A kid near me on the beach was making a racquet the other day. Yelps and screeches flooded the waterfront. Not a two year old. A ten year old! Some kids are like that. I call them screamers. You often run into them at the beach. Every splash yields a high-pitched scream. It’s worse when the tide’s coming in and a new wave rolls up every few seconds. Most kids play and laugh with each wave. Not a screamer. Every wave sends a screech across the shore. This kid’s mother and father were oblivious. Never a, “Stop that screaming!” or “If you scream one more time you’re going to sit on the towel for ten minutes!” Nothing! No consequences. Thus, a screamer was born and nurtured.
I happened to be fishing next to this one in the surf. He was screeching, so I said, “It sounds like you’re having a good time.” And, then shut my mouth. I wanted to say, “ Do you have to scream so loud; it bothers people. Your screech is like nails dragging across a blackboard.” Had I said that, he would have looked at me like I was crazy and yelled, “What’s a blackboard mister?” That’s because I’m in a foreign country – Modern America. It’s six decades removed from the land I grew up in. Each decade moves me 1,000 miles from shore. Right about now I estimate I’m someplace in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on a remote island. Populated with old coots like myself.
I went back to my fishing, shoved a pair of noise canceling ear buds into place and listened to an electronic version of ocean waves. When you’re in a foreign land, you have to adapt.
The screamer will never know what it’s like to stand at a blackboard in front of the class, writing, “I will not scream in class,” 50 times. He’ll never experience a spank to the bottom to teach him not to bolt into traffic. He’ll never be taught to unloosen a nut by turning it counterclockwise. There are no timepieces with hands that circle a clock face in his land.
The land where I grew up was a land of consequences. I’m not mad; I’m jealous. I spent too many hours staying in school long after the dismissal bell rang. And, too many days in the cloakroom while my classmates were enjoying recess on the playground. I wasn’t alone; my friends were absent from playtime as well. Woody was sitting at attention at his desk, Buzzy was in the corner facing the wall and Cady was doing solitary in the hall. All serving a sentence for violating one rule or another. There were multiple mechanisms for behavior modification. Solitary confinement was quite effective, as was missing out on recess. They both worked miracles.
What’s my point? I’m not sure. I just get irked when a screamer is allowed to run free while I had to do the time. But heck, that’s what it’s like to be a visitor in a foreign land.
Comments? Complaints? – mlessler7@gmail.com.
