“How’d you do?” my friend Josie whispers.
“Good!” I whisper back.
Our fourth grade teacher, Miss Morgan, has just handed out our report cards for the first quarter. We have to take them home and have our parents sign them. They’re in small manilla envelopes with four signature lines on the outside, one for each quarter. Miss Morgan reminds us that our report cards are private and we are not to show them to our friends.
The bell rings and she dismisses us. Josie and I get our jackets out of our lockers, then head for the busses. When we get to the curb, the busses are there, but the drivers haven’t opened the doors yet. So we pull our report cards out of their envelopes and exchange them.
“Wow!” says Josie, “you’re going to get a lot of dollars!”
“Dollars?” I ask, feeling confused, “What do you mean?”
“My dad gives me a dollar for every A I get. I got two this time, so I’ll get two dollars. But you got four! You’ll get four dollars! Lucky!”
The doors of the busses open, so we quickly hand back each other’s report cards, wave goodbye, and head for our respective lines. During the ride home and then the walk to my house from the bus stop, I think about what Josie said. My father has never given me a dollar for an A. I didn’t even know this was a possibility. Would he give me a dollar for each A if I asked him? I approach him after dinner that evening.
“Dad, I got my report card. I need you to sign it.” I hand him the envelope and a pen.
He pulls the report card out and looks it over. I expect him to say “Wow!” like Josie did. I have straight A’s in every subject except Science, where I have a B plus. But instead he says:
“What’s this B plus here?” The question hurts and I feel tears stinging. But I plunge ahead:
“My friend Josie’s dad gives her a dollar for every A she gets on her report card.”
My father gives me a stern look. “Are you saying you think I should pay you to do well? Don’t you think you should do your best because that’s the right thing to do? Hard work is its own reward.”
Now I feel stupid as well as hurt. I should have known that my father would react this way. I should never have mentioned Josie’s dollars. I mumble a response and my father puts my report card back in its envelope. He signs the outside and hands it to me.
“I’d like to see you do better in Science next quarter,” he says.
This makes me so angry at parenting styles that are not humane. Argh! Thanks for sharing.
Lori, thanks for reading. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks this parenting style was inhumane.
What Lori said. The fact that your dad may well have learned that style by being treated that way himself, doesn’t soften the impact. Ouch!
I actually don’t know if my father was parented this way or not. If he was, I wish it had made him determined to do it differently when he became a parent himself. I tried as hard as I could not to imitate him with my own kids.