Rebellious Parenting. Richard Blackaby
My (Carrie) first exposure to the film The Little Mermaid came shortly after I turned five. It was perhaps the most traumatic event I’d experienced up until that point (well, aside from the time my brother Daniel crashed my princess birthday party dressed as Pocahontas). The image of Ursula, with her slimy tentacles and garish makeup, seared itself into my mind and haunted my dreams. I was young and illiterate; my knowledge of villains was confined to the realm of coloring books and Nickelodeon cartoons. But I was positively, absolutely certain about one thing: Ursula was coming for me.
Living under the weight of my imminent demise was a burden upon my preschool shoulders, so after weeks of nightmares and sleepless nights, I decided to enlist the help of my older brothers.
“No problem!” Mike said. He patted me on the back. “We’ll help you lay a trap so she won’t be able to sneak into your room at night.”
Mike headed the operation as lead engineer, and he, Daniel, and I spent the evening constructing elaborate booby traps with Legos®. My room became a veritable Fort Knox.
That night, for the first time in weeks, I didn’t dread bedtime. My older and wiser siblings assured me of their extensive knowledge of underwater Disney villains. If anything could keep her out, it was our barricade. Secure in their promises, I snuggled against my pillow and my eyelids began to droop.
“Now remember,” Mike said, perched at the foot of my bed, “these will definitely keep her out. If they’re still in place when you wake up, you’ll know she didn’t come.”
“We’re just down the hall if you need us,” Daniel added as he tucked the sheets under my chin. They wished me goodnight and left the room. I was asleep before the door closed behind them.
The next morning, the sunlight streamed in through my slatted blinds. I remembered the Ursula traps and opened my eyes. My stomach reeled as I glanced at the floor. All of the traps had been set off. The evidence led to a single inescapable conclusion.
Ursula had been there.
My nightmares returned. I became a five-year-old insomniac, staying awake until the wee hours, straining to discern the faint sound of tentacles slithering down the hallway toward my room.
Mike and Daniel still love to reminisce about “that time they set the Ursula traps off while Carrie was asleep.”
Conventional Wisdom
Conventional wisdom is any generally accepted set of beliefs and practices. Its conclusions aren’t necessarily followed because of their proven effectiveness, but simply because they are popular.
A common advertising gimmick uses the “ratio” ploy. The dreamy actor in a white lab coat declares, “Nine out of ten dentists recommend” this toothpaste, or that mouthwash. Or a fellow with a European accent says, “Four out of five gastrointestinal specialists regularly prescribe this laxative for regularity.” But Carrie’s experience taught her that you can’t always trust the majority, or put another way, the majority isn’t correct on every occasion in every circumstance.
This principle is no more evident than in the fashion industry. To cite a few examples:
• The misconception in the 80s that mullets were attractive. (Sorry, Billy Ray Cyrus.)
• The misconception in the 80s that shoulder pads the size of tea cozies were flattering.
• The misconception in the 80s that spandex neon bodysuits… well, you get the point.
• The current myth that jeans should dangle precariously midway down the wearer’s thigh.
The health industry is also riddled with fluctuating “facts.” Widely held conclusions based on scientific opinion are accepted by the masses, only to be amended later or even renounced. Coffee has gone from villain to hero more times than Severus Snape. Milk, once dubbed the perfect food, is now the “silent killer.” We dread the day scientists change their view about the health benefits of dark chocolate.
Mom: Just because something is presented in an appealing package, that doesn’t make it a good gift.
Clearly, just because practices or beliefs are popular today, doesn’t mean they won’t be tossed onto the scrap heap of outdated opinions tomorrow.
What You Don’t Know Can Kill You
On December 13, 1799, the most famous American of his era mounted his horse and made his daily rounds on his large estate. Three inches of wet snow fell, drenching George Washington. That evening, he developed a sore throat. His wife, Martha, urged him to take medication, but he believed in letting illnesses run their course.
By the next morning, Washington suffered from chills and strep throat. Martha summoned their physician, Dr. Craik, but before he arrived, Washington’s overseer, a man named Rawlins, entered the room and drew a knife. Despite Mrs. Washington’s protests, Rawlins cut open the ailing general’s arm so that blood began flowing. Washington ultimately died. Was it murder? Was it the first presidential cover-up? No. It was conventional wisdom.
Mom: One of the quickest ways to lose your child’s attention is to start a sentence with “When I was your age…”
The great general who had once quipped that there was “something charming” in the sound of musket balls being fired at him in battle was not a masochist. Medical practitioners of the time employed a procedure called bloodletting, which dated back to the scientific experiments of the ancient Greeks. Experts believed that some illnesses were caused by imbalances in the human body’s four primary fluids, so removing “excess” blood could help restore a healthy inner equilibrium. Hence the practice of dropping leeches onto a patient’s chest. As if being deathly ill were not disturbing enough.
By the late 1700s, medical advances had caused physicians to second-guess the value of bloodletting, but Washington still believed in it, so he instructed his assistant to initiate the process. When Dr. Craik arrived, he bled Washington for the second time. Eventually, two other medics came to help. The younger one, Dr. Elisha Dick, diagnosed Washington with a throat infection and recommended an immediate tracheotomy. His senior colleagues disagreed. Tracheotomies were too dangerous, they said. They proposed further bloodletting.
By the fourth round, the blood ran slowly. The brave general confessed, “Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go.” His last words were, “Tis well.” He was 67.
If Washington’s illness occurred today, modern medical knowledge may well have cured him. (By the same token, had he died, a modern Martha Washington would sue the socks off those doctors.) Even back then, one of the medics knew of a procedure that might have saved Washington’s life, but the aging warrior general chose to stick with an outdated, dubious remedy.
So What’s The Problem?
Parents have goals for their children. We want them to become happy, successful adults. Christian parents also hope their children will embrace faith in Christ and uphold Christian values.
But despite their best intentions, many parents realize their parenting method isn’t working as well as they hoped. Instead of enjoying a home filled with laughter, their house is consumed with stress and dissention. Rather than growing up to become devout Christian adults, their children lose interest in their faith and stop attending church.
People regularly tell me (Richard) about the anguish they feel as parents:
Mom: Many parents know their kids could be doing better, but they aren’t making the necessary adjustments in their parenting.
Jordan was a charming preschooler,