Amazing how
‘creative correction’ gets results

Robyn’s ’Hood
By Robyn McCloskey

There is a book on the market entitled Creative Correction that just happens to have been written by one of my childhood idols, Lisa Whelchel (who played Blair in the ’80s sitcom The Facts of Life).
You remember Blair, reluctant friend to a roller-skating Tootie, the inquisitive Natalie, and antagonist to the I-can-do-anything-a-guy-can-do Jo.
Blair had it all: looks, money, talent. (OK, maybe not talent, but when you’re that rich and pretty, who needs it? Look at Paris Hilton.) Oh how I too wanted to live at boarding school and have the only authority figure in my life be the plump and perpetually coiffed Mrs. Garrett.
Except on Wednesday nights from 8 to 9 when Little House on the Prairie aired, then I wanted to be Laura Ingalls, but being a realist, I knew Blair’s lifestyle better suited my personality, not to mention my appreciation for modern conveniences like air-conditioning.
Turns out that Blair . . . I mean Lisa . . . grew up to not only become a pastor’s wife and an in-demand conference speaker but also a mom to three kids, one of whom needed, as she put it in her book, "creative correction."
Because I too grew up to become a pastor’s wife — I’m still waiting to be an in-demand conference speaker — and a mom to three kids, one of whom also needed creative correction, I realized something. Lisa Whelchel and I have a lot in common . . . much more than Blair and I ever did.
Having never been comfortable with corporal punishment, I was sort of at a loss when our middle child, Samantha, displayed signs of what I’d describe as the lethal combination of a strong will and a free spirit. It wasn’t that she was bad. It was that she wanted to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it, and how dare anyone get in her way.
As Sam grew into her adolescent years, she remained true to her strong will and free spirit, but she also added sloppiness to the volatile mix. We took to calling her "Mowgli," since she tended to resemble the lovable but unkempt little boy from the Rudyard Kipling classic, The Jungle Book.
One memorable morning when Sammy was in sixth grade she was in her room getting ready for school. She suddenly stormed into our bedroom, declaring she was not going to school because she had "absolutely nothing to wear." Of course, this was because every item of clothing she owned was not in her closet and bureau drawers, where they belonged, but in disarray all over the place. Her room looked like backstage five minutes after a Tommy Hilfiger fashion show.
My unexpected response was that she could stay home from school — if she cleaned her room. Elated and somewhat stunned by this shocking turn of events, she happily went to her room and began the arduous task of folding and putting away 572 pieces of clothing. An hour and a half later she informed me she was finished . . . and did I want to take a look?
I did, with reluctance, but I did. I stared in awe upon the newly transformed space, scarcely believing the welcome sight of an immaculate room, bureau drawers filled with clothes folded so neatly, and at the same time envisioning a very bright future for Sam at the Gap.
I complimented her on a great job. And then I opened her closet door, yanked on every bureau drawer, and threw everything in the air so that it landed roughly where it had been that morning. With her jaw dangling, a glazed look of shock on her face, Sammy stood amid the mess, speechless.
"Welcome to my world. Now do it again!"
Another hour and a half later, Sammy timidly told me she had again finished cleaning her room and that she would like to go to school if I would please drive her.
Samantha has since taken great strides to keep her room neat. She has never declared that she wouldn’t be going to school because she had "absolutely nothing to wear."
The wrath of mommy had been stoked, and it wasn’t pretty.
So Lisa, thank you, and not just for allowing me to idolize you during my teen years. You have been a kindred spirit in the "creative correction" mommy battles.
But if she ends up in therapy, I’m sending you the bill. ••
Robyn McCloskey’s column appears each week in the Northeast Times. She can be reached at crmccloskey@verizon.net