A Fine Reputation to Live Up to
I've seen the commercials and trailer for the new movie, "Dinner For Schmucks.
" It looks really funny.
But there's been something bothering me since I first heard the title.
I always thought that the word "schmuck" was a dirty word.
At least that's what my dad told me back in 1971 when I was about 12 years old.
As it turns out, he was apparently pushing the definitional envelope just to make a point and teach me a lesson.
It must have worked.
Dad's parenting tools back then were particularly advanced by today's standards of child psychology and expert opinions.
He relied predominantly on clear boundary setting, calmness and persuasive logic.
Whatever our youthful transgressions may have been, the worst punishment we would get from him was usually a short lecture that made you feel guilty as hell.
He had an uncanny ability to pick a few carefully worded sentences that would combine to elicit a feeling of shame and a realization that what you just did was simply wrong.
He never resorted to hitting or spanking - or if he ever did, it was so rare that I don't remember it.
He never really had to use any physical force.
His own method of discipline was far more effective.
I can remember to this day the terrible feeling that I had whenever I had disappointed him.
That feeling was a powerful driver in the development of my own incentive to do more right than wrong.
As an example, I remember this particular incident back in 1971 when I was about 12 years old.
I was sitting in my family room with a friend watching TV when the phone rang.
I picked it up only to discover that I was the recipient of a prank phone call.
I was thrilled at my good fortune, and quietly alerted my friend that we had a "live one" on the line.
In the days before caller ID, the recreational past time of making prank phone calls was fairly common for the ordinary adolescent of that time.
The gags were pretty lame, such as calling the local deli to ask if they had "pigs feet," and then insulting the responder for having such a bizarre deformity; or annoyingly calling the same house three times to ask if a fictitious "Hank" is home, only to call back again pretending to be a pissed-off Hank looking for messages.
Such infantile humor pales in comparison to today's trash-talking on X-Box Live or Facebook, but kids back then nevertheless took pride in successfully fooling their mark.
The only thing better than pulling off a successful prank was to break one up, if you were lucky enough to intercept one.
And now we had the chance.
When the caller began his clever little set up I was ready to pounce.
"Hi," the caller began, "this is Jack Hoff from radio station W-A-C-K.
" "Oh really?" I smugly replied.
"Is that so?" Little did this joker know that I was well aware of obvious pseudonyms such as Jack Hoff and Dick Hertz.
They were the mainstays of prank calls and substitute teacher attendance sign-in sheets all across America.
Every kid knew that.
It was a dead give away right from the get go.
Clearly this prankster was a mere rookie or he would have chosen a more sophisticated pseudonym like Pat McGroin or Phil McCracken.
I was already on to his mad little scheme.
"Yes, Mr.
Rogers," he continued, "and we wanted to let you know that you have won a million dollars!" I thought I better strike right at that moment before he got away.
I interrupted him with, "Guess what, pal.
I know you're full of crap.
You really are a jack off.
" I was starting to roll.
"Why don't you take your million bucks and cram it up your rear-end, you schmuck!" Click.
"Aww, he hung up!" I said to my friend.
"But we got him good!" And we both cracked up hysterically, proud of our accomplishment in having turned the tables on this telephone assailant.
Unfortunately, our moment of satisfaction was abruptly interrupted by my dad's voice coming from upstairs.
"Dougie, can I see you for a minute, son?" My friend and I looked at each other wide eyed in a panic.
"Holy crap," my friend nervously said.
"Do you think your dad was listening on the upstairs phone?" "I don't know," I replied with equal anxiety.
"I didn't hear anybody else on the phone.
Man, I sure hope not.
" As I took the long walk up the short set of stairs and turned into my parents' room I saw my mom and dad sitting in their chairs watching TV.
In between the two chairs was the lamp table with the powder blue rotary phone sitting on top.
My parents looked a bit grim for this to be anything other than a "we-gotcha'" conversation.
"You know we hate foul language," he started.
Uh oh.
I was snagged.
"I didn't say anything bad," I instantly protested, while simultaneously searching my short-term memory to recall if I did.
"Do you know what the word 'schmuck' means?" he continued.
I paused and thought for a moment.
I actually had no idea, come to think of it.
"It means 'prick'," he calmly but firmly said.
"Do you know what 'prick' means?" Now that one I knew.
"Yes," I sheepishly replied.
"We are extremely surprised that you would use that language," he said, in a dry manner slathered in guilt and shame.
My young adolescent instinctive reactions began to travel a familiar course.
I was now moving from the fear of being caught towards a more defensive posture, one in which the first human instinct is - of course - to lie.
But clearly this would not have been a viable option since I was already busted by the oldest parental espionage trick in the book: listening in on the upstairs phone.
My next course was to explain away my actions as not only defensible, but clearly warranted under the circumstances.
I tried to offer in my own defense that, after all, it was not I who had initiated this prank call, this invasion of our cherished family privacy by some hoodlum who was clearly aiming to humiliate and embarrass the Rogers clan with his outrageous shenanigans and tomfoolery.
If anything, I ought to be applauded for my staunch defense of our family honor! And what's more, in the name of ethics and morality, was I not justified in my response to such an attack? Wasn't this my own form of handing out fair justice; "an eye for an eye," or "do unto others...
," so to speak? If only I had a pocket dictionary handy at that moment, I could have discovered and quickly offered up that "prick" was actually only a secondary definition for "schmuck," whereas the primary origin of schmuck was a Yiddish term for "fool" or "jerk.
" But alas, hindsight is 20/20.
And regardless, I don't think Dad was prepared to accept any defense I could offer up.
"Your mother and I are very disappointed in you, son.
It's a real let down.
We're surprised you would let yourself stoop to that.
" Ouch.
That stung.
There it was, the mother of all disciplinary methods from my dad's parenting arsenal.
There was hardly a worse feeling in the world than the feeling of disappointing my parents.
They had made that so over the years by building up my respect for them through their good treatment of me.
And there was no more effective weapon than Dad's ability to turn the tables and use my own shame against me; to remind me that I'm the one who should expect better of myself.
This was what Dale Carnegie in 1937 called "giving the other person a fine reputation to live up to.
" Carnegie understood human psychology better than most, and knew that encouraging others to meet or exceed their own standards for themselves was a powerful motivational tool.
My dad understood it pretty well too.
With my tail tucked neatly between my legs I moped back downstairs to rejoin my friend.
He had been anxiously awaiting my report on the outcome and said, "What happened? Did he hear everything you said?" "Yeah," I replied.
"Did he smack you around?" "No," I replied.
"Oh," my friend said with a quiet understanding, "he just made you feel bad, right?" "Yeah.
" My friend had hung around our house enough times to know how my dad operated.
And he must have recognized the contrast versus the way his own dad handled things, which all too often often included an angry smack on the back or across the face.
Even my friend seemed to have a moment of appreciation that this unique approach to discipline was pretty effective.
That's probably why, even though he felt bad for me, he perhaps felt a bit envious too.
In the mid 1900's the social scientist B.
F.
Skinner proved that using positive reinforcement (i.
e.
, rewarding good behavior) and negative reinforcement (i.
e.
, removing rewards until good behavior is achieved) were more effective in influencing behavior than pure punishment.
My dad proved it that day too.
Rather than punish me, he chose negative reinforcement by temporarily taking away something that I really valued; his good opinion of me.
That was a hard thing to give up, even for a few minutes.
And I certainly didn't call anybody a schmuck for a while.
" It looks really funny.
But there's been something bothering me since I first heard the title.
I always thought that the word "schmuck" was a dirty word.
At least that's what my dad told me back in 1971 when I was about 12 years old.
As it turns out, he was apparently pushing the definitional envelope just to make a point and teach me a lesson.
It must have worked.
Dad's parenting tools back then were particularly advanced by today's standards of child psychology and expert opinions.
He relied predominantly on clear boundary setting, calmness and persuasive logic.
Whatever our youthful transgressions may have been, the worst punishment we would get from him was usually a short lecture that made you feel guilty as hell.
He had an uncanny ability to pick a few carefully worded sentences that would combine to elicit a feeling of shame and a realization that what you just did was simply wrong.
He never resorted to hitting or spanking - or if he ever did, it was so rare that I don't remember it.
He never really had to use any physical force.
His own method of discipline was far more effective.
I can remember to this day the terrible feeling that I had whenever I had disappointed him.
That feeling was a powerful driver in the development of my own incentive to do more right than wrong.
As an example, I remember this particular incident back in 1971 when I was about 12 years old.
I was sitting in my family room with a friend watching TV when the phone rang.
I picked it up only to discover that I was the recipient of a prank phone call.
I was thrilled at my good fortune, and quietly alerted my friend that we had a "live one" on the line.
In the days before caller ID, the recreational past time of making prank phone calls was fairly common for the ordinary adolescent of that time.
The gags were pretty lame, such as calling the local deli to ask if they had "pigs feet," and then insulting the responder for having such a bizarre deformity; or annoyingly calling the same house three times to ask if a fictitious "Hank" is home, only to call back again pretending to be a pissed-off Hank looking for messages.
Such infantile humor pales in comparison to today's trash-talking on X-Box Live or Facebook, but kids back then nevertheless took pride in successfully fooling their mark.
The only thing better than pulling off a successful prank was to break one up, if you were lucky enough to intercept one.
And now we had the chance.
When the caller began his clever little set up I was ready to pounce.
"Hi," the caller began, "this is Jack Hoff from radio station W-A-C-K.
" "Oh really?" I smugly replied.
"Is that so?" Little did this joker know that I was well aware of obvious pseudonyms such as Jack Hoff and Dick Hertz.
They were the mainstays of prank calls and substitute teacher attendance sign-in sheets all across America.
Every kid knew that.
It was a dead give away right from the get go.
Clearly this prankster was a mere rookie or he would have chosen a more sophisticated pseudonym like Pat McGroin or Phil McCracken.
I was already on to his mad little scheme.
"Yes, Mr.
Rogers," he continued, "and we wanted to let you know that you have won a million dollars!" I thought I better strike right at that moment before he got away.
I interrupted him with, "Guess what, pal.
I know you're full of crap.
You really are a jack off.
" I was starting to roll.
"Why don't you take your million bucks and cram it up your rear-end, you schmuck!" Click.
"Aww, he hung up!" I said to my friend.
"But we got him good!" And we both cracked up hysterically, proud of our accomplishment in having turned the tables on this telephone assailant.
Unfortunately, our moment of satisfaction was abruptly interrupted by my dad's voice coming from upstairs.
"Dougie, can I see you for a minute, son?" My friend and I looked at each other wide eyed in a panic.
"Holy crap," my friend nervously said.
"Do you think your dad was listening on the upstairs phone?" "I don't know," I replied with equal anxiety.
"I didn't hear anybody else on the phone.
Man, I sure hope not.
" As I took the long walk up the short set of stairs and turned into my parents' room I saw my mom and dad sitting in their chairs watching TV.
In between the two chairs was the lamp table with the powder blue rotary phone sitting on top.
My parents looked a bit grim for this to be anything other than a "we-gotcha'" conversation.
"You know we hate foul language," he started.
Uh oh.
I was snagged.
"I didn't say anything bad," I instantly protested, while simultaneously searching my short-term memory to recall if I did.
"Do you know what the word 'schmuck' means?" he continued.
I paused and thought for a moment.
I actually had no idea, come to think of it.
"It means 'prick'," he calmly but firmly said.
"Do you know what 'prick' means?" Now that one I knew.
"Yes," I sheepishly replied.
"We are extremely surprised that you would use that language," he said, in a dry manner slathered in guilt and shame.
My young adolescent instinctive reactions began to travel a familiar course.
I was now moving from the fear of being caught towards a more defensive posture, one in which the first human instinct is - of course - to lie.
But clearly this would not have been a viable option since I was already busted by the oldest parental espionage trick in the book: listening in on the upstairs phone.
My next course was to explain away my actions as not only defensible, but clearly warranted under the circumstances.
I tried to offer in my own defense that, after all, it was not I who had initiated this prank call, this invasion of our cherished family privacy by some hoodlum who was clearly aiming to humiliate and embarrass the Rogers clan with his outrageous shenanigans and tomfoolery.
If anything, I ought to be applauded for my staunch defense of our family honor! And what's more, in the name of ethics and morality, was I not justified in my response to such an attack? Wasn't this my own form of handing out fair justice; "an eye for an eye," or "do unto others...
," so to speak? If only I had a pocket dictionary handy at that moment, I could have discovered and quickly offered up that "prick" was actually only a secondary definition for "schmuck," whereas the primary origin of schmuck was a Yiddish term for "fool" or "jerk.
" But alas, hindsight is 20/20.
And regardless, I don't think Dad was prepared to accept any defense I could offer up.
"Your mother and I are very disappointed in you, son.
It's a real let down.
We're surprised you would let yourself stoop to that.
" Ouch.
That stung.
There it was, the mother of all disciplinary methods from my dad's parenting arsenal.
There was hardly a worse feeling in the world than the feeling of disappointing my parents.
They had made that so over the years by building up my respect for them through their good treatment of me.
And there was no more effective weapon than Dad's ability to turn the tables and use my own shame against me; to remind me that I'm the one who should expect better of myself.
This was what Dale Carnegie in 1937 called "giving the other person a fine reputation to live up to.
" Carnegie understood human psychology better than most, and knew that encouraging others to meet or exceed their own standards for themselves was a powerful motivational tool.
My dad understood it pretty well too.
With my tail tucked neatly between my legs I moped back downstairs to rejoin my friend.
He had been anxiously awaiting my report on the outcome and said, "What happened? Did he hear everything you said?" "Yeah," I replied.
"Did he smack you around?" "No," I replied.
"Oh," my friend said with a quiet understanding, "he just made you feel bad, right?" "Yeah.
" My friend had hung around our house enough times to know how my dad operated.
And he must have recognized the contrast versus the way his own dad handled things, which all too often often included an angry smack on the back or across the face.
Even my friend seemed to have a moment of appreciation that this unique approach to discipline was pretty effective.
That's probably why, even though he felt bad for me, he perhaps felt a bit envious too.
In the mid 1900's the social scientist B.
F.
Skinner proved that using positive reinforcement (i.
e.
, rewarding good behavior) and negative reinforcement (i.
e.
, removing rewards until good behavior is achieved) were more effective in influencing behavior than pure punishment.
My dad proved it that day too.
Rather than punish me, he chose negative reinforcement by temporarily taking away something that I really valued; his good opinion of me.
That was a hard thing to give up, even for a few minutes.
And I certainly didn't call anybody a schmuck for a while.
Source...