Good Children Grow Poison Spurs
by Anne Loucks
Children are wonderful, magical things. They soak up everything around them from words and behaviors to procedures for operating the video player. Sometimes, I wonder how terribly I could damage any future children of mine, given a little careful planning. My thoughts generally tease the idea of leaving them with a disturbing but high-handed social ineptness.
I especially like the idea of teaching them only long, scientific, or obscure words for things. "Spit" would become "Expectorate"; "Food" would become "Comestible"; "Small would become "Diminutive"; and so on. Such training could never endure once the child had begun school, but think of the teachers face when your child first speaks.
"Instructor, I desire to quaff dihydrogen monoxide from its dispenser."
"It is necessary for me to utilize the scatological receptacle."
"Assist us. Timmy's pugilism has wounded Frank."
Think of the horrific conversations which might be wrought.
"Francine, look at pretty bird." her teacher says, pointing.
"Are you speaking of the avian?"
"Um, yes. The avian is nice, isn't it?"
"What is the definition of 'nice'?"
One of my friends said he planned to treat his children as though they were part of an insect colony. His wife would never be "Mom." Instead, she would be the "Hive Queen." He would be the "Lead Male Drone." Children would be referred to as "Lesser Drone" followed by a number, denoting their birth order. My friend also planned to tell them from an early age that good little drones grow venom sacs and poison spurs. I don't remember if he had a plan for explaining away the lack of such extremities on his wife and himself, but when his spawn failed to change in the desired way, he would act disappointed.
Once a child had learned to read or been exposed to the outside world, any such madness would end, and it might lead to a feeling of betrayal. If you wished to continue the charade into early adulthood, home school might be helpful.
In truth, I could do none of these things. my moral compass would probably obsess over doing the right thing for any child in my care. I would still make lots of mistakes, but my actions would have noble intentions. At an early age, much time would be spent helping the child learn to walk and speak and such. Once they could act of their own accord, they would be encouraged to behave well. Punishment for rule breaking would be swiftly dealt and over quickly.
Rules can be hard to enforce properly though. Sometimes seemingly good rules backfire. When I was young we were all being forced to clean up because guests were coming over. We decided that this was akin to lying, as the house was rarely well kept. Of course, dishonesty was a sin according to my parents, and we insisted the cleaning session was a form of lying, that we were putting on a facade for our guests. I don't remember what my parent's reply was, I only recall how indignant I felt when we were sent back to finish our task. I disliked the fact that such rules seemingly could not be used for my benefit.
Given the same circumstances, I would probably tell my children to continue cleaning as well. It would be a difficult situation for me. As a very logical person, I would be torn. It could be hard for me to come up with an answer that would placate them and satisfy myself. Regardless of how the situation were handled, after the children left the room I might fantasize a little. I might reflect that they are lucky we only taught them not to lie. The kids should feel ever so fortunate we did not train them to spin three times whenever going through a doorway, speak only in iambic pentameter, or use some of Tolkein's elvish vocabulary with their English.
