Growing up under the watchful eye of my mother, a schoolteacher with a firm belief in discipline, shaped me in ways I could never have imagined. Both my brother and I were raised under her strict surveillance, both at home and in the classroom where she taught.
Her philosophy was clear: the cane was a tool to mould us into capable, self-reliant individuals who could hold their heads high in life. Her high expectations meant that any misstep – whether behavioural or academic – often resulted in the sharp sting of her cane, leaving red lines and raised welts on our palms, legs or thighs. For smaller infractions, her piercing stare was enough to freeze us in our tracks, ensuring we corrected our course immediately.
Despite the pain of her discipline, I found myself drawn to her authoritative presence. Her stern gestures, the way she commanded respect, and the love she showered on us as a mother captivated me. She became my role model, and I vowed to emulate her when I became a mother myself.
Years later, in my mid-30s, I found myself raising my own son, a lively 10-year-old boy. My husband, a busy professional and the sole breadwinner, entrusted me with the responsibility of nurturing our child into a good human being; one who would excel in his professional life while upholding strong values. I took this duty seriously, determined to instill discipline and focus in my son from an early age. Boys, I reasoned, are prone to falter and without consequences, those missteps could derail their path to success.
Inspired by my mother, I adopted a strict disciplinary regimen. After thorough research, I introduced the cane into our home – a tool with a long history in schools and households for maintaining order. I purchased two – a standard pliant rattan cane and a rigid thin bamboo cane, both displayed prominently in my son’s room as a constant reminder of the consequences of misbehaviour. The sight of them alone served as a deterrent, a silent warning to think twice before acting out.
For minor mistakes, I mirrored my mother’s approach, using an intimidating stare – rolling my eyes and flaring my nostrils – to bring my boy back to his senses. It worked like a charm, just as it had with me. But for repetitive or deliberate infractions, I didn’t hesitate to use the cane. A few hard, forceful strokes on his palms, legs or thighs left red lines and raised welts that lingered for days; a physical reminder of the importance of discipline. On report card days, if his academic performance fell below my expectations, the cane came out again, again reinforcing the need for excellence.
My husband, initially skeptical, once questioned the necessity of such a harsh approach. “He’s just a young boy,” he said. “Could this be counterproductive?” I stood firm, explaining that in an era where corporal punishment was banned in schools, the responsibility fell on me to guide our son. “I was raised this way, as was my brother,” I told him. “Our mother never spared the cane, and it shaped us into responsible citizens. Do we want to risk our son becoming a spoiled brat?” He nodded, conceding the point, trusting me to raise our boy with purpose.
I introduced the cane when my son was just six years old – a bold decision, but one I believed was necessary. As he progressed through his academic journey, the results spoke for themselves. His behaviour improved markedly and his grades soared. The cane, though a harsh tool, proved effective in keeping him focused and well-mannered.
By the time he completed his school education, I retired the cane. My son had grown into a disciplined, driven young man and the need for such measures had passed. Today, he is a successful IT professional, carving out a promising career. What fills me with the greatest pride is his acknowledgment of my role in his success. He credits my strict yet loving approach – and yes, even the cane – for shaping him into the man he is today.
When he shares these words, my heart swells with pride. I pull him into a tight embrace, showering him with the love that has always underpinned my discipline. My mother’s legacy lives on, not just in me but in the life of my son – a testament to the power of strict guidance, tempered with unwavering love.
Contributor: Uma