The F-Words of Raising Boys

"Damn!"

Times are changing. When I was growing up, saying ‘damn’ was definitely regarded as beyond the pale. As a pre-adolescent I used to love winding up my parents while we were driving through the Karoo by suddenly shouting out ‘damn!’ My mother would whip her head round from the front seat and open her mouth to berate me and I would virtuously point out of the window and say sweetly:  ‘Look over there, a dam…’

My mother fell for it every time which of course meant that by the end of a day’s journey, emotions were running high. Like any normal boy, I loved it.

That really sums up the psyche of boys.  The job description of every boy it is to test boundaries.  If adults are to retain their sanity, they must understand this principle of adolescence. Those of us who are in the business of raising boys know that there is little point in getting upset when boys test those boundaries.  Our job is to ensure that we always find the time to nudge them back on the Road of Life where acceptable manners and behaviour have to be the norm.

That is why I think that it is important that boundaries are fairly tight for young boys so that when they test those boundaries early on, there is no danger to life and limb.  As they grow older, then the boundaries can be expanded as they show the maturity to handle this new freedom.  ‘You cannot bake bread,’ I keep telling parents, ‘unless you do your baking in a baking tin.’  Bringing up boys is the same – but the trick is to know when the bread is sufficiently prepared so that it can stand on its own without the support of the tin.

Nothing can be more testing for a parent than the alcohol and party scene.  In these instances, the sides of that baking tin have to be constructed from reinforced material – otherwise potential disaster is always around the next corner.

Society has now moved on from taking offence at ‘damn’ to taking offence at that infamous four letter word beginning with ‘f’.  Boys use it all the time without thinking, irritating their parents and all adults alike.  It is now used so often by boys that they regard it as socially acceptable.

I am, of course, referring to the word ‘fine’.  Use of this word is a boy’s way of trying to head off a difficult conversation.

‘How was school today?’

‘Fine.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’

Conversation over. Shutters up. Naturally enough, every parent invariably finds further discussion challenging. For those parents who feel that they are being stonewalled, here is a translation of FINE:  Feeling Inadaquate Need Encouragement.

My advice to parents over the years has always been not to allow their son to say ‘fine’ when he is asked how he feels about something, or ‘I don’t know,’ when he is asked why he did a particular action.  If parents allow these words to end a conversation with their son, then they are permitting him to abrogate his responsibility by not thinking through an issue for himself. 

Adults also have to learn to handle a number of f-words if they are to raise boys with proficiency. Firmness and Fairness are bedrock words in nurturing boys.  Boys will accept most decisions as long as they feel that these principles are being applied to all.

Another f-word, which is also a key tenet of leadership, is Fallibility.  Rule Number Six - Don’t take yourself too seriously - is what I keep enjoining our teachers.  Boys are adept in reminding adults that the emperor has no clothes on which very often leaves a teacher with no option other than to accept the situation with as good a grace as he can muster.

Undoubtedly, though, one of the most important F-words in teaching is ‘Funny’.  Not corny – but the ability to laugh at oneself.  An irreverent sense of humour always appeals to boys and many a wall can be broken down in relationships with boys by a quick chirp or humorous turn of phrase.

I learnt this lesson while a student teacher at St Georges in Mowbray.  I was assigned to Mr Foster, the history teacher.  On one occasion, after a break, we walked together to a Grade 9 class where we found mayhem had broken out while the class was waiting for us. He handled the situation brilliantly.  He stood silently just inside the door and waited for the clamour to decline to a mild roar.  The boys were glancing around uncomfortably - clearly disconcerted and  unsure how to handle these two silent figures at the door.  When silence eventually descended on the classroom, Mr Foster said very quietly to a boy sitting at a far desk near a window:  ‘Barker, come here please.’

There was a deathly hush.  Boys know when a teacher explosion is about to happen.  Barker protested violently.  ‘Why me, Sir?  I haven’t done anything.  It wasn’t me.  This is so unfair….’ His voice tailed off as the impassive figure merely repeated himself.

‘Barker, I am waiting.’

That started the tirade off again and an extremely reluctant Barker insinuated himself across the classroom floor complaining every step of the way.  A joyous and expectant class barely dared to breathe.  When Barker eventually finished his foot-dragging odyssey across the room, it became obvious that his voluble dissent and unhappiness was patently having no impact on the impervious Mr Foster.

In a quiet voice which carried all around the classroom, Mr Foster said, ‘Barker.’ Dramatic Pause. ‘Won’t you open the window, please?’

There was about three seconds of silence while the class absorbed the information that they had just witnessed a sandbagging of note. Then gale after gale of laughter broke out.  Even Barker had to give a rueful smile – mostly of relief, I suspect – and Mr Foster revelled in the knowledge that he now had the class in the palm of his hand.

A very professional performance with all the F’s of good teaching being applied!

Rowan Algie

I had a similar experience at Wynberg when I was a Matric Grade Head in the early 1990’s during the tenure of Rowan Algie.  It was the last official school assembly of the year and I had been sermonising at length with them about dignified behaviour during their last few days.

Rowan Algie and I arrived on stage together and then I saw it.  The matrics had dressed up a plastic skeleton which normally resided in the biology lab and placed it in the front row.  It was resplendent in full school uniform with blazer, tie and school cap. 

I was beside myself.  This was a blatant insult to me personally – especially as I had asked them not to do anything untoward.

‘Do you see that?’ I hissed to Rowan Algie. ‘I am going to nail every single matric to the yardarm!’

He said nothing and conducted assembly as if nothing untoward was happening.  Smoke was steaming from my ears as I contemplated what steps I was going to take.  World Wars, famine, natural disasters all were of secondary import as I contemplated the enormity of this matric escapade.

Rowan finished his assembly and stepped off the podium. I raced up to him.  ‘What are you going to do?’ I snarled at him through gritted teeth.

‘Oh,’ he said as if suddenly remembering something. He returned to the podium. I went back to my seat and folded my arms expectantly. Now the well-deserved retribution was coming.  The school knew it too and held its collective breath.

‘I have an apology to make to you all,’ he started off.  I was confused, where on earth was this going?

‘My assembly was obviously very dreary and uninspiring because I see that I have bored one of you to death. I apologise to the school.’  With that, he stepped out of the podium to rapturous applause and laughter.

Algie 10.  Matrics 5.  Richardson 0.

I slumped back in my chair as everyone led out.  What a lesson – never to be forgotten!

I am told that the art of good headship is to ensure that your teaching staff should have teachers with the Foolhardy enthusiasm of youth combined with others who bring the Fulsome wisdom of years.  I have worked with plenty of the former over the years and continue to learn valuable lessons from the latter.

I received an email from Denis Herbstein (Matric 1953) recently. He said:  ‘My wife and I were so impressed by the school when we were in Cape Town for the sixty-year leavers’ get-together two years ago... You have instituted many worthy changes, but you do not match Major Bill Bowden for military presence though.’

Well, that was hardly surprising as during military service, I – as an Able Seaman 2nd Class - was about 10 ranks lower than he was.

In spite of this martial shortcoming, it has been a Damn Fine experience running a school.