Emily

Chandler, Arizona

A little Angel in the desert.

"Emily! Where are you?". The voice coming from fifty feet to my right is addressing the little three-year-old that’s snuggled up to me on my left. I’m sitting in one of those chairs that unfolds out of a canvas bag and I’m reading a book while watching my three nephews fish. No sooner had I sat down with my book and a pencil to underline with when this little brown eyed bundle of "no fear" came running up to me. She was as cute as they get. The big brown eyes were smiling as if to say, "I’m going to be your friend whether you like it or not." Of course we all know I’ve got plenty of friends and there’s no way those brown eyes were addressing me. Okay, maybe a little. I can always use another friend.

I had agreed to join my youngest sister’s three boys, ages nine through fourteen, for an afternoon of catching fish with frozen corn, hooks, bobbers, and lots of missed chances. The sun was bright and a nice breeze was keeping me comfortable as we commenced to conquering this small pond in Chandler, a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona. I just returned from a week long stay there.

Book or no book, nephews or not, I was just glad to be away from the fifty-five percent chance of cloud cover that I live with three hundred sixty-five days a year in Minnesota. Phoenix on the other hand offers an eighty to eighty-five percent chance for sunshine all year long. The down side? I’m sitting in the middle of a desert. If it isn’t brown that I’m seeing, then it’s tan, beige, or darker brown. Not really my cup of green tea but I love the sun. Of course the golf courses get my attention but during the winter months you’ve got to own a lot of green in order to afford a round. I could only afford to go once.

Emily has helped herself to my pencil and is now drawing chicken scratch all over my latest good read, FREAKONOMICS, a book that is currently on the New York Times best sellers list. This little brown-eyed ray of sunshine, scribbling in my book, had mischief written all over her face that would no doubt make it tough on even the most seasoned father to inflict discipline for the gravest of sins. She was just too cute.

Suddenly I hear what is often heard from a parent that is expecting their child to come running after they call them. The number one rings out just after the name Emily is spoken for the second time in my direction. Instantly this little vivacious angel hands me my pencil and makes a dash for daddy. I was impressed. There was no two, three, or four heard after the number one had rang out. It was instant and understood by the brown-eyed sweet pea that she was to answer her daddy’s call and respond with obedience.

I immediately addressed my nephews with a question. "Did you guys see that? Did you see how quickly that little girl scampered after her dad began the usual counting to three but only got to the number one?" They replied "yes" but acted as if it was no big deal. To me, it was a ray of hope. I quickly asked another question. "Do you guys know what that indicates when a little girl heads for dad after only hearing the number one?" Of course they had no clue because few people can predict what will come out of the vast quantity of jabberwocky that floats around in my cranium. I then described my observation as being the ultimate sign of follow-thru.

We’ve all seen countless parents perform the "count to three" routine as they endeavor to make their children behave or respond to a command. The only difference counting to three will make for any kid is if the parents actually administer a consequence if obedience isn’t instant. You do your child no favors by teaching them the art of false threats and inconsistent discipline.

My children learned as early as the age of two that dad’s word was gold. If a scene was being made while in the grocery store, my threats concerning their screaming, crying, or complaining, were never idol words. If they didn’t change their behavior immediately, they knew I would leave a cart full of groceries in the aisle and we’d soon be sitting together in the car while I administered another lesson about obedience. Sometimes the lesson included the shade of red glowing on the backside of their seat of knowledge. The same lessons held true while on any vacation or road trip when sibling rivalry seemed to excel in breeding conflict. You'd be surprised how few "follow-thru" trips to the woodshed are needed before your child understands obedience.

Little Emily came over to visit me three more times when daddy turned his back or got busy fishing with Emily’s older brother. Each time the same command was given and the three-year-old responded correctly. I was impressed that there was a dad who obviously had made good on previous consequences.

If you’re a dad or a dad-to-be, you will do your children an eternal favor if you learn one very important lesson about raising good kids. Make no idol threats and they’ll learn more than just to obey mom and dad, they’ll also have a much better understanding of how they should respond to their heavenly father who often is calling us to come to Him.

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