Hayter article for April 7, 2024
“Heartaches by the
dozen, troubles by the score…”
Do you wanna know how many arguments I’ve had during my lifetime? I don’t either, but I can tell you that I wasn’t proud of how any of them came out. On six different occasions did I ever utter the words, “I don’t care what people think of me.” Each time I said it was a lie. I don’t like to upset people, nor do I like to get upset.
Over the last 44 years, I’ve written several articles about argumentative moments I’ve had. I’m going to share two or three earlier ones now, in the hope it will get my mind off one incident that took place last week with a neighbor.
Instead, I’m starting with an incident that happened 47 years ago. It was my first parent conference during my first year of teaching. When I entered the office, the counselor introduced me to the mother of one of my students who was heck on wheels. The lady said, “Mr. Hayter, my daughter will be much nicer if you just compliment her every once in a while.” I said, “Ma'am, I would, if she ever did anything worth complimenting.”
Yes, that was stupid. It won me a trip to the principal’s office the next day. When I showed up, Mr. Weise, the greatest principal on the planet, said, “Uh, Mark, I know it’s not easy talking to some parents, but next time, you might want to show a little more understanding. I’m not asking you to lie, just use a little more tact. Okay?”
Mr. Weise, in only two sentences, demonstrated to me the proper way to speak to a parent. If he had spoken to me, in the same tone I used with that mom, I would’ve been upset. It was during my first year at McCullough High, that I caught onto the fact that Bobby Weise was a wise and gentle giant. I became a better teacher because of him.
When I was a kid, there were a lot of incidents
that I handled poorly. Here are a couple that I’ve mentioned before. One
occurred when Dennis and our friends were playing around in an area we called
the Gator Swamps. The place was given the name after one of the gang found a
baby alligator in the gulley. After that episode, the gully became the “Gator
Swamp”. It probably kept the name up to the time the area became a concrete
jungle of apartments.
But, forget that part. A group of kids of
whom I was one, were in the Gator Swamp when for no reason Dennis began
taunting me, calling me names, and hitting me. He was trying to get me to chase
him. He was faster than every kid out there, so I did my best to ignore him.
But he wouldn’t let up, so I went after him. Across the field and through the
gully we ran. At times Dennis ran backward while laughing at me.
My big brother was my best friend, but,
too often, he lost sight of that when others were around. Eventually, we were
out of the Gator Swamp and ended up running down the road close to our house. I
was winded and running slow enough to spy a short and narrow board on the road.
I picked it up, and when I did, Dennis stopped and kept laughing at me. That’s
when I threw the board at him. I didn’t come close to hitting him, but Dennis immediately
lost his laugh and leered at me. That’s when I yelled, “I wish that had cut
your head off!”
All of our friends were watching me when
it happened. I didn’t tell Mom or Dad about trying to kill their son, and Dennis
didn’t tell them about making a fool out of me. Things never got that bad
between us again. I assume we both grew up a bit that day.
Finally, there was one particular
time when I was a lousy brother to my kid sister, Jill. She had been playing
with the water hose in the backyard of our home on Camille Street. Eventually,
Mom came out and told her to turn off the hose and quit messing up the yard.
I had been in the house at the time and had completely missed out on the hose incident. When I came out of the backdoor, I noticed a mud puddle and started stomping around in it. Jill warned me about Mom getting after her for playing around with the water hose. Being the older brother, I told Jill that we should drag the hose to another part of the yard and mud it up. She trusted me enough to follow my lead.
When Mom came outside and yelled,
“Okay, which one of you started this mess?” Jill didn’t say anything, so I
said, “Jill did it!” So Mom dragged Jill
into the house for a spanking. Eventually, Jill came outside sobbing. I said,
“Why didn’t you tell on me? We could’ve gone back and forth arguing, and maybe
Mom would just let it go!”
That’s when Jill did the worst thing she could’ve done. She just wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and walked away. She broke my heart. I pulled a “Dennis” on my little sister. The thought has stayed with me ever since.
Those were merely three argumentative issues during my early days. I’ve got a bunch more from my 53 years of marriage. Kay and I never raise our voices. The vast majority of the arguments were generated by me. I say that to say this. There is no way on God’s green earth that I care to dig up any of those moments again. It’s enough to say that I have learned a lot from that foxy lady.
end
hayter.mark@gmail.com
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