Editor’s note: The following column is a revised version of a piece published by the Times Leader four years ago.
When I need to add special credibility to a threat, I find myself uttering phrases I last heard when I was 9 years old. These nuggets, routinely dropped like little hand grenades by my own parents, sputter from my lips unprompted and present themselves to my own children.
I’m fascinated that these remarks, which scared the crap out of an adolescent Maria, have no effect whatsoever on the Heck offspring. Nothing scares them. They feel invincible, truly unshakable by generational words of wisdom doled out by me.
When my own mother spoke these threatening phrases, my sister and I hid in the fireplace until the eyes in the back of her head disappeared. The anticipation was always worse than the reality, but that never made that six-hour wait any easier. Viva la difference! Fear was necessary, like vaccinations.
How about this oldie but goody: “Stop making that face or it’ll freeze like that.” This one never packs the punch I intend. My younger son, who is 19 and should know better, crosses his eyes to stare at the tip of his nose so aggressively, I believe myself that it will freeze like that. Then, I think, if it does freeze, he’ll never score a wife.
He doesn’t care. He figures a frozen face offers more bang for your buck at the Beer Olympics, and he’s all for it.
I’m guilty of spouting these archaic words: “Sure, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt!” With the natural follow-up of: “And when you get hurt, don’t come crying to me, mister.” Which is just a laugh, because to whom would they come crying, if not me?
When my one son knocked out his tooth during wrestling practice, spewing buckets of blood, it was me applying gauze and my husband sitting on the bleachers with his head between his knees taking deep breaths. They know who to come crying to, and it’s not Nancy.
And I’ve found that anything prefaced with the words: “When I was your age …” is always met with eye rolls and heavy sighs, ensuring an instant shut-down of attention, especially if the rest of the conversation is peppered with … “walked …” “school …” “barefoot …” “job when I was 10 …” “scrubbed sidewalks …” or “outhouse …”
How about: “Careful! You’ll lose an eye playing with that!” Please. My kids gave that scenario serious thought and decided an eye patch as an accessory is nothing but a perk to a kid in college.
I’ve learned that my kids invite the threatened disasters to befall them as I present catastrophic results. It intrigues them.
Perhaps it’s a good thing they’re so carefree and without worry. They won’t become anxiety-ridden adults like me, who still think their mothers did indeed have eyes in the back of their heads. I was never able to prove otherwise under all that teased hair and clouds of Aqua Net.
Now, here are some doctrines I know to be true, and I’ll happily pass them along — from generation to generation:
Running with scissors is asking for trouble. Running with a corkscrew just means mama needs help.
You know what causes blindness.
That’s right. Holding a sling-shot backwards. At the very least, you’ll totally put an eye out.
As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll play by my rules, so always wear clean underwear in case there’s an accident.
And: Your nose actually will grow if you tell a lie.
Just look at me.
