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The
Nature of Discipline
The Law of the Elephant's Trunk
By Richard and Linda Eyre
Allegory: There is a zoo less than a mile from our house. In fact, we tell visitors how to find our house
by saying, "Go up past the zoo." (When all our kids were still at home, we used to add, "Actually,
we're part of the zoo.")
The elephants were always a main attraction for our children
and their friends, who seemed endlessly entertained not only by
their size, but by that remarkable and unique arm/nose/hand/drinking
straw/trumpet/radar tower combination called a trunk.
Our own adult fascination with elephants and their trunks
didn't start until we were able to observe African elephants
at their home, on the Serengeti and Masai Mara in Kenya. There,
instead of the slow and clumsy and sleepy creatures in the zoo,
they were fast and agile and alert, holding their trunks high
to pick up scents, running through the tall grass at 30 miles
an hour and changing direction on a dime when something unexpected
appeared in their path.
When we were able to approach them slowly and cautiously,
from down wind, we got a whole new education; particularly on
how parent elephants use those amazing trunks with respect to
their baby elephants. The parent's trunk is a gentle shower for
baby's bath and a talcum duster to apply the fine African dust
afterward. It's a shrill trumpet of warning if the baby is stepping
out of line or into danger, and it's a stout rope blocking the
baby's passage toward somewhere the parent doesn't want him to
go.
With a little research, we later discovered that an elephant's
trunk is such a complex and intricate implement that it takes
about 50,000 separate muscles to control it. Automation engineers
and robotics experts have tried in vain to build a mechanical
arm with similar strength and dexterity. The trunk is surprisingly
tender and light of touch as the mother elephant caresses and
fondles her
baby, then remarkably strong as it effortlessly picks up and
throws aside a 500 pound log in its baby's path. It's hard to
imagine anything in nature that is so strong, so tender, so versatile,
and so flexible. If only
our love for our children could have all those same qualities.
Firmness and flexibility, strength and sensitivity, toughness
and tenderness, discipline and discretion, steel and sweetness,
restraint and release, intervention and independence.
Love without discipline can be dangerous and damaging. Love
that is unintelligently applied, that gives too many things the
children haven't earned, can spoil our kids, rob them of their
own initiative, and give them false perspectives about how the
world works. Picture a family where kids get everything they
wan; money whenever they ask, more clothes than they need, their own car when they're sixteen,
no household responsibilities, no discipline to speak of, parents
who bail them out whenever they get into trouble. It's not hard
to predict the effects of this kind of spoiling.
On the other end of the spectrum, parental love
that is too demanding and too harsh doesn't feel much like love
at all. Parents who try to express their love mostly
through unbendingly strict rules and overly demanding expectations
can suck the joy and tenderness out of family relationships. Picture
a family that is punishment-oriented, kids always being grounded,
rules for everything, early and inflexible curfews, children expected
to earn every dime of spending money, no help with college even
though the parents can afford it. Again, it's easy to predict some
of the results of too much toughness.
The Lesson of the Elephant's Trunk is the fine balance between
tough love and tender love. It's
about adopting the best aspects from both ends of the spectrum.
Kids do need discipline, schedules, clear expectations ,and family
responsibilities. But they also need tolerance and tenderness
and help with no strings attached.
Like the elephant's trunk, our love needs to caress them and
hug them every day.
Like the elephant's trunk, our love has to set clear limits
on where they can go and what they can do.
Like the elephant's trunk, our love must shower them with
approval and dust them with confidence, but it must also warn
them loudly and clearly of danger.
Like the elephant's trunk, our love should remove barriers
in their path but let them walk the path under their own power.
Like the elephant's trunk, our love must be versatile and
flexible, seeing children's needs and willing to be sometimes
tough and sometimes tender.
Another beautiful image of free African elephants is the baby's
first use of his own trunk; to reach up and hold the tail of
his mother so he can follow in her footsteps. Children learn
to use their trunks by the example of ours. If we want a child
to grow into an adult possessing both strength and sensitivity,
then we must be sure that our example, particularly in how we
treat that child, has the right balance of firmness and tenderness.
The two aren't like the opposite positions of a toggle switch.
We don't have to constantly choose between them and turn off
the tenderness whenever we turn on the toughness. They actually
enhance each other and can blend like searing hot and biting
cold combining into a comfortable warmth. Our toughness can
be tender as we explain why a rule must be obeyed or a responsibility
must be met. And our tenderness can be tough when we say, "That's
enough", and expect an adequately comforted child to get
over it and move on. It's
the firmness that allows us to be tender without spoiling children,
and it's the tenderness that allows us to be correctly disciplined
and demanding without discouraging them
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