RAISED RIGHT
RAISED RIGHT
BY JOHN TUFT
I have spoken often in this space about my family upbringing, for better or worse. My father, the minister of the Presbyterian persuasion, with an evangelical Calvinist bent, determined to raise the 7 of us in his conviction that life revolves around whether we are obedient to God, or not. On the sabbath, or Sunday, we were not allowed to participate in any activities that he deemed to be not biblically grounded. Any reading that we did had to be based in the Bible. Any games had to be biblically based. There was no television, no playing ball outside or riding bikes. Somehow, homework from school managed to escape such strict interpretation of what makes God happy. Any and all scheduled church services and youth group attendance was mandatory. The agony of hearing other kids on Monday mornings describing what they watched on television on Sunday nights was indescribable.
So, what did I do? Turned around and raised three preacher’s kids of my own. I removed Mr. Calvin from the equation in my theory of child raising. As for their feelings about any and all of being parented by yours truly you will have to take up with them. But once you get them started, they will gleefully regale you with tales of Dad using his “Preacher’s voice” when he became impatient or exasperated with the behavior of said children. We played catch on Sunday, watched television, read what we wanted, played games, and generally carried on. Again, they will gleefully recount apocryphal tales at best, of Dad cheating in Monopoly or Life or even Candyland. Preacher’s kids, go figure.
In a family the size of the one I grew up in, some of the being raised fell to the older siblings. My oldest sister, Nancy, tells of taking me for walks as I entered the toddler stage of life and that I was an observant little bugger. My two older brothers, Alan and Paul, took on the task of enforcing their own level of discipline on us “little kids.” Sometimes it involves violence. Raising two cherubic towheads such as Dan and I could not have been their favorite assignment in life and resentment spilled over. And of course, we wanted to be like them and play sports with them, which meant being trained up in the correct way to play such sport. My older sister, Jan, drew the short straw of taking me and my date on our first date. Because she could drive. So, she took Cynthia and I to the drive-in movies in a two-seater Chevy Corvair. With Jan in the driver’s seat. ‘Nuf said.
Being the big brother to Dan meant of course that some of his raising had to be done by me. Yes, it involved some violence, but he turned out to be a fine gentleman. It meant passing along my infinite knowledge and wisdom about life that I gained from being all of 14 months older, teaching him the necessary skills in sports, and throwing myself in front of any and all danger so that no harm could come to him. He might see it differently, but what do little brothers know? Now that I am an uncle, a grandfather and a great grandfather, all bets are off, of course. Raising them is their parents’ problem. I’m here to spoil.
One sibling, however, had a unique role in raising me right. Susan, who was 14 months my senior, was the family rebel, the questioner of all things Calvin and biblical, the how do I know unless I try it kind of free spirit. Thus it was, that one night my gay sister sat Dan and I down in the kitchen after our parents were in bed and attempted to impart to us some of her wisdom. We were all in our teens at the time. Susan proceeded to deliver a lecture entitled, “The Seven Steps to Good Kissing.” What was the goal of her lecture? At the time, it was all technique. Then she sent us out into the world to practice our craft. Did it take? You’ll have to ask those I’ve kissed.
But over the years I have thought about that moment on many occasions. I thought about it just recently as I wrote this latest novel which contains a scene of a young man and young woman’s first kiss. I won’t delineate the technique here, but what has stuck with me was the meaning behind her lecture. We were entering an intimate relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Treat that as a worthwhile endeavor. Think of her as a person who wants and needs respect and affirmation, just like we seek. Passion starts with great tenderness. There are risks in showing someone that you care that deeply about them, but there is also great reward. There is joy to be found in such things as kissing. Touching. Loving. Surrender. If kissing isn’t fun, if it doesn’t make you smile, you’re doing it wrong…
As I enter into the last such intimate relationship that I will have as I go through my year 71, I hold onto those lessons. Thanks to my siblings and to Susan, I was raised right. The lessons took hold and are still held. Even flourishing. Xoxoxo
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
