Several things reminded this week about an incident that happened in a pizza parlor 12 or 13 years ago, so I guess it's time to write about it. My kids have teased me about this for years, but I still contend I did the right thing.
My family was enjoying pizza at the best pizza parlor in the Sacramento area, Roma's Pizzeria. Suddenly, there was quite a disturbance from one of the customers. This incredibly inebriated man was yelling at his wife. The language was foul and abusive. This seemingly never-ending disgusting diatribe was not stopped by the management--quite to my dismay. This is a family restaurant, and there are always children present. I don't know about that particular evening, but very often soccer teams and baseball teams will celebrate at Roma's, and there is usually a birthday party or two. I know that my children were not the only children present that evening.
My husband and I hustled the kids to finish their pizza, and then we removed ourselves from the restaurant. My family walked out ahead of me, and it was necessary to walk right past the offending party. On my way out, I felt obligated to say something to this man (since management had failed to do so--or eject him from the restaurant). In a calm voice, I thanked him for making my evening with my children so pleasant. Then I walked out the door. The man followed me and began to yell at me. He tried to throw his beer at me, but my brawny defender husband walked out the door after paying the bill just in time to roar like a cannon as he flung himself at the beer-throwing arm, scaring the daylights out of this man (and I used the word "man" liberally). Most of the beer was deflected, but I still had to have my coat cleaned--worth every penny.
Roma's owner and staff came out to investigate, and I gave the owner a tongue lashing for not removing this man from the restaurant. He apologized to me profusely. We avoided going to Roma's for two or three years after the incident, which made my children a little disgruntled, but I wanted the owner to know that we were displeased with the experience (and we had been very regular customers). When we finally reappeared in the restaurant, we received red carpet service, and have never experienced another incident.
As I said in the beginning, I've taken quite a ribbing from my family about this, but I stand behind my actions. The world is becoming increasingly evil. There is right, and there is wrong. At some point, we all need to take a stand. We either are on the side of good, or we are on the side of evil. There is no fence sitting. That night I had two choices: (1) Say and do nothing, which would have taught my daughter (8 or 9 years old at the time) that using the "F" word three times in a sentence is appropriate, and my teenage son that being abusive to your wife is acceptable; or (2) take a stand and teach my children that there are some things in life we are not obliged to tolerate, and a restaurant owner that he has a duty to protect his clientele from such abuse.
I took a risk that night that I might get hurt. There are some risks worth taking for principle. It saddens my heart that so many people are afraid to stand up and say enough is enough. This is wrong, and I don't have to put up with this. It is fine to teach children principles at home where the environment is quiet and peaceful (well, usually), but they will be out in a tumultuous world. I wanted my children to be able to plant their feet on terra firma and say, "This is wrong, and I don't have to take this."
Showing posts with label teaching methods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching methods. Show all posts
Friday, September 23, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Teach The Children
I went into my local fabric store this weekend to purchase three things: fabric for new kitchen curtains, a curtain rod, and a spool of thread. After standing in a rather long line to have the fabric cut, I found myself standing in a second long line at the checkout stand. When it was finally my turn at the cash register, I placed my items on the counter and paid for them. I wheeled my basket to the basket return, put on my coat, picked up my purchases and my purse, and walked out the first set of double doors to leave the store.
As I was standing in the alcove facing the second set of doors to the outside, a gentleman behind me asked me if I had left a spool of thread in the basket, and he handed me the thread. I thanked him, and then said, "Oh, I'll bet that didn't get on the ticket." He looked at me and said, "Well, you're home free now." His wife gave a little giggle. I stopped cold, and looked at him in amazement. The man stood there with his wife, and a child in a stroller. I was shocked at his attitude. What is he teaching his child? I turned around, went back in the store, and paid for the spool of thread.
This little family at the fabric store was what I would call an average American family. They were clean, well dressed, and looked like the perfect little family. Yet, something was obviously missing. We seem to have a generation of parents who have no scruples. This doesn't bode well for good parenting. What are we teaching the children?!
When we purchased our home almost 34 years ago, there was an orange tree in the front yard. We did not remove it, but have always been concerned about the liability of a child climbing the tree for an orange. Our answer to keeping the tree was to train all the neighborhood children that if they waited until Thanksgiving weekend (when the oranges were marginally ripe), they could knock on our door, and we would give them all the oranges they wanted. This kept them from climbing the tree, as well as teaching them to be honest and not steal the oranges. As new families moved into the neighborhood, we found ourselves constantly "training."
One day my husband and I pulled the car out of our driveway and headed down the street. In my rear view mirror, I noticed a young mother picking an orange off the tree for her son, who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. I put the car in reverse, and upon reaching my home, asked her not to pick the oranges. The woman told me it was none of my business. I told her it certainly was my business, since it was my tree. Then I told her that she was teaching her child to steal. I told her that we had always shared the oranges, but that the children needed to wait until at least Thanksgiving weekend so the oranges were somewhat ripe, and then knock on the door. I explained that children needed to be taught honesty. She looked somewhat chagrined. I don't think she had even considered the fact that she was teaching her child to steal.
I hope that as my grandchildren watch the things that I do, they'll never see me do anything that is dishonest or shows bad character. Sometimes we all need a reminder to live "in the world, but not of the world." Just because everyone else appears to be doing something, doesn't mean that it is right. As morals continue to decay, I hope we can stand up for what is right and continue to make good choices.
As I was standing in the alcove facing the second set of doors to the outside, a gentleman behind me asked me if I had left a spool of thread in the basket, and he handed me the thread. I thanked him, and then said, "Oh, I'll bet that didn't get on the ticket." He looked at me and said, "Well, you're home free now." His wife gave a little giggle. I stopped cold, and looked at him in amazement. The man stood there with his wife, and a child in a stroller. I was shocked at his attitude. What is he teaching his child? I turned around, went back in the store, and paid for the spool of thread.
This little family at the fabric store was what I would call an average American family. They were clean, well dressed, and looked like the perfect little family. Yet, something was obviously missing. We seem to have a generation of parents who have no scruples. This doesn't bode well for good parenting. What are we teaching the children?!
When we purchased our home almost 34 years ago, there was an orange tree in the front yard. We did not remove it, but have always been concerned about the liability of a child climbing the tree for an orange. Our answer to keeping the tree was to train all the neighborhood children that if they waited until Thanksgiving weekend (when the oranges were marginally ripe), they could knock on our door, and we would give them all the oranges they wanted. This kept them from climbing the tree, as well as teaching them to be honest and not steal the oranges. As new families moved into the neighborhood, we found ourselves constantly "training."
One day my husband and I pulled the car out of our driveway and headed down the street. In my rear view mirror, I noticed a young mother picking an orange off the tree for her son, who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old. I put the car in reverse, and upon reaching my home, asked her not to pick the oranges. The woman told me it was none of my business. I told her it certainly was my business, since it was my tree. Then I told her that she was teaching her child to steal. I told her that we had always shared the oranges, but that the children needed to wait until at least Thanksgiving weekend so the oranges were somewhat ripe, and then knock on the door. I explained that children needed to be taught honesty. She looked somewhat chagrined. I don't think she had even considered the fact that she was teaching her child to steal.
I hope that as my grandchildren watch the things that I do, they'll never see me do anything that is dishonest or shows bad character. Sometimes we all need a reminder to live "in the world, but not of the world." Just because everyone else appears to be doing something, doesn't mean that it is right. As morals continue to decay, I hope we can stand up for what is right and continue to make good choices.
Monday, February 22, 2010
What Is Love?
How do you explain what real love is to a group of children 3-11 years old? This was my dilemma some years ago when I was Primary President in church teaching children. I had a lesson planned, but something just wasn't right. The night before I was supposed to teach, the inspiration came to me. I scrapped the entire lesson and started over.
The children already knew from prior lessons that my father was a very eccentric man. I often used my father's life stories to demonstrate a principle, and they seemed to love hearing about this strange little man. So when I began to tell yet another of my father's stories, they settled in to listen.
My father had an aversion to tissues. He had been raised in the era of handkerchiefs. For Dad, it was a "man thing." It seems only women were supposed to use tissues. When my husband and I were first married, we were gathered as a family at the family cabin. My husband used a tissue and then disposed of it in the wood stove. My father made a comment about men and handkerchiefs. As a newlywed, I felt compelled to defend my husband.
I explained to Dad that for sanitary reasons, I preferred my husband use tissues. I told Dad how awful it was as a teenager washing his white handkerchiefs in the same laundry load as my white underwear. My sister chimed in by telling how awful it was to hang laundry on the clothesline and get "slimed" because it didn't all come out in the wash. I went on to complain about having to pick the leftovers off of the handkerchiefs prior to ironing them. My sister and I really razzed Dad pretty good about the whole thing -- all in good fun. Then I promptly forgot about it.
Fast forward a few years. My father had passed away. Mom and I were talking about how in the end Dad did a few strange things (even for him) because oxygen wasn't getting to his brain. I told Mom that one day I walked into the bathroom to find Dad standing over the toilet picking "buggers" (for lack of a better word) off a handkerchief into the toilet. Wrong thing to say! Mom went into this tirade about how THAT wasn't Dad's lack of oxygen -- that was my fault and my sister's fault! She reminded me of the incident at the cabin, which I had totally forgotten about.
Apparently, Dad thought a lot about what my sister and I told him. He went out and bought dozens of brand new handkerchiefs. You see, he was too set in his ways to use tissue, but he found a solution to the problem. He loved my mother enough that he didn't want her to become the victim of the "slime" my sister and I had portrayed. From that day forward, he saved his handkerchiefs in a canvas bag until they were completely dried. Then he would carefully "debugger" them into the toilet prior to putting them in the laundry.
I completed my lesson by asking the children how much love they had for their family members. Would they go to that much trouble to protect a family member?
As I finished telling the story, the adult teachers in the room looked at me like I had really "lost it". The children, however, got the message. Several of those kids (now adults) have told me how much that lesson meant to them. They really did get the point.
I'm not sure what this says about kids. As my Dad would have said, "First you have to get their attention."
The children already knew from prior lessons that my father was a very eccentric man. I often used my father's life stories to demonstrate a principle, and they seemed to love hearing about this strange little man. So when I began to tell yet another of my father's stories, they settled in to listen.
My father had an aversion to tissues. He had been raised in the era of handkerchiefs. For Dad, it was a "man thing." It seems only women were supposed to use tissues. When my husband and I were first married, we were gathered as a family at the family cabin. My husband used a tissue and then disposed of it in the wood stove. My father made a comment about men and handkerchiefs. As a newlywed, I felt compelled to defend my husband.
I explained to Dad that for sanitary reasons, I preferred my husband use tissues. I told Dad how awful it was as a teenager washing his white handkerchiefs in the same laundry load as my white underwear. My sister chimed in by telling how awful it was to hang laundry on the clothesline and get "slimed" because it didn't all come out in the wash. I went on to complain about having to pick the leftovers off of the handkerchiefs prior to ironing them. My sister and I really razzed Dad pretty good about the whole thing -- all in good fun. Then I promptly forgot about it.
Fast forward a few years. My father had passed away. Mom and I were talking about how in the end Dad did a few strange things (even for him) because oxygen wasn't getting to his brain. I told Mom that one day I walked into the bathroom to find Dad standing over the toilet picking "buggers" (for lack of a better word) off a handkerchief into the toilet. Wrong thing to say! Mom went into this tirade about how THAT wasn't Dad's lack of oxygen -- that was my fault and my sister's fault! She reminded me of the incident at the cabin, which I had totally forgotten about.
Apparently, Dad thought a lot about what my sister and I told him. He went out and bought dozens of brand new handkerchiefs. You see, he was too set in his ways to use tissue, but he found a solution to the problem. He loved my mother enough that he didn't want her to become the victim of the "slime" my sister and I had portrayed. From that day forward, he saved his handkerchiefs in a canvas bag until they were completely dried. Then he would carefully "debugger" them into the toilet prior to putting them in the laundry.
I completed my lesson by asking the children how much love they had for their family members. Would they go to that much trouble to protect a family member?
As I finished telling the story, the adult teachers in the room looked at me like I had really "lost it". The children, however, got the message. Several of those kids (now adults) have told me how much that lesson meant to them. They really did get the point.
I'm not sure what this says about kids. As my Dad would have said, "First you have to get their attention."
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