Free French Twist by Catherine Crawford Page B

respect.
    I will admit, this is sometimes accomplished in France through a little technique called corporal punishment. It is not uncommon over there to see a child receive a smack for acting up. Not all French parents spank their kids, of course. In fact, of all the folks I interviewed formally, only two admitted to ever thwacking their children to keep them in line, and both claimed it was a onetime thing. However, the eyes do not deceive. I saw kids in France thumped (never too hard, by the way) on the metro, on a merry-go-round, on the streets, in stores … you name it. For the record, this is one instance where I disagree with the French style. Not only does hitting take terror too far, but it is also a bad policy for other reasons in this country. Spanking is taboo in the States, and any kid who gets a swat is going to feel really, really, really bad about it. They will likely believe their parent had to resort to
that
because they are so beyond redemption. In France, it’s normal enough not to carry the same psychological weight. American kids are practically born with the number to Child Protective Services imprinted on their fontanels. Corporal punishment is just not cool. Command respect with your voice and attitude, but leave the paddle overseas,
s’il vous plaît
.
    Now, back to Daphne’s progress under the tutelage of my French pals. Did I mention the size of the ditch we had to dig ourselves out of? I’ve a hunch that the tips mentioned earlier for avoiding tantrums are a great deal easier when applied to a subject who has not grown accustomed to daily conniptions through years of practice. In other words, Daphne is a tough case. Again, I would like to suggest to anyone with very small children: Get French sooner rather than later! For the rest of us, I am happy to report that, although it’s been no cakewalk, we are on the mend. For the past two months I’ve been nothing but French with Daphne—the days of wimpy Tic Tac corrections are over. I wanted to do this right, but I also wanted to avoid humiliation, so I timed the beginning of tantrum boot camp with the beginning of summer, when many of our friends and neighbors would be out of town and thus not around to witness the inevitable carnage. The most difficult yet also rewarding concept has been teaching my daughter to wait. I see her little body trembling, wanting so badly to erupt. These days, as often as not, there is no detonation—which is indeed major progress for all concerned. I’ve found it so effective in diminishing freak-outs that sometimes I’ll have my kids wait just to bulk up their waiting muscles. Where a year ago I might have thought this sounded cruel and unnecessary, now I truly believe that it’s good for them.
    In these parts, helicopter parents are being replaced with lawn-mower parents (look it up, it’s a real condition), equally at the ready to remove any impediment to theirchild’s joy. Sadly, their omnipresence is an obstacle in itself, as we’ll see a bit later.
    Just as my kids do with their dinners—miserably swallowing down every last green bean before getting to the grilled cheese and frozen mango—here I’ve saved my best discoveries for last. Recall that my introduction to the world of French parenting was the adage “If there is no blood, don’t get up.” When I first heard it I thought it was funny, and at the time I was thrilled because I really didn’t want to leave
my
friends and attend to Daphne’s demands for me. Now, as I get deeper into the mind of a French parent, I see that there is much more to it. Teaching children to be proficient in waiting is good for everyone—even the neighbors, especially the ones who live near the elevator.
    I have had many talks with my girls recently about the new, unbreakable quality of my rules as well. For instance, crying when an Internet connection is lost, and with it the show in progress, now results in the computer being put away. It was hard on all of