Soap Day

 I did not like to stay at my grandmother's house for long periods of time. It was ok for short visits but all day was a challenge.  She lived in the city. And in my mind there was not much that young eight-year-old boy could do in the city. I was accustomed to roaming the country side where we lived in the rural part of Smith County, Texas.

 So when Mother had to arrange for me to stay at my grandmother's house for this particular day, I did not like it.  But children of the 1950s, had very little input into decisions, and parents were always right. We were taught to never question teachers, policemen, or anyone in authority, especially face to face. The only saving grace that I would have on this day at Nana’s house was my cousin Steve. He was coming, too.

Steve was about two years older than me and he didn't like to come to the city any more than I did. He was the son of George and Opal Massey. George was the older brother of my father.

I don’t remember much about that day. I am sure we were bored and had a hard time finding something to occupy our time. But we did embark on an adventure of climbing a tree located near the house and getting on the roof. It was exciting until Nana came out of the house and instructed us to come down. We did not want to come down and began to somewhat back-talk her. She proceeded to admonish us to come down right now only to receive the same results.

After awhile we decided to come down and began playing with something else.  Little did we know that Nana had called our mothers.

Steve’s mother, Opal, gave him a verbal correction for his action on the roof and for talking disrespectfully to his grandmother. My mother on the other hand took a different approach. 

After working all day my mom finally arrived to pick me up. I was obviously ready to go home. But Mother had a different plan before we left. In her calm demeanor she took me into the bathroom of Nana’s house and proceeded to wash my mouth out with soap. Her message was very clear--always show respect to older people. 

I was taught to respect authority whether at home or at school. For me it was yes sir and no sir and yes ma'am and no ma'am. That was true for most children of the 1950s. 

My mother was the disciplinarian of our home. Over sixty years later I found out that she did the same thing to my sister, Debra. While sitting on the back porch at a family gathering, I told this story of what happened to me. She indicated that was interesting, because she too got her mouth washed out with soap by our mom.

But, let me say this about my mother: she always disciplined me with dignity. I never remember her attacking my character, only my behavior. As I reflect upon this story, I wonder if she ever got her mouth washed out with soap?