OK, I suck at negative reinforcement. I think it's impossible to come up with a set of fair, consistent punishments for three completely different kids. Throw in the fact that they live in two households with two sets of rules and one might wonder why my children aren't complete criminals. Plus, I'm not good at the enforcer stuff, you know, the constantly grounding my kids and taking privileges away. I'm much better at the gentle nudging stuff.
And with the girls, I really don't have to be an enforcer. Natural consequences work with them. Sure, they need a little pressure to get things done. But they do it. With Clarke, it seems like I need a cattle prod to motivate him.
The latest battle on the homefront is getting Clarke to mow the lawn. This is his job. And he has no excuses for not doing it. This is the first summer that I haven't forced him into day camp. His sisters have both opted for busy schedules of camps and classes. They fit their chores in where they can. And because they are pretty busy, I cut them some slack. My boy child, on the other hand, refused to do any camps this summer (except for a one-week sleep-away camp.) On most days he is completely idle, except for playing with his friends, playing video games and watching TV. The pointlessness of all this drives me insane.
So every day, I give him one or two chores to complete. And every night we battle, either because he has completely forgotten, or he's done a crappy job.
At 8 a.m. as I'm walking out the door I wake him up. I tell him to call me when he is out of bed. I write him a note too.
At 9 a.m. he calls me. "Mow the grass. Do it before it rains," I say. "OK," he says.
At 1:30 p.m. I call him to check in. "How did it go? Did you get the mower started?" I ask. "I was just about to do it," he says.
At 5:30 p.m. I come home. The grass has not been mowed. "What happened?" I ask. "I forgot," he says.
By now I am trying not to explode. I tell him there will be nothing electronic, no TV, computer or video games, until the grass is mowed. "OK, OK," he says. "I'll do it." And he picks up his guitar and starts to practice, knowing full well that this will not irritate me as much as doing nothing.
And then, I try to keep my mouth shut. But I just can't. Storm clouds are gathering both literally and figuratively. "Why don't you follow through on your word?" I ask. Going through my mind are all the statistics on our nation of slacker boys. They graduate from high school at a much lower rate than girls.
Fewer boys get college degrees.
The latest trend story on the feature pages is all about how young professional women are having a hard time finding guys to date, because the girls make more money than the boys.
We have talked about this, a lot. I tell him how hard it is to find college guys who can keep up with the girls for our summer fellowship program. I assure him that he will move out of this house when he grows up and support himself. And I try to explain the connection between this long-term goal of growing up and being a responsible adult making a meaningful contribution to this world and having the self-discipline today to turn off the damn computer and mow the lawn.
Finally, he starts the work, not because he buys my argument; but because I have worn him out. But he needs help figuring out the gas can. And then the mower binds up because some of our weeds have grown so high. He is about to finish, when I remind him to do the side of the house, which means he must push the mower out to the sidewalk and around to the alley in the back.
About this time, I get a little reinforcement from God himself. That's right. Rain had been threatening all afternoon. The first few drops fell as he was plowing through the swath of knee-high grass along side the house that he has failed to mow for a month. As he finishes, a deluge begins. Clarke tries to dash through the back gate, but the mower won't fit. He has to walk it all the way around to the front gate. Every step he takes, the rain falls harder.
As he pushes the mower through the front yard, he catches me looking at him out the kitchen window. His hunched shoulders tell me he is pissed off. The sheepish look on his face tells me he knows I have divine reinforcement.
He puts the mower in the shed. He comes inside and I ask if he put the gas can away. Without a word, he reverses and goes back out. When he comes back in, he strips down to his boxers and goes up to his room.
I am reminded that I cannot make this boy into a man on my own. I'm going to need a lot of help. And I don't know where it's going to come from. Certainly there will be assistance from neighbors and friends and coaches and teachers.
As Clarke turns on the shower I whisper a little prayer. "Thanks," I say. "I forgot you were in this with me."