I’ve seen the commercials and the trailer for the new movie, “Dinner For Schmucks.” It looks very funny. But there’s been something bothering me since I first heard the title. I always thought the word “dumb” was a dirty word. At least that’s what my father told me in 1971 when he was about 12 years old. Turns out he was apparently pushing the definition envelope just to make a point and teach me a lesson. It must have worked.
Dad’s parenting tools back then were particularly advanced by today’s standards of child psychology and expert opinion. He relied efficiently on clear boundary setting, calm, and persuasive logic. Whatever our youthful transgressions, the worst punishment we received from him was usually a brief lecture that made you feel guilty as hell. He had an uncanny knack for choosing a few carefully worded sentences that would combine to evoke a feeling of shame and the realization that what you just did was simply wrong. He never resorted to hitting or spanking, or if he ever did, it was so rare that I don’t remember it. He really never had to use any physical force. His own method of discipline was much more effective. I can remember to this day the terrible feeling he got every time he let him down. That feeling was a powerful driver in developing my own incentive to do more good than harm.
As an example, I remember this particular incident in 1971 when I was about 12 years old. I was sitting in my family room with a friend watching TV when the phone rang. I picked it up only to find out that he was the recipient of a prank phone call. I was thrilled with my good fortune, and silently alerted my friend that we had a “live” one on the line. In the days before caller ID, the recreational hobby of making prank calls was quite common for ordinary teenagers of that time. The jokes were pretty boring, like calling the local deli to ask if they had “pig’s feet” and then insulting the answerer for having such a weird deformity; or annoyingly calling the same house three times to ask if a fictional “Hank” is home, only to call back pretending to be an angry Hank looking for messages. Such childish humor pales in comparison to today’s trash talk on X-Box Live or Facebook, but kids back then nonetheless prided themselves on successfully fooling their target. The only thing better than pulling a successful prank was breaking one, if you were lucky enough to intercept one. And now we were lucky. When the caller started his clever little setup, I was ready to jump.
“Hello,” the caller began, “this is Jack Hoff from WACK radio station.”
“Oh really?” I responded smugly. “Is that so?” Little did this prankster know that I was well acquainted with obvious pseudonyms like Jack Hoff and Dick Hertz. They were the mainstays of prank calls and substitute teacher sign-in sheets across America. All the children knew that. It was a dead giveaway from the start. Clearly this prankster was just a newbie or would have chosen a fancier pseudonym like Pat McGroin or Phil McCracken. I was already in on his crazy little plan.
“Yes, Mr. Rogers,” he continued, “and we wanted to let you know that you’ve won a million dollars.”
I thought it would be better to attack now before he got away. I cut him off with, “Guess what, dude. I know you’re full of shit. You really are a jerk.” I was starting to roll. “Why don’t you take your million dollars and shove it up your ass, idiot?”
Click.
“Oh, he hung up!” I told my friend. “But we caught it good!” And we both cracked up hysterically, proud of our accomplishment in turning this phone robber over. Unfortunately, our moment of contentment was abruptly interrupted by my dad’s voice coming from upstairs.
“Dougie, can I see you for a minute, son?”
My friend and I looked at each other with wide-eyed panic.
“Shit,” my friend said nervously. “Do you think your dad was listening on the phone upstairs?”
“I don’t know,” I replied just as anxiously. “I didn’t hear anyone else on the phone. Man, I hope not.” As I walked up the long flight of stairs and into my parents’ room, I saw my mom and dad sitting in their chairs watching TV. Between the two chairs was the lamp table with the pale blue rotary phone on it. My parents looked a little gloomy for this to be anything more than a “we got you” conversation.
“You know we hate foul language,” he began. Uh oh. i was hooked.
“I didn’t say anything wrong,” I instantly protested, simultaneously reaching into my short-term memory to remember if I did.
“Do you know what the word ‘fool’ means?” he continued. I paused and thought for a moment. I actually had no idea, now that I think about it. “It means ‘prick,'” he said calmly but firmly. “Do you know what ‘prick’ means?” Now that one knew.
“Yes,” I replied sheepishly.
“We are extremely surprised that you use such language,” he said, in a dry, guilt- and shame-covered manner. My knee-jerk reactions as a young teenager began to follow a familiar course. Now he was moving from the fear of getting caught to a more defensive stance, one in which the first human instinct is, of course, to lie. But clearly this wouldn’t have been a viable option since I’d already gotten the oldest parental spy trick in the book: listening on the upstairs phone. My next course was to explain my actions as not just defensible, but clearly justified under the circumstances. I tried to offer in my own defense that I wasn’t the one who started this prank call after all, this invasion of our beloved family privacy by a thug who was clearly aiming to humiliate and embarrass the Rogers clan with his outrageous antics. and antics. If anything, I should be applauded for my staunch defense of our family’s honor! And what’s more, in the name of ethics and morality, wasn’t I justified in my response to such an attack? Wasn’t this my own way of doling out fair justice; “an eye for an eye”, or “do unto others…”, so to speak?
If only I had a pocket dictionary handy at the time, I could have quickly discovered and offered that “prick” was really just a secondary definition for “fool”, while the primary origin of fool was a Yiddish term for “fool”. or “idiot.” But unfortunately, hindsight is 20/20. And despite it all, I don’t think Dad was prepared to accept any defense he might offer.
“Your mother and I are very disappointed in you, son. This is a real disappointment. We are surprised you would stoop to that.”
Oh. That hurt. There it was, the mother of all disciplinary methods in my father’s parenting arsenal. There was hardly a worse feeling in the world than the feeling of letting my parents down. They had done so over the years by increasing my respect for them through their good treatment of me. And there was no more effective weapon than Dad’s ability to turn the tables and use my own shame against me; to remind me that I am the one who should expect the best from myself. This was what Dale Carnegie in 1937 called “giving the other person a good reputation to live up to.” Carnegie understood human psychology better than most, and he knew that encouraging others to meet or exceed his own standards was a powerful motivational tool. My dad got it pretty well too.
Tail carefully tucked between my legs, I headed downstairs to join my friend. He had been anxiously awaiting my report on the result and he said, “What happened? Did he hear everything you said?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“He hit you?”
“I did not answer.
“Oh,” my friend said with quiet understanding, “it just made you feel bad, right?”
“Yeah.”
He had been around our house enough times to know how my father operated. And he must have recognized the contrast with the way his own father handled things, which too often included an angry punch to the back or face. Even my friend seemed to have a moment of appreciation that this unique approach to discipline was quite effective. That’s probably why, although he felt bad for me, maybe he was a little envious too.
In the mid-1900s, social scientist BF Skinner demonstrated that the use of positive reinforcement (i.e., rewarding good behavior) and negative reinforcement (i.e., removing rewards until good behavior was achieved) was most effective in influencing behavior. than pure punishment. My dad also showed it that day. Instead of punishing me, he seeks negative reinforcement by temporarily taking away something I truly value; his good opinion of me. It was hard to give that up, even for a few minutes. And I certainly didn’t call anyone an idiot for a while.
