Free French Twist by Catherine Crawford Page A

parent—to temper her criticisms. Lately her favored response is, “Excuse me. You left something on the floor. I’ll pick it up if you won’t.” It still seems a little cheeky to me—but she’s right, people shouldn’t litter.
    With all this theoretical respect flying around for other grown-ups, it was time that Mac and I got in on the actionas well. Being treated like a servant and a doormat had become very tiresome. In our brave new Frenchified world, Oona and Daphne are sent to their room if they criticize Mac or me. Same goes if they denounce something we have done for them—like prepared a dish that is not to their liking or combed their hair in a detestable (in their estimation) manner. They can express an aversion—as they both did for tonight’s chicken and dumplings—but it must be done with courtesy. In the place of previous reactions like “This is gross! I won’t eat it!” I hear more civil rejections, such as, “I’m sorry. I tasted it and I really don’t like it.” Tonight, Oona even threw in, “Poor Mommy. You worked so hard.…” Is Eddie Haskell from a French family?
    French parents are also very creative in their insistence on good manners. To a child who dared slouch at the table, I heard one French mother explain, via severe snap, “You act as though you don’t appreciate your vertebral column. You are not a worm—don’t sit like one, or your bones will soften and you will have to slide your way around town.” They are firm in their ways, but not without humor.
    Being a chief with unbendable rules helps enormously with getting kids to behave, and there is another thing that I’ve learned from my international pals: More stuff is not the answer. I’d fallen into a habit with my own kids that involved
a lot
of rewards. Somewhere I had read something about always focusing on the positive and not constantly pointing out bad behavior. Quaint in theory, but kids are smart and, in practice, I had put a huge target onmyself that read, “Manipulate me.” We got to the point where my girls thought that if they made it through a long subway ride or a dinner out without causing some sort of havoc, they were entitled to a prize. I’ll never forget when Oona and Daphne sat through
Horton Hears a Who!
(a KIDS’ MOVIE—not my first choice, if you catch my drift) and asked me what they could pick out for being so good in the theater. This was one of those pivotal moments when I knew things had to change.
    In France, the children are civil because they have been taught, from the earliest age, that this is the only option. It’s so refreshing to be with French families, wherein children can come into a room of conversing adults and not have to disrupt the scene. They often just sit down and listen. If they have something to contribute, they do, but most often with respect for the communal conversation. In the few instances I have witnessed children trying to stir things up and demand attention without a worthy contribution, they either have been told to leave the room (and they did) or they were simply picked up and removed. Each time, the parent returned moments later as if nothing had happened. No long negotiations on the other side of the curtain. No excuses or apologies upon reentry. Just back to the business of hanging out. But where did the offending child go? Usually to their bedroom, although I’ve seen kids put in a bathroom, a small closet, and, of course,
le coin
(the corner) for such outbursts. French parents manage to cultivate a healthy dose of fear in their children, which I am sure is why I never once saw a French kid go bananaswhen sent away for acting inappropriately. Not long ago, you could not have convinced me that any amount of fear instilled in children by their parents could be healthy, but that was then. I am not advocating that we want kids who tremble in our wakes, but a little bit of consternation is not just a good thing, it’s necessary to achieving