Wordless Discipline
Mother's Discipline
My mother is the strong silent type. If she ever had to say or do anything to get her point across, you had pushed her to her limit. Her eyes were her weapon. For very serious matters it was, "Wait until your daddy gets home." But for me, her eyes carried more weight than a spanking from daddy ever would.
1970/80's mom replica via Bitmoji app
She didn't have to say a word the time she looked at me from the choir stand and I knew to spit my gum out.
She didn't have to say a word when she saw my hair after returning from Daytona Beach where I had used Sun-In. But she did say, "Wait until your daddy sees your hair."
One time I was using our brand new vacuum cleaner, one that was equivalent to today's Dyson, I ran over the cord with it. The cord was severed to the point of hanging on by a thread. Fortunately it still worked and daddy patched it up for me with duct tape. I pleaded with him to tell mom so I wouldn't have to.
After I knew she had been told, she walked slowly passed my room, she didn't have to say a word.
She didn't have to say a word the time I shook the red fingernail polish and had forgotten that I already loosened the top.
She didn't have to say a word the time I burnt the edges of my hair with a straightening comb.
She didn't have to say a word when I got an "F" on my report card. But she did say, "Wait until your daddy sees this."
She didn't have to say a word when she arrived home and I was laying across the bed in my room, phone cord stretched from the kitchen, while I was filling up overflowing the kitchen sink. I didn't know what I had done but I knew it was very bad. I got off the phone when she snapped her fingers and shot daggers at me with her eyes.
She didn't have to say a word when I told her I didn't have to do my chores because Grammy and Pop-Pop gave me an allowance. The allowance stopped.
Then there was that time I hid my unwanted grilled cheese sandwich in the trashcan. No one was around when it happened, so I removed a soup can from the trash and stuffed my sandwich into it. I quietly put the soup can back in the trash, pushed it down to the bottom and disappeared from the kitchen. She didn't have to say a word when she appeared in the doorway of my room holding the soup can.
The earliest of my memories was leaving hand in hand with daddy to go off somewhere. She appeared in the window waving goodbye and stuck her tongue out. I stuck my tongue out also and then playfully my middle finger as well.
She didn't have to say a word and I can still see that look from 1975!
The look she gave me, I instantly knew what I had done was very wrong. By the time daddy and I came back the moment had passed, but I'll never forget it. In that moment, I learned a valuable lesson about the boundaries of our friendship and she didn't have to say a word.
She didn't have to say a word and I would sulk, going to my room until we could be friends again. Being out of her good graces was punishment enough.
My mom and I are best friends and from her I have inherited "the eyes" for which I too can crack the virtual whip without saying a single word. Just ask my son.
