How to Teach Perseverance For Those Who Lack Patience – Part 1

Isaac, my son, is eleven years old.  And like any good father, I unreasonably expect that he consistently demonstrate the work ethic and perseverance of a canal digger from the 1800’s, only to be shocked, time and time again, as I rediscover that he actually has the attention span and the penchant for daydreaming that all 11 year old boys naturally possess.  Nevertheless, I’m determined to teach him the value of hard work and stick-to-itiveness that I wish I had myself.  My biggest problem, however, is that every time I’ve tried to teach him in the past, I seem to lose interest or give up due to the fact that it proves to be too difficult.  This latest attempt, however, is going to be different.  I know that because the vow I took to ensure it would be different was much louder and more intense than the previous vows I’ve taken.

Part of Isaac’s training is that he has a list of daily chores he must check off before engaging in any activity that could remotely be construed as being “fun”.  The list is short and relatively uncomplicated, although the simplest of tasks can prove to be complicated for an intelligent child prone to weasel out of anything and everything he has no interest in doing.  It includes such things as making up his bed, doing his homework, unloading the dishwasher, etc.  And while few kids these days have such a list, it would be reasonable for me to assume the boy is learning about hard work sufficiently so.  But I was raised by a man who taught me the value of hard work by giving me the impossible task of pulling every weed in a hundred plus acre peanut field, so I’m prone to believe I should pile on.

And so, after much scheming and plotting, I devised a plan to put my son to work as a chicken farmer.  We have a lot plenty big enough for the dog, the kids, a garden and a chicken house, and my little hometown doesn't levy unreasonable restrictions against its inhabitants as did my old subdivision in Arizona, which forbade the practice of raising livestock in one's backyard.  As I pondered my ingenious scheme I thought to myself, “that’ll teach him some responsibility.”  I pictured him waking at the crack of dawn every morning, feeding the birds and gathering their eggs in time for breakfast omelets.  I further reasoned that my little “life lesson” would provide my son with enough spending money so as to keep me in the black for years to come.  Then I just got silly, imagining that his improved work ethic would result in his eventual acceptance into Harvard Law School and, with a little luck, perhaps he would even claw his way into the Oval Office, where he would publicly thank his Dad for nudging him in the right direction.  As with any great scheme I've concocted over the years, I once again amazed myself.   

Funny how the little ideas that tend to pop into my head rarely manifest themselves as easily and quickly as they’re conceived, and by now, I should temper my enthusiasm with the memories of “brilliant ideas” of yesteryear.  But given that I’m a slow learner, I set out to create a chicken habitat for the reluctant young entrepreneur anyway.  I cleaned up an old fish house on my property - a little shanty of a building that was previously used for cleaning fish by the former owner – and prepared it to house the new additions to our family.  I fenced in the area around the building, creating a nice little chicken yard and proceeded to order the chicks.  They arrived early on a Saturday morning, several weeks later – all 27 of them – stuffed inside a container roughly the size of a cigar box.  At first, Isaac was excited and welcomed his new business venture with open arms.  But by lunchtime, he had completely lost interest.

And being the task master that I am, I threatened him with every kind of restriction known to man, and he dutifully complied.  A week later, however, he awoke to a grizzly scene of chicken homicide (my wife suggested that I refer to it as an incident of fowl play, but being unwilling to expose myself to the potential humiliation that I was sure would ensue, I opted for the non-pun route, but agreed to give it an honorable mention nevertheless).  Of the 27 chicks that we received from the postmaster, only 15 remained.  The remains of their fallen compatriots, a handful of feathers and few drops of blood, lay eerily on the plywood floor of the coop, and my son instantly re-engaged in his chickens, now fewer in number.  After all, what little boy doesn’t want a good murder mystery to solve, even if the victim is a bird.

Assured that the culprit must be a fox, we shored up our fence and set a trap for the murderer.  A few days later, my son met me at the breakfast table with more bad news: 7 more dead birds and no fox in the trap.  And then there were 8.  He nearly choked on his excitement, which I thought somewhat odd, but not too odd.  After all, he is a red blooded American boy thirsting for adventure and a hint of danger, just like his brethren.  So we reset our trap and moved it to a different location.  For a couple of nights, all was well with our chicks.  A few mornings later, however, my son came bounding through the door with even more excitement than the first 2 times.  “Five!” he screamed.  “There’s only five of ‘em left!” and this time he had the slightest trace of a grin on his face.  Then it hit me.  He wasn’t excited about the mystery surrounding these avian murders.  He was just glad to see this new burden slowly lifting off his shoulders by a hungry fox.

Eventually, we caught and sufficiently punished the chicken slayer, and with a slight tip of the cap to the PETA crowd, I won’t go into detail on this point other than to say that I’m confident his killing days are forever behind him.  Isaac, still reluctant to own up to his responsibility, has to be nudged (sometimes not so gently) to feed and care for his hens, who have returned the favor by withholding their eggs from him.  Nevertheless, the responsibility is firmly his and his alone and will be until the next fox comes along and puts an end to his egg farming days once and for all.