The older I get, the more frequently I find myself doing things that, as a child, I promised myself that I would never do. Yesterday, as I battled the evening rush hour traffic, I disgustingly listened to the radio as I privately complained about how children nowadays don’t appreciate real music. Two days ago, as I was talking with a younger gentleman, I even found myself giving him pearls of wisdom that began with the infamous phrase, “Back in my day…” And to top it all off, I had to catch myself as I sat complaining to friends about how much different children are today than they were when we were growing up. But the ironic thing about all of this is I am not old. And then it finally hit me. As much as I professed to never follow this trend, I had officially done it. I had become, in many ways, just like my mother.

Growing up, we rarely appreciate the things that our parents do. The sacrifices that they make and the lessons that they teach us are often overshadowed by our own selfish desires. And each time we have a less than favorable experience with them, we quickly promise ourselves that we will never be like them, while looking forward to living in our own home and following our own rules. Not only that, but we then make vows to treat our children differently. “I want to give my children everything that I didn’t have,” many people say, often neglecting to give them the positive things that they did have, such as sound discipline.

This is a topic that I can definitely relate to because, as a child, it seemed that every time that I turned around either I was being disciplined or one of my brothers were feeling my mother’s heavy hand on their backside. Therefore, on several occasions, I made a promise to never discipline my child the way that my mother disciplined me. But as much as I hate to admit it, it wasn’t until I got much older that I began to appreciate the many whippings that my mother gave me.

Over the years, many people have marveled at my mother’s ability to single-handedly raise three successful young men. While I am in no way saying that what my mother did was an impossible feat, I clearly can acknowledge her success in defying the odds. Besides, how often do you see three positive young men come out of a poverty-stricken, single-parent household? My older brother has grown to be a minister, with a beautiful family, while my younger brother has become a well-respected radio personality and family man. Although some individuals may not want to acknowledge the significance of such an achievement, I clearly will.

For years, as if there were a magical formula, I witnessed people ask my mother for her thoughts on raising children. And for years, I watched her mumble and struggle to provide a sound answer. “Dee,” they began, often referring to her by her nickname. “How in the world did you manage to raise three successful men?” they would ask.

“I don’t know,” my mother would begin. “Prayer, I guess; and by staying involved in their lives. But most of all, I don’t play,” she would say offering a slight chuckle. It’s true. My mother was a praying woman and she was involved in our lives. But, like she often said, she didn’t play.

Throughout the community, my mother was known as a very strict disciplinarian. She was the only woman that I have known to have her own tree reserved for her at church. No, the tree was not a memorial. Known as “Mrs. King’s Tree”, it was merely used for her to take limbs, or “switches”, off and use them to whip us with. My mother didn’t care how old or how big we had gotten, as her forceful hand continued throughout our early and late teenage years. No matter what, she was determined to establish and enforce distinct lines between the roles of parent and child. While I am sure that many of the discipline sessions that I was a victim of crossed the line of abuse, my mother believed that it was her responsibility to maintain order within her household. “I am gonna beat you now, so the cops won’t have to do it later,” she would often say.

As each lash would go across my legs, my back, or whatever body part seemed to get in the way of her heavy hand, all I could think about was how I would never discipline my child in such a manner. But as I got older, I began to understand my mother’s disciplinary methods. I began to understand what she meant when she would begin to explain how disciplining me would be more painful to her. And although I still hate to admit it, I now understand what she meant when she would say that she is only “whipping” me because she loves me.

In recent conversations with my brothers, I realized that although my mother was a praying woman and she was very involved in our lives, there were three characteristics that she displayed that were critical in our development—love, consistency, and the consistency of her love.

First, I never witnessed my mother discipline either of us out of anger. It wasn’t until I began to discipline my own child that I realized the difficulty in such a task. But after she enforced the heavy hand of discipline, she always seemed to embrace us in a loving hug and verbally declare her love for us. Well after I had received my punishment, she would let me know that she was still proud of me and I was still a wonderful person. It was at those moments that I began to truly understand the value of unconditional love.

Second, my mother was consistent in her actions. She always did what she said that she would do. If she said that you were going to get in trouble, you got in trouble. She was very consistent in her actions. I am sure that there were times that my mother was tired. However, she was determined to adhere to the guidelines and parameters that she had established for her household.

And lastly, my mother’s love never stopped. Regardless of the many times that I seemed to disappoint her, she always loved me for the man that she knew that I would become.

When I look at the youth of today, I realize that they aren’t much different than we were when we were children. Sure, they may have a few more sociological and cultural variables to contend with. But initially, they are born with the exact same innocence that we were born with. What I have noticed is that in our attempts to give them what we didn’t have, we fail to provide them with the positive things that we did have. We’ve failed to provide them with true love, consistency, and consistency of our love. It’s true; Mrs. King didn’t play. But I now thank her for her love and consistency. Let me know your thoughts.

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