LESSONS LEARNED

by C.L. Halvorson

Much to their dismay, there comes a time in every child’s life where he or she, as the case may be, requires punishment.  My sisters and I were no exception.  We had more than our fair share of lessons learned.  Mama and Daddy had very different styles of teaching us what was and what was not acceptable behavior.

Our father opted for the more traditional methods of discipline.  They didn’t work on him when he was a child, but he figured he would go with what he knew.  The penance he required mainly consisted of a sound spanking when we were younger.  As we got older, he resorted to taking away privileges.  Go to your room, no TV, no phone, come straight home from school and the like. 

When I approached my teen years his approach had to alter slightly.  I was a dedicated loner.  I spent most of my time in my bedroom studying, practicing music or just hanging out.  I loved my room.  It had a daybed, which I actually asked for for my thirteenth birthday.  The daybed was flanked by actual end tables complete with table lamps.  My grandmother’s old steamer trunk served as a coffee table. I even had an entertainment center set up.  Mama and Daddy wouldn’t allow me to have a television in my room for fear they would never see me again.

When my room took on the appearance of a family den, Daddy decided that if the need arose, instead of sending me to the luxury of my bedroom we would instead have me sit out with the family for a couple of weeks.  He never actually had to impose that particular sentence.  Just the thought of it was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Mama had a decidedly different technique of getting through to us.  Oh, she would employ the old standards herself on occasion; however she found Shock and Embarrassment to be a more effective means of discipline.  What do I mean by Shock and Embarrassment, you ask?  Allow me to illustrate.

The supermarket we used (and that my father worked for) was a sort of predecessor to today’s massive super centers.  In addition to grocery items, they offered such delights as T-shirts and sneakers that cost only $1.99.  I wore a lot of those $1.99 sneakers in my life, I can tell you.  Actually, they were rather comfy.  Wonder why they don’t make those anymore? 

Anyway, in addition to the small clothing section, they sold quite a wide selection of books and magazines, some hardware items and household goods.  These sections were substantially larger than supermarkets usually offer but not as abundant as your local discount super center.  Somewhere in between I would say.

My favorite section of the store however, was undoubtedly the record department.  The store had a record department to rival the local record shop.  I loved grocery shopping day.  Mama and my sisters chose food for the next week and I would hang out in the record department.  Mama allowed this as I was the eldest.  Being the oldest child in any family does have its privileges.  Such as being able to stay up an entire half hour more than my younger siblings.  Wow! 

Mama’s only requirement for permission to peruse the records on my own was that I keep a lookout for when she was done with the shopping (the record department was near the checkout lanes) and come immediately to join her so that we could leave without her having to hunt me down.

Now, I had every intention of not breaking this rule.  Each and every week I would spend at least the first five minutes searching the checkout lanes for her.  Unfortunately, most of the time it took her considerably longer than five minutes. 

I would become enthralled by the albums.  Mesmerized, if you will.  I was not content until I had gone through each and every record in the rock and roll section.  Even the ones I already owned.  I loved rock music and I loved it loud.  I do believe my bedroom door probably has Daddy’s fist imprint in it to this day from his beating on it and hollering, “Turn that crap down!”  Ironically, I hardly ever listen to music now and never loudly because it gives me a headache. My sisters find this hysterical.  But music was my lifeblood at the time.

This being the case, I would always lose track of time and miss Mama arriving at the checkout.  Every week she would hunt me down and drag me away.  I would spend the entire ride home getting chewed out by her for my lack of consideration.  Every week I would vow to never do it again and beg for another chance, which, good sport that she was, she always gave me.  Finally, one day she had had enough.

I was once again engrossed in my search, dreaming of becoming a rock and roll idol myself one day.  Mama and my sisters were waiting but I wasn’t to be found.  Mama was friends with the lady that happened to be working the service desk that day.  She enlisted the old gal into her evil plans.  Completely immersed in my own little world, I suddenly hear over the loud speaker,

“Cara!  Cara honey, please come to the front.  Your Mommy is waiting for you."

I froze.  I looked around at the other shoppers in the area.  I knew a few of them.  I ignored the page.  Clearly they were talking about another Cara.  A minute or so later, I paid for my lack of response.

“Attention shoppers,” began the announcement, “we have a lost little girl in the store and her Mommy is waiting for her.  She’s 14 years old, about 5’3” tall with dark hair. She was last seen in the record department. Please help us look for her, her Mommy is desperate!”

I was surrounded my sniggering and my face was turning a bright crimson.  I dropped the record I was holding and stalked to the service desk mortified beyond reason.  When I approached I found my mother doubled over in laughter with her friend.  I, however, was not amused.

“How could you do that to me?!?” I demanded.

“You should have been ready when I was,” Mama snorted through laughter so strong she wiped away tears.

“Don’t you ever do that again!”  How I got away with saying that to my mother I still don’t know.

Mama laughed herself silly all the way to the car and all the way home.  She related the sorry of my humiliation to everyone she came in contact with for several days.  Being a beautician this meant a lot of people.  I, however, was always waiting for her at the checkout from that day forward.