Alec Sillifant

 

The Jesuits Had It Right

 

I come from an old and unpopular school of childrearing that is often sited to having been rooted in Victorian days, that of ‘A child should be seen but not heard’ but I would go as far as to add not being seen would be preferable too in some cases. Discipline imposed when moulding a child should be on a level that would make a Regimental Sergeant Major from ‘2 Para’ weep should he (or possibly ‘she’ now the parachute regiment is open to lady recruits) be brought under its implementation.

Some of you have already conjured an image of me dressed in cap and gown, with impressively bushy sideburns swishing a cane back and forth as I stride amongst row after row of Dickensian street urchins dishing out corporal punishments but dispel that construct immediately as I am not in favour of cruelty or physical beatings in any form regarding minors. What I am getting at, in a rather exaggerated and outlandish fashion, is the slap-dash, slack methods others employ in their parenting that puts their children in danger of physical harm and social exclusion. Come with me as I take you on a stroll along the gravel path that runs through the middle of ‘Yeah, I hate that kid too’, park.

 Having kids is easy, you put that in there, squelch about a bit, pull a stupid face and bam she’s up the duff. (All accurate and accepted biological terms.) 40 weeks later there’s a little mashed-up version of both of your genetic codes and the funs begins. This is the harder part of the operation and this, unlike the first procedure, is best not done while full of alcohol or round the back of a boozer by the wheelie bins. Despite the fact you have been saddled with what could be the most responsibility you’ll ever have, this doesn’t mean the process is not enjoyable and interesting.

Discipline starts from day one because it is through a disciplined (not cruel) upbringing that the child will learn its (I shall be using ‘it’ instead of ‘he’ or ‘she’ because despite sterling efforts on my part I have become an aware liberal yoghurt herder and don’t want to upset any of the many new gender identities that now exist…at this time anyway) place in the world and grow to understand how to utilise the strong foundation it stands on to better handle those old slings and arrows of misfortune that life throws at us all. We all want to be our kids’ best friend and hopefully in time that will come to pass but at the beginning, and the formative years to come, we need to be parents, a position that has authority because that delicate bundle of flesh knows sweet feck all and needs to be taught how to do pretty much everything and in many cases when to do it too. This is a long term investment that can last a couple of decades and your role of parent will never, ever be truly relinquished as long as you have breath in your body. But I’m not here to instruct you on the minutiae of how to do childrearing properly, I’m here to rant about those leaking plonkers that have children and are a complete waste of time in forming the upright, balanced citizens of the future that society is always in desperate need of it seems.

The best way to illustrate my concern is with a couple of exemplum to which I have been privy to…or possibly made up to suit my needs. I’m sure anyone reading this will be able to add many more personal experiences to my list and please feel free to do so in your own book of rants.

The first instance involves a child of 7 or 8 years old tearing down a steep pavement, on one of those scooters with tiny wheels, at speeds any TT racer would be proud of. Some other details you need to know is that this pavement is alongside a busy four lane road, it is rush hour and halfway down the hill is an equally busy junction. Obviously the father was jogging alongside the fruit of his loins to ensure it came to no harm nor caused any damage to other peoples’ property or person, e.g. by slamming into the side of a car that might be carefully pulling out of a driveway. Sadly that last ‘obvious’ statement is bollocks as the chap who sired this high velocity offspring was a good hundred yards back up the hill strolling along with one of those feminising little dogs. (The dog of course was on a lead to make sure it came to no harm, you’ve got to get your priorities right.) In short he did not give a toss that his kid was in truly mortal danger…or maybe he did and had pre-prepared compensation forms in his pocket. Moving on from this disaster in the making and a man who should have his pecker confiscated until he knows better…

I have often voiced an opinion that children should not be allowed in public houses, it’s an adult environment where adult pursuits are pursued. Having said that I am a little more flexible when the pub is gastro in nature and the sun is still above the horizon. I accept families need to spend time together (it’s essential in the correct rearing process) and so I understand occasionally the inclusion of minors is unavoidable in, what I consider, my domain. The kids can come in, sit down, eat their meal and have their pop and maybe even colour in one of those activity mats that seem to be compulsory on gastro-pub tables. All done quietly and with respect for the other patrons of the establishment. I do not want to have front row seats to witness a Friday afternoon’s entertainment akin to gladiatorial combat from Caligula’s time. Little unruly bastards running amok, screaming at the top of their lungs, whilst their parents drink themselves into indifferent oblivion is not something I have signed up for. Of course if you suggest to the mini-Maximus tear-arsing around that maybe they should calm down unless they, or more importantly someone else, get hurt, one or other or both of the owners of this ill-disciplined ball of excitement will suddenly pay attention and (often with the threat of physical violence close at hand) demand you not speak to their ‘little darling’ like that as they are not doing any harm, merely having fun. Fun?! What about my fun? And the fun of the other people in the pub who are innocent victims of these arrogant little toe-rag whirlwinds? My advice, if you see a climbing frame in the beer garden or there’s a six foot clown statue holding a menu offering chicken nuggets by the front door then find another pub.

The short of it all is that parents should be more attentive to their progenies, maybe they could pretend they are family pets if that makes it easier for them to fulfil their role. (I once heard about a survey taken in which people expressed that they would be more upset by the family dog dying than one of their children. I must admit I still find that hard to believe but then again a quick look around has me doubting my doubting.) There are rules in place for the extreme neglect children can face and quite rightly so (I would up the penalties myself to a barbaric level but that’s not popular…at least amongst the law setters anyway) but now it’s time to start banging a few heads together on the minor stuff too. Ensuring your children learn respect, good-manners, humility, independence, self-discipline, a social conscience is not an act of cruelty. Far from it. A child with these instilled values grows into an adult with the same outlook and is an asset to society. A child who lacks for these virtues is disliked, unpopular and shunned, all of these negatives will follow them for the rest of their days too. Is that what these slacker parents want, their children to be sent to Coventry? Actually, I might be on to something there; a Trumpesque circular wall around the Midlands city keeping the wildlings out of our hair would work and I’ll make the crap parents pay for it.

To let a child become a feral entity is a derogation of parental duty and should not be allowed to go unchecked. Some argue that smacking children for any misdemeanour is never acceptable and maybe that policy has its merits but I can’t see many people being against the parents of these wasteland renegade wannabes getting a slapped leg every time their kid is causing havoc…possibly with a highly flexible cane and numbered in six and of the best quality.

Too harsh on the parents who maybe no know better because they themselves are merely victims of their own upbringing? Bollocks to that, I say. Come back to me when a child, who has just knocked the cup of tea out of your 75 year old mother’s hand as it was running about a pub unchecked, is politely asked to calm down a bit comes back with the witty riposte: “Fuck off, you old twat.”

Make an effort you ineffectual scrotes; your kids may not thank you now but they will in the future when they successfully traverse the hardships of life as stable and appreciated adults. And if you’re after immediate gratification to feed your obviously starving ego, rest assured society in general will be in your debt from this minute forth.

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