behind me." 

"What happened?" I asked.

"The teacher said I would be written up."

"What does that mean?"

"I am not sure but maybe they will give me ISS." 

It sounded like a disease and I was afraid to ask for clarification.

"What is ISS?"

"In school suspension Pop, they make you sit in a cubicle the whole day and miss all your classes."

In my mind I was thinking, "let me get this clear.  In our Baptist controlled society where stores can't even be opened until 1:30 on Sunday, to punish you for saying FUCK they are going to essentially retard you by forcing you to skip the classes which is the whole point of school?  What am I missing here."

"Should I punish you?"  I asked.

"No Pop.  I understand I shouldn't say that.  I just don't know what will happen to me."

Noah spent the rest of the night on the phone with friends clarifying punishment procedures, reading the student handbook and coming up with legal arguments.  All the while he obsessed on the punishment, dreading the day to come.


In my mind, I sat hoping that the school would call me.  I decided that if they did, my response would be along the lines of, "son of a bitch, I can't believe he said that!"

Noah was certain he would be called to confront the disciplinarian.  He was an evil man, detested by all those in the school.  When the time came he would accept his fate yet he didn't understand why the punishment should be so severe.  I explained to him that in the mind of the disciplinarian, they maintained the fine line between education and chaos.  One miss-step and the entire institution could break down.  You Noah, could be that very spark.  The next thing you know it is anarchy and society collapeses.

Well the following day arrived and Noah left for school with a heavy heart.  When I finally heard from him again I expected a detailed recounting yet found he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

"Did they talk to you son?"  I asked.

"No," he replied. "no one said anything." 

The incident was over, the book was closed.  When I explained this story to a Swiss friend I received the following response:

Hi

In which century are you in SC (concerning school rules..) Nicole and Simone were happy girls in the american school here in Switzerland, I think they could have said a thousand times "FUCK" they wouln`t have bothered. Strange thing you write here.

Oh my dear Swiss friend, if you only knew.  If anything was learned from this entire incident, the next time Noah says "FUCK" I am sure he will check his back first.