Nagging Rights

When my son Paul was in college he came home on one of his way too many breaks and saw a copy of the book The Nag Hammadi Scriptures lying on our coffee table. It's a book of “missing” scriptures; books written during the time the other more accepted books of the Bible were being written. If you read some of these books, such as the The Holy Book of the Great Invisible Spirit, you would believe that LSD was around a lot longer than the 1960's. They seemed to be written by people a few cubits short of a floating ark.

My son, however, saw something different. He picked up the book and proclaimed; “The Nag Scriptures? Did Mom write these?”

Nagging occurs when someone tells you about something you should be doing. Over and over again.
On sunny days. On rainy days. On weekdays and weekends. In the morning when you get up until the time you go to sleep. In the Fall, in Winter (it seems worse in the winter), in the Spring and into the Summer. At least that's how the nagged see it. Or so I've been told.

My wife is a nag. She has to be. Whatever gene it is that is responsible for drive or ambition is missing from my DNA closet. Or more likely lying on the floor in there somewhere. My boys have inherited my less active genes and thus the need for kind gentle reminders about their obligations from time to time. To time to time to time and then one more time.

The bad part about naggers is that they are almost always right. If they weren't you wouldn't fight with them about why you shouldn't have do something that you know you should be doing and wouldn't take that long but you're right in the middle of something and what's the big deal anyhow? Of course, the alternative is too horrible to contemplate; doing something before it actually needs to be done.

During their school years I helped with the nagging at times, though not to hear her tell it. “I'm the one that has to nag them while you play games with them” was a frequent complaint I heard. I wanted to respond that we all have to live according to the talents given us, but such short term rejoinders reap such long term results that I would bite my tongue. So often that I no longer taste food. But the truth is; she was right.

It was part of our Good Cop/Bad Cop parenting style; She was Dirty Harry and I was Joe Friday, though I lacked his charisma. I was lucky to be the good cop because sometimes, when the boys were alone with me they would complain about their Mom's persistent ways. I liked to remind them that if it wasn't for their Mom, none of them would have finished the fourth grade, let alone gone to college. They'd still be trying to finish their book report on Freddy the Pig and the Flying Saucers. It would have turned into their senior thesis. It was mine and I only got an C.

It wasn't just the homework either. It was the paperwork; admissions forms, scholarship forms, financial aid/disclosure forms and some forms that exist only because the government likes forms. There is some lonely paper pusher somewhere who is carrying on an illicit affair with a spreadsheet and we're all paying for it. You don't just fill out these forms once either, they have to be done every year. In triplicate. Signed in blood.

My sons wouldn't have filled out these forms on their own because it would have involved interrupting a game they might be playing. Being a game player is the one talent I was able to teach them, however it doesn't look all that impressive on your resume. “1995-2004, Played XBOX. Skills learned; I have really flexible thumbs and I can scream a lot.” Admittedly, these may seem to be your current boss' only assets but that's no guarantee it will work for you.

Overall, my sons are doing very well, thanks to Dirty Harry having putting a 357 Magnum to their heads several times over the years. They have the usual difficulties with their jobs and the like, but at least they've had good jobs to have trouble with. They don't call us to tell us some customer wanted his hamburger HIS way and it involved unnatural acts with a lot of ketchup. They all did well or are doing well in school, except for my second son. He went into the Navy after having lost 60 pounds over six months. A determination he carefully kept hidden during the nagging years. He ended up seeing parts of the world he never would have if I was his only influence.

I have only one piece of advice for my wife; Honey, whenever the boys call home with any kind of good news about how their lives are going, just mentally say “You're welcome.” You'll never get the recognition you deserve for doing the dirty work, but we can sure can enjoy the results.