“Sword or Scalpel: How Your Words Can Hurt or Heal Your Children”

There they stood on the edge of the boat, pale skin smothered in sunscreen, decked head to toe with safety gear and a face full with a blend of excitement, fear, and disorientation. The salty breeze whips through our hair as the boat struggles to steady itself in the crashes of the ocean waves. For me, the noises and smells of the ocean breeze are home. This is my happy place. For my children, who have grown up inland, this was a mysterious and overwhelming adventure into the unknown. As the sun glistened off the roaring waves, Keisha, our trusty Jamaican Snuba instructor once again reviewed the three rules with Kayla and Mikey: “One: Eyes on me!” She yelled, “Two: Arms straight! Three: Gentle kicks.”

Keisha was the perfect personality to lead them into this adventure. Her presence was inviting as a Caribbean breeze, beautiful cocoa-toned skin with a flawless smile, radiant and kind. Her laughter and excitement was contagious, but she always was firm and affirming to the children as they regurgitated the three rules back to her, over and over again.

Mikey, 7, and Kayla, 9, nodded their nervous heads in agreement as they held out their fingers as she shouted: 1, 2, 3. Upon her direction, they leaped trepidatiously into the blue unknown.

Splash!

The cool water engulfed my little ones as they came back to the surface, desperate for air. This was their first real experience in the open ocean. As they floated among the tossing waves, I prepared my own self to jump in behind them, longing to bring them comfort and confidence in the bellowing uncertainty of the depths below. Keisha, our confident guide, paused for a moment on the deck, intentionally blocking Mike and I with her arm, a demonstration of authority and strength. Her expression abruptly shifted-her warm white teeth-y smile faded into a firm, unshakable gaze of power. Keisha’s beautiful brown eyes locked with our’s as she slowly waved her index finger side to side in front of our noses. We became like children before her. “You are not de boss in de water.” She pointed her finger back at her own chest. “I am de boss here.” Lifting her eyebrows sternly, she unyieldingly waited for our compliance. We looked at one another, wide-eyed and befuddled, returned to her intimidating gaze and shook our heads in submissive agreement. This ocean was her domain. In bewilderment, we could not understand what could merit the intensity of her demand. We were, after all, their parents. We assumed we would be helpful assets to her in the wavy uncertain waters of the deep ocean to our very small uncertain children.

Keisha knew what we did not.

Once we agreed, her demeanor quickly jolted back into that familiar friendly and confident smile that put us at ease. Her desired order was established. She leaned backward over the depths -splash!- the cool water engulfed her now, as she turned toward the children with her usual positive and instructive position. Still on the boat, I gently laughed to my husband as we agreed to trust this woman’s instructions to become silent observers instead of parents to our children in this moment; their first Snuba-experience in the salty Jamaican waters.

Mike and I cautiously jumped into the water after them, our bodies undulating with the steady and fearsome waves of the ocean. Teary-eyed and joyful, I smiled as I looked at their little salty faces glistening with ocean water, full of fear mingled with excitement. Kayla was calm and certain. Mikey tried his best to reflect the same confidence, but his pale complexion and wide eyes revealed his nervousness. Keisha held out her commanding hand and counted 1, 2, 3 once more to remind them of the three rules that would keep them safe and comfortable. She bellowed, “Are you ready?” They nod nervously. All five of us dive just inches beneath the surface to gaze at the beauty of the world under the sea. Mike and I look over and see Kayla, carefully trying her hardest to follow 1, 2, 3, Eyes on Keisha, straight arms, gentle kicks. Then, we look to Mikey: head darting left to right front to back, spinning around and turning his head sideways and back again, his mask was quickly filling with water, his arms and his legs both flailing in all directions as he begins to panic. Desperate and frightened, he quickly jolts back to the surface, his little lungs grasp for air. Instinctively, Mike makes his way over to our son to firmly address his disobedience saying, “Mikey, you’ve got to listen….” Keisha quickly intercedes. She places herself between the father and son, her index finger once again in front of Mike and scolds, “No! I am de boss.” We recall our instructions and obey. Silent observers, not parents.

She looked to Mikey, who was embarrassed and ashamed he had forgotten every one of the three rules. His eyes were not on Keisha. His arms were no straight. There was nothing gentle about his kicks. His eyes filling quickly with tears, knowing he had failed. She waits for his attention. She slowly lifts his chin and her eyes soften. Those bright white teeth slowly come to a smile as she squints and keeps his gaze.

“Good job, Mikey” she lied.

“Good job. You did not keep your

Truth. Accuracy. Correctness. Rightness.

These are the unspoken principals that have shaped the habits of my tongue.

What a wearisome thing to have a mother who corrects and

It is true that in truth, there is freedom, but when truth supercedes the love for another, the house becomes a prison or isolation.

“If even a sprout of these fruits peeks through the soil, a wise mother will fertilize the sprout with positive words in hopes of a bountiful harvest.”
-Sharon Jaynes, The Power of a Woman’s Words