Perhaps you opened this article because you had a hankering to read some something inspirational, encouraging or because you wanted to take in your daily dose of run-of-the-mill, garden-variety warm fuzzy. If this is the case, you should probably navigate to another article post haste, because this one is not for you. This is a story about a real parental superman. You won’t find warm fuzziness, fluffy bunnies or rainbows spread throughout the paragraphs below. What you will find are some affirmations about how successful “old school” style parenting truly is, in contrast to the new-age wave of organic style “time out” parenting.
Office Aid
When you volunteer as an office aid at the local high school, you get a voyeuristic peephole into all types of parenting. I have seen the helicopter mom who comes in to check on her daughter each day, the molly-coddling mom who brings her little pumpkin his forgotten sack lunch and the (all too common) dynamic parental unit who insists on blaming the teacher for his or her child’s failings. What I don’t get to see a lot of are people like Hank, and Hank is the perfect example of a 21st century unsung hero.
Enter Hank
It was a particularly lackluster afternoon. I sat next to the receptionist, sorting some files when Hank strode in. Standing an intimidating six feet seven inches tall and weighing in at about 250 pounds, Hank was a giant among men to be sure. Confidently, he strode up to the receptionist’s desk and announced his arrival.
“I’m here to see my son,” Hank proclaimed in a booming tenor.
The receptionist began collecting the particulars from Hank, his ID, his son’s name, teacher’s name and class period. Once she validated the information, she queried, “Is the teacher expecting you?”
Hank’s eyes glimmered with what could only be described as delight. A smirk drew his pursed lips up into a grin as he explained, “She is. You see, ever since my son hit puberty he’s been a bit of a punk. He talked back to her the other day and I’m here to make sure he apologizes to her in front of the class. It’s a yearly visit, at least until he learns not to be a punk.”
Now the receptionist and I shared in Hank’s secret delight. Finally, a parent who wasn’t too lily-livered to stand up to his son; a parent who valued good, old-fashioned respect and who had no qualms conveying that to his offspring — or anyone else for that matter.
A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever
I drew the lucky card that day and got to escort Hank to the classroom. The teacher’s face lit up when she saw him in the hallway. She immediately beckoned him inside, stopping her lesson. He towered near the ceiling, stared at his son in a disapproving patriarchal manner and laid down his set of instructions in a calm, cool, collected and firm voice. I observed the young lad ruefully shuffle to the front of the room and issue his act of contrition. His face was white with fear and his voice quivered in obedience. Once he concluded his speech, Hank gave a final look to the kids in the classroom who had all fallen deathly silent. Perhaps they all learned something in English class that day, even if it were only to be fearful of dad’s like Hank.
Indeed, a thing of beauty is a joy forever, and that moment in time will be a thing of beauty I carry with me for many years.
Parents Like Us
The lesson I took from this is that we achieve real parenting in those moments. Even though our child might despise us until his or her 18th birthday, he or she despises us for the right reasons. If you ask me, parents like Hank are today’s true champions, and those I model my own parenting style after. Parents like Hank don’t write books, they don’t give systematic guides to warm fuzzy parenting. Parents like Hank do the right thing, using their divine parental instincts sans “expert advice.” Parents like Hank are the parents we should all strive to be.
More from this Contributor:
5 Questions to Ask at a Parent-Teacher Conference
Why Do We Celebrate Mediocrity?
Financial planning for parenting high school seniors