Many of our ancestors grew up under strict discipline, a tradition passed down to my own childhood generation. I remember it so well, I had reddish marks on my arms and legs from my father's worn-out belt, while my mother used a strip of wood. These memories evoke cramping and screaming as I tried to escape or defend myself indignantly. Yet, my father insisted it was gentler than the horsewhipping they endured when they were kids.
Times have changed; such discipline would now be considered child abuse and reflects a shift introduced by Western psychoanalysts. Their new approach to child development and behavior has become a foundational principle embedded in the laws of many nations, shaping a more child-friendly society.
However, the effectiveness of this modern approach in molding better individuals is questioned. While kindness may foster kindness, there's concern about children becoming self-willed, spoiled, or naughty without firm boundaries. Can we instill proper conduct without extreme discipline? What happened to the disciplined, honest generations of the past, as our parents often remind us?
Last night, I found myself grappling with guilt as I reflected on an incident where I struck my 8-year-old child with my belt. I became enraged when she seemed dismissive and mocked me with her gestures, laughing off the initial smack as if it didn't faze her. In my anger, I lashed out harder, leaving marks on her legs, arms, and even her face with the leather belt. I shouted at her, insisting she never disrespect me like that again. Her sobs and cries echoed loudly, surprising me because she typically had a defiant streak and would argue back. In the past, I'd even hit her hard enough to cause bruises, fearing she might become a troublemaker in our family, a reputation she had with previous housemaids who complained about her behavior.
Contrary to our expectations, however, she has shown resilience. Despite the punishments I've inflicted, she seems to forgive and forget over time. Recently, we've noticed a positive change in her demeanor. Our new housemaids no longer report her misbehavior, and her attitude appears to be improving.
When I struck her up last night, it pierced my heart deeply. I felt devastated, how could I harm my own little girl in such a way? I had overreacted. She's just a child, yet I treated her harshly, even pointing fingers at her. Afterward, I lay in bed, grappling with regret, trembling with the weight of my actions. My wife entered, questioning why I had hit her again, especially when she had been behaving well lately.
In the early morning haze, I recalled how each day she kissed my cheek before leaving for school, her hair tickling my face. Her consistency in showing affection only added to my remorse. I asked my wife to bring our daughters to my bedside. Feeling sorrowful, I requested they give me a kiss. At first, my older daughter hesitated, expressing her reluctance, but true to her forgiving nature, she eventually softened.
I reassured her that my actions were meant to teach a lesson about respecting boundaries, especially when I'm feeling stressed or upset. She understood, and her face lit up with a smile. Both girls leaned in for a warm embrace, and I felt a sense of relief and connection with them. We stayed together for a while, exchanging kisses and affectionate words before they bid me goodnight and returned to their room.
I've learned important lessons from this experience. First, I shouldn't discipline my child harshly as if she were an adult. When I do resort to harsh measures, I need to explain why it was necessary and sincerely apologize for my actions. Moving forward, I believe in employing both types of discipline in moderation. Harsh discipline can foster obedience but may also lead to dependency and low self-esteem among children. On the other hand, lenient discipline can encourage independence, confidence, and assertiveness, but may also result in disobedience.
Ultimately, it's up to me to decide which attitudes I want to cultivate in my children. It's a delicate balance, and perhaps I need to exercise a little less of each extreme.
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