The Mean Fathers Club

    “Dad, can I have some gum?” Laura, my 9-year-old daughter, asked. 

    I considered her request. Although we were hurrying through the store, we weren’t on an urgent quest during our back-to-school shopping trip. I loved indulging my children, but I didn’t want to spoil them either. I looked at the long checkout lines with something close to active dislike and made a decision. 

    “Not this time,” I answered. 

    “Why not?” she demanded, ready for a confrontation. Her back straightened with determination and her chin jutted as she spoke. I recognized the signs that she was ready to assert herself and I wasn’t anxious to have a dispute in public. I am the Daddy, however, and I refuse to be ruled by the whims of a petulant child. 

    “Because I’ll lose my membership in the Mean Fathers Club,” I answered lightly. 

    I don’t know why those words came out of my mouth. They could have been gleaned from a long forgotten passage that I had read at some time. They could have sprung from my own wit. They could have even been Providentially inspired. Whatever the reason, I spoke them as I looked at my daughter. 

    “Oh,” Laura replied, surprised that I had a seemingly valid answer. Her posture softened and a puzzled look appeared on her face while she considered my answer. I had no further problems with her for the rest of the trip. 

    Although I didn’t show it, her reaction startled me. Why did my answer defuse this powder keg before it ignited? I remembered asking my parents when I was young why they denied my perfectly reasonable requests. More often than not, the answer was a snapped, “Because I said so.” Now, I understand their motives. They were being good parents, trying not to spoil the children they loved. At that time, though, I hated that phrase, not because of the parental power that it implied or my own powerlessness that it emphasized. I hated that answer because it was just so unsatisfying. Apparently, Laura felt the same way and wanted a reason, any reason, for the denial of her request. Laura didn’t know of my membership in any club, especially a mean fathers club, but she accepted my words at face value, content that I did have an actual reason. 

    I made a mental note of the effectiveness of this technique and it quickly became a staple in my Father Toolbox, where it remained bright and shiny from repeated use. 

    Some 20 years later, I walked with Laura and Isa, Laura’s daughter, on another back-to-school shopping trip. Isa looked at the checkout lanes with their temptations prominently displayed. 

    “Mom, can I have some gum?” Isa asked, looking up at her mother. 

    Laura considered the request. 

    “Not this time,” she answered. 

    “Why not?” Isa demanded. 

    “Because I’ll lose my membership in the Mean Mommy’s Club,” answered Laura. 

    Isa, satisfied with the answer, walked meekly between us as Laura and I exchanged glances and began to chuckle.

Bill Bartlett lives in Belton with his wife and has five children, five grandchildren and a sixth on the way.