Boys in Trouble

Once an a while I get are real treat. I get to discipline boys. This is double the fun since I only have daughters.

One of the things many homeschoolers do is co-op classes. We all go to each others homes and have classes for things we teach rather well. For example, I teach a Latin class. It’s a great way to let the kids get together, not have to teach every subject, and it gives the kids an opportunity to not listen to mean hairy dad all the time.

There are very few homeschooling fathers in our group, so when one of the ladies has trouble with one of her boys, instead of wringing his neck and burying him in the back yard, they will take my girls out for a fun day, and leave the boy with me.

This is awesome. What could be more fun than disciplining boys that are not your own?

A while back I got a call from a distraught mother who’s son was just being a dang pest. She offered my kids a trip to the cheese factory in exchange for some time with her son. He was just being outright disrespectful, and for some reason unknown to me, these boys just think I’m some kind of great guy. Boys aren’t all that bright you see. (Trust me, I was an idiot. Heck, I still am.)

Man, this is better than Christmas. My kids get to go on a field trip, and I have a personal slave for a few hours. Sometimes I wish these boys would be more trouble, as I have plenty of work around the house that needs to get done!

So she drops off her boy, and we start having the talk. The best part is, he has no idea why he’s here. So he’s thinking, “Sweet! I get to spend the day with Dance! Maybe we will burn stuff or build a rocket or set off explosives!” (I used to be a scoutmaster, so these kind of events are not uncommon) So after mom leaves, I get to have the talk about respecting your mother.

The face he made was priceless. He totally realized he was in for it. What had looked like a bright summer’s day had fallen into the deepest, darkest abyss. “Oh no, I’m in trouble, and there is no escape!” I’m just loving it.

After about thirty minutes squirming under the flames, I do the worst thing imaginable. Now you might think I made him clean up after the dog outside, but no, that wouldn’t do it. This boy is high strung, so an active activity simply isn’t going to really hone in on the problem. No, this one needs some sensory deprivation.

So I go out to the shed, and get the prettiest old pink desk with flowers on it that my kids had in kindergarten, and I push it up to a large white wall. Then I give him 500 sentences.

I will not disrespect my mother.
I will not disrespect my mother.
I will not disrespect my mother.

He brings me his first sheet, and I light it on fire. “Sorry buddy, but your handwriting just wasn’t good enough on that one, try again.

I will not disrespect my mother.
I will not disrespect my mother.
I will not disrespect my mother.

You know, he hasn’t been back in a very long time? I hear that all they have to do is threaten to take him to my house, and he shapes right up.

I still keep that pink desk though, just in case.

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