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A SPECIAL PROBLEM
by Kathleen Post
TV Radio Mirror
November 1966
"Willie and little Robert naturally don't like discipline any more than my husband and I like applying it. But a good home is not merely a palace of pleasure. Children like knowing their parents love them enough and care enough to reward their good deeds and punish their bad ones. I never regretted that the rod wasn't spared by either my mom or dad."
In the home of the Robert Montgomerys, a mulberry bush twig was always near at hand, though seldom actually used. "But when my brother or I strayed from the path of harmless fun into a more dangerous course--dangerous for our future--we weren't spared the twig across the legs and backside. This attitude is especially necessary with boys, who are inclined to get defiant or rebellious toward rules.
"I remember," she says, "when my second boy, Robert Deverell, was born, one of my friends muttered darkly, 'Be prepared, Liz--double trouble is on the way.' When I mentioned this to Bill, he said quietly 'Well, darling, it's only natural to suspect that Willie (then 13 months old) may get jealous and resentful at the attention you'll have to divide. Up to now he's been the kingpin. We'll have to be fiendishly clever to avoid this and deal with it if it happens.'"
Until Robert's arrival, Willie had been the only baby in the Asher family. Aside from Mommy, Daddy, Brycie, his nurse, and Juliette, the housekeeper, there were Lee Ann and Brian, his half-sister and half-brother, who visited weekends and did their share to spoil him. He probably imagined he was the one and only baby in the world. But now his eminence was gone. A new baby had arrived to the usual fanfare of "ooohs" and "ahhhs."
As it happened, perhaps because Willie was still so young, no serious problems arose. Willie adapted nicely to the presence of the young one who had moved into his territory. Others of the household, however, did not take so kindly to the new addition. Within weeks, Sherlock, the Ashers' English bull-terrier pup, left without so much as a growl of farewell. A couple of months later, Zip-Zip, the Siamese cat vaished. Willie took Zip-Zip's departure particularly hard. "I wan' Zip," he cried. Fortunately, all ended well. A neighbor's Siamese cat sidled in to replace Zip-Zip. Willie immediatley sensed that this was not his pet. "Where Zip?" he screamed. Liz suggested to little Willie that this new cat was really Zip's friend and that Zip had probably asked the unfamiliar kitty to come live with Willie while he was away. Soon he was playing with the new cat, which he named "Friend."
Liz in her early years was not exactly a good-goody little girl. She had plenty of tomboy in her. But, being a girl, she was less trouble to her parents than her brother. "I have a very fine idea of the problems that come with boys," she declares confidently. "I can recall when my brother was about eight he defied my mother, and she was not about to let him get away with it. The disagreement turned into a knock-down drag-out fight with Brother screaming, 'I hate you...I hate you!' My mother was a tiny woman but poised in the heat of battle. She said quite calmly, 'I'm sorry if you hate me, especially because I still love you...but I make the rules here with the help of your father. And that's how it has to be!' When she reported the incident to Dad, he kissed her and said, 'You had to win that one.'"
This was the memory that came to mind when Liz was considering how to deal with Wilie should he begin to show signs of jealousy or frustration over his baby brother. "I told myself that I, too, would have to grit my teeth and do as my mother did, use every stratagem and ounce of determination within me to win the discipline battle. I was aware that if I couldn't handle the 'double trouble' I'd given birth to, now when they were small and their characters as yet not formed, I'd never get the job done when they were older, bigger and set in their habits. I'd like this to be clearly understood. I'm not saying that such problems spoil the pleasure we all take in our young ones. Parents must face it. Children come to us full of potential problems. Yet it's a joy to handle them firmly and well and be able to watch them grow into responsible and decent adults.
If that doesn't work--!
"If my spankings, or cutting down on privileges, can't shape up my boys, there is always the head and mainstay of our family, the top authority, our beloved husband and father, Bill Asher. A patient and tolerant man, Bill is still a director who can subdue any rebellious or temperamental actor with a frown. He has the same effect on Willie and Robert. I don't mind saying I myself quake a bit when I see that frown of his. Not that he's ever spoken or acted harshly to me. But, like the children, I can sense in his frown an appraisal of our behavior that is not altogether flattering..."
One of the questions raised by certain friends of the Ashers came to this: Was it wise for Liz to go through two pregnancies in two years? Bill and Liz had talked it over, as they do most things. "We both agreed it would be an advantage for our children to be close enough in age that they could be playmates and share friendship as well as kinship," Liz explains.
"It's my view," Bill says in thoughtful tones, "that when the mother is away a good part of the time, this can be an important factor in the happy childhood of children. They have each other. Our children are very lucky in having a marvelous nanny who is extrememly responsive to their needs wiithout letting them get spoiled. We also figured that, with regard to the problem of spoiling, two brothers of a close age might be able to avoid this ailment of so many modern youngsters. We don't intend to let our boys have everything their eyes see. Spoiled kids make spoiled adults. And we're having none of that."
Do the Ashers mean to limit their family to the two boys? Bill's answer, firmly baked by Liz, is "Yes. At least for the next three or four years. After that, we'll see." Liz smiles contemplatively, "It would be nice to have a little girl. It's true, I suppose, that girls present special problems in upbringing. I know raising me was no picnic for my parents."
Liz grins. "When my brother Skip, was allowed to cross the street by himself, I demanded of my mother 'Why can't I do it, too?' She said, 'Well, don't forget Skip is a boy.' That seemed to me most discriminatory. But I kept my mouth shut. I knew Mom did not make her decisions lightly and, once made, she stuck to them. Without discussion. Of course, once I reached my teens, she'd sit down and talk such things over, explaining why she had come to certain judgments, and she would listen carefully to my arguments on why I deserved fewer restraints."
More dash for the boys!
Liz is quick to state that, in the words of "Flower Drum Song," she "enjoys being a girl." And always did. That is, she did up to the time she went to see her first soap-box derby. "When I saw those boys flying down the hill like young eagles swooping toward their prey, I realized that I had missed a lot being a girl." She hopes that her boys will make the most of their opportunity, and live with a dash and daring that is the special province of the male.
The Ashers feel that one of the most profound tests of intelligent parenthood is the encouragement of individuality in children. "Kids are often copy-cats," smiles Bill, "and there is a tendency to choose the easy road of conformity. Liz and I prefer originality in people. We do all we can to foster in our boys a wish to think for themselves. It's not that we want them to grow into way-out specimens such as we observe nowadays on Sunset Strip. There must be a good middle road that allows a kid to stand out from the mob without the sacrifice of traditions and tested values. Both are needed to make up a well-rounded personality. This does not mean that Liz and I want our children to be squares. Not at all. They should be part of their generation as we were part of ours. But common sense is always a good measuring rod for any new trend."
Taking this as a jumping-off point for her views of the developing individuality of Willie and Robert, Liz points out: "Willie will be going to nursery school next spring, and he will be making friends among children his own age. He needs this type of companionship, if only for the competition it will prvide. Robert will then have the house to himself, and while he may consider himself the 'big boss' for a day or two, I'm certain he will soon be missing his brother. It would be wrong to hold Willie back so that Robert can start school at the same time. And his absence for a few hours each day will sharpen Robert's appreciation of his brother. I do believe this will contribute some of their future friendship. But to force this relationship on either of them would be a terrible blunder."
Liz does not approve of dressing brothers alike, or for that matter, sisters, either. She asserts, "Little people have mighty big egos. They want to be noticed for themselves and even if they cant' put it into words, they object to being mere carbon copies. Bearing this in mind, we can go back for a minute to the topic of fostering individuality. Bill and I try whenever it is convenient and not too obvious to do this with our children. In the first place, Willie already is quite different from Robert.
"Both were born with a faculty for seeing things in their own style, and their likes and dislikes tend to be very personal. I think I'd have to be blind not to realize this. They are different. They want to be different. They love each other dearly but neither has any wish to be like the other or, for that matter, like their dad or mother. When I tell Bill about this, he only shrugs and says, 'Well, they're alike in one thing--they laugh a lot, which means they're both happy with the status quo." I'm compelled to agree."
Willie and Robert have their own rooms. The Ashers, foreseeing this necessity, chose a house large enough for several children. There is also a spacious backyard and a swimming pool. Willie has already been taught to swim and Robert is now in the stage of learning his first strokes. He loves the water, never seems to tire of it, and cries to heaven when taken out. Liz plays no favorites between the children, nor does Bill. On the other hand, Liz hasa theory that it is impossible not to favor one child over another at certain moments. "It's only natural," she insists, "if a child does something especially cute you're bound to think him divine. Tomorrow, the other may say something particularly smart, and he's the apple of your eye. The important thing is that, generally speaking, both children feel enveloped in a love that is secure but never smothering."
When parents rear their children as individualists, the best-laid rules of discipline are likely to go astray. Having inspired Wilie to do some thinking on his own, Liz and Bill soon discovered that the threat of punishment often misfires. Willie is a stubborn boy, currently passing through what mothers refer to as "the 'no' stage." Liz will say "Come here, darling." The answer will come fast and firm, "No!" Recently, Willie grabbed a toy out of his brother's hand. Robert set up a howl. Liz looked Willie squarely in the eyes and said, "Give that right back." Said Willie "No!" Liz stepped toward him and there was something in her manner that convinced the youngster he'd better change No into Yes. "If I'd let him get away with that sort of cutting-up, he'd be encouraged to try it on other kids at school. And they'd treat this presumption a lot more harshly than I did," she laughs, though her eyes remain serious.
Brotherly rivalry
Another problem is how to teach the boys to share. Ordinarily, Willie is generous, and so is Robert, but the younger child is more given to snatching anything that catches his fancy. Lump-lump (one of Liz's pet names for Robert) wathes his brother closely, his brown eyes fixed in his pixie face. "I can almost read his mind," says Liz. "He's thinking, Boy, a few months more and I'll let him have it, pow, in the kisser. I can believe it, too. Even now he's so chubby that he could almost squash Willie if he sat on him, and he is showing every indication of growing into a huge man." The answer? Love, affection, and restraint, declares Liz. Willie, being older, is enjoying a lion's share of his parents' time. He's learning to play tennis with them and Liz often takes him along when she goes shopping. His older half-sister and half-brother also teach him games since he can understand them while Robert is still too babyish for such activities.
As the enthralling star of the popular TV series, Bewitched, Liz is often teased about her supernatural powers. Thus, friends wave away her occasional reference to the problems of giving children a good, healthy and proper headstart in life, "You've got a cinch, Liz" they chuckle. "All it takes for you to get obedience from your boys is a twitch of the nose." At first Liz was inclined to resent this frivolous attitude toward her troubles as a new and inexperienced mother. "But you know," she confesses now, "I got so used to hearing that old gag about witchery that I have come to believe it. So when Wilie has been bad, or Robert sick, If ind myself twitching my nose and ordering whatever is wrong to disappear.
"Once Bill came in and caught me at it. He let out a groan. 'Oh, no!' he said, 'you're not casting spells on our poor defenseless kids. Next you'll be doing that to me.' I looked at him and gave him my most mysterious smile. 'I already did," I said. And that was the simple truth. What woman doesn't use all the charms at her command to win the man she loves?"