Parenting

Wise, unwise, or borderline abusive? Parenting is personal. Perspectives vary, opinions span a  broad range.

Jimmy watched as his flatbed was unloaded, his final delivery, thirty tied-down sacks of dry cement mix. These were thirty-pound sacks, Jimmy was happy on the sideline, as the dock crew made short work of it.

Down to a single bag left at the deep end of the truck bed, off the pallet and leaning up on the back of the cab. The foreman hollered for his boys to leave that last one onboard. Then, he calls over a boy who was also watching from a nearby bench, his boy, one assumes. The dad points to the bag, "Son, grab that last one there. Get it over here to the edge."

The blue-jeaned lad, a thin, sturdy-looking six year old at the most, carefully climbed up to the truck bed. Reaching for the cement bag, the boy's problem was immediate- he tried pulling it backwards with both hands from the top. It didn't budge an inch. The thirty-pound bag was over half the boy's weight. He tried again, straining harder. It didn't move at all.

The lad looked over at his dad, who was busy with a stack of boxes from another truck. He simply looked over once, saying, "Let's go, boy. Don't have all day." The boy turned back to his task, then took a long, deep breath. This time, kind of from the side, the boy managed to slightly move the bag, putting all his body into a semi-shove.

Then began a series of similar attempts, each time moving the heavy bag only a bit. A worker absently started to climb up, but the boy's dad quickly waved him off. The boy continued to toil, breathing hard, sweating with a round, flushed face.

Intensely frustrated now, already quite exhausted, the determined six-year old was visibly shaking, near tears. He had moved the bag maybe only a third of the bed length, and was showing signs of crisis, and overwhelming stress. 

The boy paused to rest, sitting upon the bag. Finally, he blurts out, nearly a sob, "Dad I cant!" His dad remained calm. "You can, boy. Come on." The boy looked thoroughly defeated, but stood slowly to begin again.

Jimmy, painfully watching all this, felt like he might jump right out of his skin. Finally, a bit agitated, he walked over and said, "I can just grab that real quick, boss." The foreman looked squarely at Jimmy with a stern expression, but saw instantly the young man meant well. The foreman explained with a kind patience.

"If my boy runs into problems and just expects help to arrive, he'll always expect it. There are challenges in life when you have only your own guts and grit, so you count only on yourself."

More minutes pass, the beleaguered lad had by then inched the unwieldy cement mix to the truck's back edge, then practically collapsed, sucking in gulps of air.

But then, Jimmy witnessed the most amazing thing: the boy, somewhat revived, stood up tall with arms raised above his head, with a look of sheer, joyful triumph and drained exhuberance, he let out a high-pitched shout.

His dad motioned him over to help him down, but instead it was an extra-long hug- the boy was so happy and proud.

"You really did something, son. Let's take a break, get us some ice cream."

Maybe because he grew up without a father, or maybe some other reason, driving his flatbed back to the yard, Jimmy got goose bumps again thinking about what he had seen. "Someday," he decided, "I want to be that dad."