We have all heard the expression that begins “from the mouths of babes,” which comes from a reference to Psalm 8:2. Children’s honesty and insight often astound us as parents or whenever we work with children. I did my share of boring my family members with the cute bits of wisdom that came from the mouths of my children. Then my grandchildren said the cutest things imaginable. My great-grandchildren now keep us entertained. Our four-year old great grand twins recently kept us laughing with their use of the word annoy.
A friend recently told a comment from a preschooler. The lady is an active 85 year old who continues to work with children in church. She said that for her, the worst part of getting older has been the inability to get up from the floor. She likes to be on eye level with her young learners. She sits on a small chair near a table and uses the table for support to get up. She said one Sunday she was standing and looking down at the little ones as she talked. She felt a tug on her skirt. She looked down into the face of a wee, little girl, who looked up at her and very seriously told her, “Mrs. D, if you want to sit down, I will help you get up.”
As I look back through the years, I am more apt to remember the problem speech of the school children with whom I worked. I have already written about the kindergartener who cussed in Spanish and called me “diablo.”
Unacceptable language was not a problem during my early career. It increased in prevalence as time passed. By the time I retired, students knew that I would not tolerate bad language in my classroom or later in my counseling office.
I did classroom presentations on how name calling and taunting could hurt. I often wished the shield I learned as a child worked: “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words cannot hurt me.” Unfortunately, it is not true. Physical wounds heal, but emotional scars may last a lifetime. I spent much time dealing with emotional hurts caused by words. These hurts happened at all grade levels. I was on the high school campus only two days each week. Almost weekly a girl would come up to me and say, “Miss*, I need to talk to you. Anonymous called me the “B” word.” For some of the students, that was the way to express anger toward a girl. I was also increasingly frustrated with the language in the hallways between classes, especially the use of the “F” word.
On a positive note, I had occasion to visit Stephenville High School several times in 2003. It was a pleasant surprise when I did not hear any bad language in the hallways. I hope that it has not changed.
When I wrote the story of our dog, Butch, in 1972, I referred to him as an ugly dog. The little dog stopped more than one stranger in their tracks as they looked at him. The invariable comment was, “I do believe that is the ugliest dog I have ever seen.” When I decided to dust off the story and self -publish it in 2013, I used a kinder description, and he became Butch, the one of a kind dog. The story illustrates how words can hurt. I have read it to kindergarten and first grade classes in this area. The children grasp the point immediately. Far too many of them have been on the receiving end of unkind words.
I only had one experience with negative language directed to me from a parent. It was from the step-father of a fifth grade girl whose bad behavior had increased over several weeks. My telephone rang one afternoon after school. I answered the call and immediately the man began cussing me out without mincing words. I was shocked and speechless for a few minutes. When he finally took a breath, I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about. He started profanely explaining. I finally managed to stop him long enough to tell him that I had not seen the girl that day. There was a silence. He then asked, “Is this Mrs. Principal.” I told him, “No.” There was again silence after I told him who I was. He began to apologize. He was exploding at the wrong woman. It seems the secretary in the office had punched the wrong extension. I decided that I would immediately hang up if this ever happened again. It did n
It would be a happier world if everyone followed the advice to engage the brain before engaging the tongue.
*Calling me Miss was easier than saying Mrs. Standifer. I often felt that Miss was my name.