Drill Sergeant Dad

When you get to Army Infantry Basic Training, you immediately come face to face with your Drill Sergeants. They wear funny looking hats, spit when they talk, always lean forward with their hands on their hips, and think “Beat your face” is a proper motivator for correcting insufficient behavior. This is all before you even walk into your decrepit barracks for the first time. It is at this moment that you are presented with two choices: Option #1 Do I bear down, stand my ground, and show my Drill how tough I am by not giving an inch? Or do I go with Option B and simply kow-tow to this angry individual and allow him to make me his bitch for the next 16 weeks?

Inevitably most of us choose the latter, allowing the Drills to get into our heads and psyches, as we pray for the end of basic so they will stop yelling at us and being so damned mean. However, there are the few that see Basic Training for what it is, a game, and opt for choice Numero Uno. This, I feel, is the path my daughter, commonly referred to as Basic Life Trainee (ok she has never been referred to as that but it works for this post) has chosen to walk for the rest of her life.

I had a guy in my Basic Training who had taken the first option. He was a little bit older than most of us, a little bit wiser and experienced in interpersonal skills, and so in-shape that no amount of physical punishment could actually deter him. He constantly challenged the authority of the Drills, mainly for fun as he knew he could do it. The consequences meant very little to him when punishment was essentially the equivalent of an off-day workout.

Enter Basic Life Trainee. She purposefully defies me because ultimately she knows “Hey, you and mommy have already pumped a lot of money and resources into me. It’s not like you’re going to get rid of me.” Hm, if I had had this approach in Basic Training, I might have gotten through it a little bit easier. But what can I say, my daughter can think at a Graduate School level, while I am still stuck on recess in kindergarten.

She is right of course. We aren’t going to just get rid of her. Just like the Army wasn’t going to get rid of some smartass trainee who knew how to game the system to his advantage. So it becomes an endless battle of wills. The intestinal fortitude required for such wars is astounding.

“Finish your lunch.”

“No. I don’t like it.”

“Eat your mashed potatoes.” “I don’t like them.” “But you asked for them.” “No, I don’t like them.” “Yes you do, you eat them all the time.” “NOOOO! I’m done.” And she quickly removes herself from the table and walks away.

“Your shirt is dirty, take it off so we can put on a clean one.” “No. I wear it again.” “Sweety, you have worn it three days in a row, including to bed every night. Let’s take it off and put on a new one.” “NOOO I don’t want to.” “It has chocolate milk and mac & cheese stains all over it.” “NOOOOOOOO!” She quickly exits her bedroom door and walks away.

“Stop using the cat’s tail as a leash.”

“No.”

“If you do that again, you are getting a timeout, do you understand?”

“No.”

“When I ask you if you understand, you say ‘Yes’, do you understand?” “NOO!” as she walks away. See that? You know how we all hear the advice that if you are having an argument, the best thing to do is to simply walk away and calm down? My daughter has already perfected this. Don’t like the way Drill Sergeant Dad is talking to you? Just walk away from the conversation. If I did that in Basic Training, I’d have been low-crawling back to him with my face in the mud. Apparently I cannot do this to a child.

Basic Life Trainee knows the correct answers. She knows the correct behavior. Drill Sergeant Dad has been training her on this stuff for two and a half years. She has demonstrated her ability to act accordingly several times. But since this is Drill Sergeant Dad telling her, it has turned into a test of wills. Who will break first? She never plays this game with Mommy. Only Daddy. Drill Sergeant Dad. “You think you can break me?” she smirks as she openly ignores my requests to stop slapping me across the face. So off to timeout we go. And then after her 3 minutes is up of quiet reflection, she then puts on the show with the hug, and the pouty face and the “I’m sorry dadda. I love you sooo much.” But really, she’s saying “You think you beat me? Hah! I can do timeouts standing on my head. In the dark. With thunder and lightning. And NO pacifier. Shit, I’ll even go to bed early tonight. You wanna dance? Let’s dance.”

As Drill Sergeant Dad, what do you do? She’s calling you on everything you got. No dessert without eating all her dinner? Check. Timeouts for misbehavior? Check. Turn off the TV when she doesn’t do as she is told? Check, she’ll just go occupy herself with something else.

Just the other day she even pulled a new one. She wanted me to pick her up and carry her from her bedroom, down the hall into the front bedroom. This covers a distance of literally 10 feet. I told her that No, I would not be carrying her as she was perfectly capable of covering that distance on her own. Screaming commences. The standoff begins. Drill Sergeant Dad placed himself in the recliner in the front bedroom and waited. “If you want to come in here, stand up on your feet and walk in here.” Drill Sergeant Dad waits. Screaming continues. Screaming gets louder, closer. Then, Basic Life Trainee enters the bedroom…on her butt. She literally dragged her own butt across the hall into the bedroom. Drill Sergeant Dad had commanded that she stand up and walk. Basic Life Trainee did not want to do as she was told, yet still wanted to reach her destination. So she did it her way, blatantly defying the methods of Drill Sergeant Dad. Ultimately, she didn’t get what she originally wanted, but, neither did Drill Sergeant Dad. We both lost. Yet, somehow, we both won.

It is an odd relationship between Drill Sergeant Dad and Basic Life Trainee. It is combative. It is maddening. It can be soul-crushing. But then every night it ends with a big hug and a kiss and an “I love you Dadda.” My Drill Sergeants never did that for me.

2 thoughts on “Drill Sergeant Dad

  1. Try humor. When Michael was two and trying to pull something, I’d tell him, “Go home, your mother is calling you.” He’d laugh and say, “No, you mama.” I’d say, “No, I’m not. You’re confused. Go home. Your mother’s calling you. Can’t you hear her? I can.” I’d put my hand up to my ear as though hearing something far away. He’d laugh and insist that I was his mother. Then I’d say, “Fine. Go play in traffic then.” His retort was: “No traffic.” We’d continue on like this until he’d tire of it and wander off, forgetting what he originally was whining about. I never lost this game. It always worked.

    1. Ahahaha. I actually saved a toddler from playing in traffic a few years ago when his mother was nowhere to be found. I dont think I will use that one, because some kids will take it literally! And my daughter would do it just to spite me!

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