#66

No Whining.

This was our one rule in my high school choir program. Our choir guru, The much-loved Mary Kay Pryce, was always available to us for advice, encouragement, even a shoulder to cry on, but as soon as somebody started that high-pitched, talking-through-the-nose, poor-me song and dance, her eyes would go a little wide, and she would shake her head and back up a step

“Oh, there’s no whining in here. You can’t whine.”

As the last child of four, and the only boy, whining was my second (and sometimes first) language until I started trying to impress chicks. If there was any left once I reached ninth grade, MKP wrung it out of me with her tiny little hands. If I took anything away from those years other than a deep respect for music and an aversion to chewing gum, it was an intense hatred of whining.

Jack is now five.

My wife and I have instituted a zero-tolerance policy on whining, and it seems to be going well, but there are days…

Where does whining come from? Does the whiner hope that he/she will sway the opposition into acquiescence? Is it an effective, yet annoying self-soothing technique? Jack answered our question the other day. Something set him off on a whining jag, and Beck informed him that whining was simply not ok., and wasn’t going to garner him any sympathy in any case. He looked up at her with wounded surprise.

“I’m not whining! I’m TRYING to CRY!”