Creating Respect

It’s been a while since I did one of these. This one is close to my heart.

I’ve never made it a secret that I’m not a fan of spanking your kids, but I’m aware that I don’t have any kids, so some people probably think my opinion’s a bit invalid. I am, however, my parents kid, so I have at least experienced part of the equation.

It always bugs me when people in comments to articles on spanking/smacking launch into that old chestnut, “It never did me any harm”. I’ll be just sitting over here, in my little ivory tower, thinking “You’re, on a public forum, vociferously advocating violence against children as a first line method of problem solving… you really don’t think it did you any harm?!”

Even leaving that aside, the problem I have with the above meme isn’t even the spanking. It’s the bit about respect.

My mum tells the story about how she only ever smacked me once in my life. I was very little and I kept sticking my finger into a plug socket. For some reason, I just wouldn’t stop. So she used a tap on the arse to save me from myself.

I guess it must have worked because I don’t stick my finger into plug sockets any more.

What this incident didn’t teach me was anything about respect.

The way my mother taught me about respect was by talking to me. Endlessly. Seriously, a lot of time I just wished she’d yell at me and get it over and done with. But no, she insisted – from a very early age – on us talking things through.

If I did something wrong, I had to explain my actions. If she didn’t like my explanation, she’d explain to me why I was wrong. At length.

But, you know what, I don’t just love my mother. I respect her an immense amount. She’s one of the smartest people I know. If I have a problem, she’s my first call and we will talk it through, endlessly. We speak three times a week, for an hour at a time. I have very few secrets from my mother because we’ve always talked and I’ve always trusted her to tell me the truth without yelling.

I also respect my father, because he is an awesome, loving, caring man. My dad’s built like an ox. Even in his seventies, he can pick up a washing machine on his own. When I was little, he was even stronger. He made a choice not to smack me, because he knew that, if he did, he could easily accidentally knock me into the following week. I respect him for choosing never to risk it.

When it comes to respect, I don’t respect others because of being smacked or not being smacked. I respect people who earn my respect. I don’t care about your age or your supposed position in this world. Show me you deserve my respect, and you’ll have it. Show me you don’t, and you wont.

If you’re smacking/spanking your kids, not to stop them from hurting themselves or as a last resort, but because you think it’ll make them respect you, and others, their elders, whatever… then you definitely don’t get my respect for that.