BUCKING THE SYSTEM: MORE COMMUNITY PARENTING WOULD IMPROVE YOUTH BEHAVIOR

My husband calls me The Warden when it comes to taking care of other people's children. I can make a child do anything according to Patrick, including go to sleep and use the potty when he doesn't want to.

I don't consider myself a warden of any kind -- I really think I'm just a working mom who gets tired and doesn't want to hear the whinings of an irritable child who can't think of anything better to do. I try to be very up front with Jerry and all his friends when they're under my care. The general message I try to convey is this: Laugh, and I'll laugh with you. Cry, and I'll ignore you and find something enjoyable to do.

I'll do anything in the world for Jerry and his friends, including watch and re-watch a Barney tape or embarrass myself with a no-holds barred version of the hokey-pokey. In return, all I ask is that they do what I ask, when I ask. Clean-up time means pick up the toys, now. And when I say it's time for bed, they need to say their prayers and hit the sack, no questions asked.

I had my first opportunity to be a community mom this week, and I applied those same principles even though I didn't really know the child. Most people my age or older remembers the community parent -- that was the woman or man who saw you acting up when you were out of your parents' sight and took an extra moment to remind you of your home training and get you back in check.

My community mom experience started when I stopped to pick my son up from daycare on Wednesday. Several kids of varying ages were standing nearby when I parked Patrick's truck and ran inside to get Jerry. Just as I stepped outside, I saw a piece of a tree limb hit the truck.

Without even thinking, I said in a very clear, Mother-Has-Had-Enough voice: "Alright, whoever just hit my truck needs to get over here right now and tell me who your mother is."

Immediately, the group divided. The girls announced they had nothing to do with the boys in the group, just before they went into the house. Believe it or not, one of the boys stepped forward and said without looking up from his shoes that he was the culprit.

"What is your mother's name?" I asked, and when he told me, it turned out he was one of the few children in town whose parents I did know. That being the case, I let him have it.

"What are you doing playing like that around my truck? Now I know your mother taught you better than that, didn't she? I also know you can't afford to pay for this truck if you mess it up, and that's not your mother's responsibility, now is it?"

As I fired off my lecture in power points, the poor child seemed to be getting closer and closer to the ground. By the time I had finished, not only had he apologized for his negligence, a couple of his friends had also stepped forward to apologize for him.

I didn't call the child's mother when I got home, only because I couldn't find her telephone number. Although he had appeared genuinely sorry for his misdeed, community parenting isn't complete until you get your second blessing out (or other punishment) at home.

I knew how to act as a child mainly because I didn't know who was watching me. Besides, in Charleston, people were known to give you the whupping you deserved in the street, then call your parents so they could give you another when you got home.

All too often nowadays, people look the other way because they are afraid of the children, or because they know the parents will curse them out for trying to tell them how to raise their children. That's a shame, because I think if we had more community parenting we would have less juvenile crime.

We'd also have more worthwhile activities for kids in the evenings and on weekends. Think of it this way: Nobody wants an uncontrollable or undisciplined child in their home or place of business. If I can't tell you how to act in and around me and mine, then I just won't give you a reason to be here.

Tamara Zellar Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.