(Written November 3, 2004)
Jimmy and I were having a conversation about child-rearing and discipline. It was the usual back and forth I have come to expect in here, both from myself and the other party. I contended that it is never okay to hit a child, and speaking autobiographically, that it is eminently possible. They agree, up to a point. That point being that when the child (and they are also speaking autobiographically) does something “to deserve it,” then it is okay. It is clear to me, that even as adults, they are compelled to justify the abuse which they themselves suffered as children. This is less painful to them than seeing their parents as simply wrong.
Jimmy was initially raised by his mother until she married when he was 5 years old. He characterizes himself as a demon seed child who was out of control and deserved the physical punishments he received for his acting out, no doubt from the stepfather he probably hated.
Inevitably, Jimmy sometimes cared for with the children of the girlfriends he had. Often he was one of a series of “uncles” to the children of his drug-using girlfriends, and not surprisingly, they were angry children. Jimmy and I discussed how he dealt with them, and he recounted a funny/harrowing story or two that illustrated, to me, children screaming for attention and willing to get it anyway they could.
Jimmy said: “I always had a foolproof way to get any kid in line when he was going berserk. I’d tell him that if he didn’t calm down I’d beat his mom when she got home.” Thinking this rather an astute approach, he added “It always worked. No matter what little devils they are, boys always love their mom.” My reaction was overwhelming and visceral. “I can’t believe you said that! I can’t believe you did that! Jimmy, that was a horrible, inexcusable, terrible thing to say to a child!”
Jimmy was nonplussed. I suppose he thought I would think him a sly disciplinarian. I certainly didn’t believe he would actually carry out the threats he made, but making them was no less reprehensible.
Absent his complete and immediate disavowal of what he said, I ended our conversation right there and sent him back to his wing. Needless to say, coming on top of Kerry’s loss, it constituted a second low point of the day.
There were no more visits that afternoon from Jimmy. I napped heavily, after having had a fitful sleep election night. When I got up and got ready for chow, Jimmy sauntered over, addressing Earl as if I weren’t there, while sampling Earl’s homemade salsa. “Well, I would have been over earlier, if Marc hadn’t stressed me out so much. He literally sent me to bed, I was so upset.” Two days ago, after I had similarly challenged Jimmy on violence being a legitimate expression of his role as caller of the shots, he was similarly afflicted with stomach upset, and actually threw up.
While it certainly could have been the stomach flu, it is my hope that Jimmy’s physical tribulations are manifestations of conflict awakened in a man who is not more intrinsically violent that I am. Raised in my family, I am quite sure he would have not only not been a demon seed; he probably would have been President of the Senior Class and more.
One bright—sort of—post script came when Jimmy visited just as I was writing this. He felt the need to finish his story. “What I didn’t tell you was that one time it didn’t work. There was this kid, Justin. When I told him I would beat his mom he said, ‘Go ahead.’” I observed: “Jimmy, don’t you realize that it probably means the mom beat him so much, he actually wanted to see you beat her?” He answered: “Worse! I found out that her ex-boyfriend had gotten out of jail and was beating both of them! So I waited for him one day, and knocked the shit out of him, kicking him all the way down this huge stairway.”
“Aha” I reacted. “Finally, an appropriate use of violence.” I may be a Gandhi-wannabe, but I have no mercy for the victimizers of woman and children, and I took Jimmy sharing this with me as his stab at redemption in my eyes.
MCO 2004
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