Think before you ground

Whoever invented “grounding” as a form of behavior modification for children was probably not the mother, the nanny or the primary caregiver, whichever the case may be. In the case of my family, it was me, the mother.

The errant inventor was probably a behaviorist who had no kids and who sat in a soundproof, air-conditioned, child-free, dust-free environment and postulated that if a kid were cooped up in the house with his mother for a week, it would certainly change someone’s behavior. He was right.

I began to change into a really irrational person. After only a day or two I started wondering just who was being punished and tried thinking of ways to get out of the grounding.

After all, I was not the one who messed up. In one instance, short of grounding, I threatened to change the kid’s last name and let him move in with the neighbors. When that didn’t work, I threatened to change mine. It would be easier than changing the kid’s behavior.

When I ran out of threats, I grounded him. A little alarm went off somewhere in the back of my mind. But it didn’t ring soon enough or loud enough.

This kid should have grown up to be an arbitrator. When it came to dealing and compromising, he made Benjamin Franklin look like a rookie.

This is how it goes on Day One:

He shows up after school with a couple of friends in tow and says, “Mom, we are going outside and ride bikes, okay? I made my bed this morning.”

His reference to his voluntary act of pulling up the covers by yanking on one corner and then foul-shooting the pillow towards the head of the bed was all it took for me to temporarily forget that it is Day One. So I say something useful like, “Okay, be careful.”

An hour later I remember what day it is, but by then the kid is riding in the next county.

If I want to maintain a sense of control and an absence of guilt, I have to go find him which takes a while.

Then the arbitration procedures begin.

“I don’t have anything to do. I can’t play games because it is boring to play by myself, and I can’t watch TV because no good shows are on.”

“Go read your book.”

“I can’t. I left it at school”

“Go play with your trucks.”

“That’s no fun.”

“You go find something to do. Being grounded is not supposed to be fun.”

(Time passes—two whole minutes.)

“I’ll just go sit on the back porch and play with the dog.”

“Okay, but you can’t play with any friends.”

He won that point, so he assumes a new stance:

“Mom this isn’t any fun. I’m going to play in the back yard.” (The back yard is full of kids.)

“Do you know what it means to be grounded?”

“It means I can’t play with my friends.”

“Right.”

“I’m not going to play with my friends; I’m going to play with someone else’s friends.”

“What? No.”

“Well, if I can be ungrounded today, I will be grounded for two more days next week.”

“No.”

“Three more days?”

“Absolutely not.”

Now I can’t fit the rest of Day One’s dialogue into a single column, but you get the point. I do remember saying that grounding wasn’t supposed to be any fun. Believe me, it was not. But I never learned.