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Behavior
Analytic Autobiography: Tamina Stuber
My Jewish Mother from East Elmhurst, New
York
My history of a Jewish
mother begins in New York. It was home
to my grandmother, grandfather, and their five children. Grandma
ran a tight ship. She insisted her children look presentable
out in public, have an education, and represent the family well.
So
how did Mrs. Jones maintain compliance with her three important rules? The
name of the game was shame sprinkled with a little fear and intimidation. Interestingly
enough her scare tactics have been frequently employed by my own
mother. Her repertoire includes “the ever so aversive look”,
the subtle “don’t
forget you’re black and I am not raising you to be a statistic” reminders,
and finally the positive practice contingency.
I can recall how those
tactics impacted my upbringing. I was frequently the receiver of
the immediate response contingent presentation of “the aversive
look”. One
incident stands out in my mind. I had just perfected a trick
with my bottom lip that I couldn’t wait to show my friend at
church. However, there
was no time to show him before the service. So as I sat in
boredom listening to the preacher, I decided to make good use of
my time and practice. Seconds
later I felt the burn of “the look” from my mother punishing
a skill that I thought surely would land me in the book of Most
Impressive Tricks by
my friend’s account.
Then there were the “don’t
forget you’re black and I am not
raising you to be a statistic” reminders. I am sure
it would not take a stretch of the imagination to figure out the
use of this phrase. Nevertheless, to this day many of my discretions
about who I hang around with are influenced by my mother’s
partiality to those identified as “going somewhere
in their lives” versus “the hoodlums”.
Finally,
my Jewish mother put the principles of positive practice and overcorrection
to good use. When I failed to print the letter “D” correctly
I had to write it over and over again until I was able to do it to
her satisfaction. When
our homework was sloppy, our beloved mother ripped it up and made
you start from scratch. If you failed to make your bed in the
morning (or it wasn’t
done neatly) she pulled off all of the covers and left them in a
pile for you when you returned home from school. Need I say more?
Despite the aversive nature
of my Jewish mother’s repertoire
of contingencies, I believe her actions did more good than harm. No
parent or child is perfect. True, some of my behaviors are only
influenced by the fear of punishment, penalty, or disapproval but I
feel I should emphasize that it was not all bad. Occasionally,
her tactics led to moments of entertainment (like the time she unexpectedly
leapt from the closet of my brother’s classroom to teach him
a lesson about lying and talking back to the teacher). Additionally
some of her tactics spared our delicate bottoms during times when the
rest of the world would have given us a spanking. Lastly, some
of the experiences I have had as a child have positively shaped the
lady I am today. I am proud to say that I look presentable out
in public, obtained an education, and am not an embarrassment to my
family.
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