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By Cynthia Hockman-Chupp
timbrel, January-February 2001
Someone forgot to include the instruction manual. In it, somewhere, I’m sure there’s a chapter called, “How to Thwart Interest in Mean Guys.”
Until a few years ago, I had no need for such information. I was raised in a peace-loving home with one sister. If I’d give her a poke, she’d huff into her room and shut—not even slam—the door. My mom finally told me that “if you keep bugging your sister, she’ll remember it when she grows up!” I quit. My early years were nearly a pacifist’s utopia.
I should have listened closer to my husband. He told horrible, disgusting stories of one brother pinning the other down while hanging a lugy (a thick wad of spit, for those still in utopia) over the other’s face. He laughed when he said that occasionally lugies couldn’t be slurped up fast enough. He also recalled how he and his brothers used to love visiting the neighbors (fellow Mennonites, incidentally) so they could watch cartoons and play with toy guns.
Somehow all this passed by me. By the time I was pregnant with my son, I had two beautiful daughters. They occasionally fought but neither had shown the slightest interest in guns or violent games. In college someone said that if you raise boys and girls the same, they show equal interest in toys traditionally associated with one gender. I believed it. When our first daughter, Kasaundra, was small, we gave her a train set. She never touched it unless Daddy played with her. Instead, she played dolls all day, every day. I innocently thought she was an exception to the rule.
During my pregnancy I went to my nephew’s ninth birthday party. I knew I was having a boy and thought I’d better start paying attention. But it was then that I first got nervous.
James received many presents—and every single one was a “violent toy”: weapons, action figures from the latest shoot-’em-up movie, videos. I felt sorry for his poor mother. What was she to do? A group of second-grade boys aren’t likely to leave presents unopened so they can be exchanged for less-violent alternatives. And she couldn’t take away his gifts in front of his friends. I decided that my unborn son would never be allowed to invite boys to his birthday parties.
If it were only that easy.
Brandon was born without holsters attached. For those first couple years, I forgot about raising a pacifist and concentrated on my darling baby. He cooed and smiled at everyone. Life was simple . . . or so I thought.
My daughter Bethany loved the story of Little Red Riding Hood, so I read it to her repeatedly. As a toddler, Brandon would look up from his toys and smile as I read. Then it happened. My sweet little boy, the two-year-old with only a limited vocabulary, started running around with a cardboard tube saying, “Chop bad guys.”
He didn’t know what a gun was. We didn’t own any. He had never seen one—even on TV. (I only allowed “Sesame Street,” Mr. Rogers, and an occasional Barney episode on our set.) Close to his third birthday we visited a friend. Brandon joined the rest of the kids upstairs in the play room. Within a few minutes, he was back. “What ’dis, Mommy?” Sigh. A plastic gun. I mumbled a lot.
I had many opportunities to redeem myself. (Commu-nication: the key to peace!) Brandon carried sticks and talked about getting the bad guys. He never mentioned shooting—he still didn’t know what that was—but there was a whole lotta choppin’ goin’ on. I’d say, “But the guy will get hurt,” or “Won’t his family be sad if you chop him?” Or—pardon the phrase—the big gun: “Mommy doesn’t like it when you chop people. It makes her sad.” I was shooting blanks.
I still try to live in utopia. Not long ago two neighbors came to play, and soon shrieking resounded from the yard. Since the other kids are older, I went out to rescue my baby. I watched two 9-year-olds run by, followed closely by an 8-year-old and a 5-year-old. From behind chased my 3-year-old, growling and screaming for all he was worth.
Through it all I have hope—hope that the most important thing for this boy will be the example modeled by his parents.
Recently Brandon asked, “When was God born?” My husband, Kevin, laughed and shook his head.
I said, “God wasn’t born. God was always there. Daddy is laughing because that’s a hard question.”
Kevin said, “Yes, that’s a hard question. People don’t really know when God was born.”
Brandon replied, “Mommy does!”
Now, if only Mommy could find that instruction manual. . . .
* * *
What about those toy guns?
What’s a peace-loving parent to do with the need some children have for aggressive play?
Parents can start by avoiding militaristic toys and violent entertainment. Studies show that these tend to promote aggressive behavior and desensitize children to violence. Watch television with your kids and talk about what you see. Monitor and limit TV, video game, and Internet use. Help children choose positive, nonviolent games and toys. Tell family and friends about toys you allow your children to receive as gifts or what programs they may watch away from home.
But sometimes this isn’t enough. What do you do when your child begs for toy weapons? Does forbidding a certain toy make it even more desirable? If a child is going to run around “shooting,” is it better to make him pretend that a clothespin or index finger is a gun—thus exercising his imagination?
Some parents opt to treat a toy gun like a gun used by hunters. They issue a “permit” for the gun after the child signs an agreement promising never to point the gun at people (among other possible rules). If the child breaks a rule, the permit can be revoked and the gun confiscated.
Other parents offer a “toy gun buy back” program, in which children can exchange violent toys received as gifts for nonviolent alternatives.
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