Anne M. Plant is a recent widow with two young daughters, 13 and 8, who traded their E! entourage lifestyle in Los Angeles for stability and structure in a provincial town on the Virginian peninsula. Now here's the true unfolding story of how Anne's sister and Army officer brother-in-law opened up their home. They have three children of their own; a girl, 13, a boy who's 10 and Baby Binkles, who is one. Taking in Anne and her two makes eight! The melding together of these two families is Operation Brady Bunch and it is high adventure.
Peacemaking with rednecks in Virginia takes as much fortitude and finesse as arbitration between sharks in Los Angeles. Having recently moved from the "left" coast to the right, I was unschooled in the fighting ways of the rednecks. An incident involving my nephew taught me that the antics of the two coasts may be different, but the motives for attack and strategies for accord remain fundamentally the same. Someone is hurt, someone strikes out and somehow peace must be restored. Conflict resolution takes guts. My sister, Pearl, has guts.
It all began one day this summer when my nephew, The King, was brutally attacked with a croquet mallet. The incident occurred around 11:20 a.m. while playing with a group of neighborhood kids under the Tree Haj Mahal. The Tree Haj Mahal is a handmade, original design, deluxe tree house located in our backyard. Allegedly, The King asked a little girl to whack him in the back with the mallet, which she did. He responded with the "Jaws of Death" also known as the "Vulcan Death Grip." The maneuver was an attempt to immobilize his attacker by pinching the base of her neck with his thumb and all four fingers. There were no adult witnesses.
Later that afternoon The King and his buddy returned from roaming the neighborhood. They ran into the house red-faced and out of breath. "Auntie Annie! Auntie Annie! Brittany's dad is going to rip our heads off and shove them up our... well, a very bad word, Auntie Annie...he's going to shove them up our ... asses...if we ever go near his daughter again." He spoke the dreaded taboo word in a breathless sotto voce.
"Yeah!" said his buddy, wide-eyed.
"And he called me a coward and he threatened to beat the...um...(emphatic pause)...out of us." This time the taboo word was so awful it could not even be spoken. After listening to this story, I began thinking in SoCal terms: What lawyers did we know and which substances could be clandestinely applied to his lawn to kill his grass for the next millennium? My sister, on the other hand, immediately grasped the situation. A father's little girl had come home with red marks on her neck and he was doing the chivalrous thing in defending her. Though Pearl could empathize with the motive, adults threatening children before speaking with the parents was not okay. So Pearl, straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and headed out the door to speak with the blustering man. I asked her if she would like to wait until Uncle Foxy, her husband, came home or at the very least take a weapon. She looked at me and replied with an amused smile, "No."
Pearl triumphantly returned around sunset. She had been correct in her initial understanding. The man himself had told her he was a "just a redneck father whose daughter got hurt." In their negotiation Pearl had listened, affirmed his need to defend his daughter and accepted our family's responsibility for having laid hands on his daughter. In addition to extending understanding and accepting responsibility, she also held him accountable. Pearl diplomatically made it clear that she does not intimidate or swear at her son and expects others to do the same. She then led the discussion to mutual responsibility for a peaceable accord. To his credit, our neighbor agreed to return to amity among the households. Since their discussion, we have had a successful barbeque celebration and even exchanged impromptu invites for casual get-togethers.
I contrasted this experience in Virginia to a similar one in Los Angeles. My then-first grade daughter, Poosie, came home with red marks on her neck. "Benjamin choked me today," she told me. All humor aside, I did not instinctively consider lawsuits or chemical attacks on the ecosystem. My first thought was "What did you do?" It turns out the two were in an intensely frustrating discussion. Apparently having exhausted his verbal quiver, Benjamin resorted to his physical arsenal. Unlike our redneck neighbor, I did not react violently upon hearing the story. I took the incident in stride. Clearly she was fine. And, I am sure Poosie could've diffused the situation by having ended the conversation that was clearly inciting Benjamin. (Thankfully, her teacher had not seen it that way and spent some time discussing the incident with him.) I didn't rush to protect my daughter. I didn't corner Benjamin on the playground nor did I call his parents. I didn't even take the urban equivalent of the redneck strategy. A redneck will call you out into the street, publicly announcing the feud with a fiery cry. An urbanite will perniciously promulgate the sordid story behind the scenes characterizing Benjamin as a "bad" kid. A redneck will take you on himself; an urbanite will get the whole society against you.
Maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe I need a little more pernicious urbanite or loudmouth redneck in me. I don't think Poosie suffered from my inaction, but I wish I had been more assertive in addressing the situation for her sake. She needs to know that her family will defend her, not leave her to take any infliction the world dishes out -- even if it's "no big deal." Faced with an absence of response from Benjamin's parents, I should've called them. But what would I have said? Maybe this is why some mothers spread stories. They are frustrated and don't know how to call out the other family without starting a feud. Pearl could have told The King to avoid our neighbor and his family. She didn't because she'll take responsibility to do the right thing. Conflict resolution takes guts. Even so, whether you are reasoning with a redneck or swimming with a shark, peace can only be found if it also lies within the other's heart. Maybe we all need a little coaching from Pearl on character, strength and straight shooting.