Or so should read the subheading to one of my favorite books, “How to Rule the World,” by failed dictator André de Guillaume.
Dictator, parent—it’s all the same.
That’s what I was thinking as I read about North Korea punishing some of its citizens who weren’t grieving sincerely enough.
I wondered, would a heavy-handed dictatorial approach to parenthood yield similarly complicit results? Perhaps “imprisoning” my children for not showing “sufficient enthusiasm” about dinner may improve their attitudes about a great many things.
Parenting would be easier as a dictator. But don’t let anyone know that’s your ultimate goal, as de Guillaume advises. If you deny what’s obvious, your subjects become that more confused as to what you’re really up to, allowing you more power.
Pre-schoolers are notoriously easy to confuse. “Mmm—yummy broccoli! Better than ice-cream!”
But teenagers are too skeptical; you have to outright lie to them. “We’ll put this to a vote . . . later.” (Later, of course, never comes.)
“All successful totalitarian rulers have a big idea” (p. 90). Ultimately I plan to despotically push each of my children into greatness, so when I retire at least one of them will be wealthy enough to keep me well-appointed, albeit likely far away. But for now, getting them to do their chores without my screaming is the “big idea.”
But then again, screaming is just part of being a great dictator, according to de Guillaume. “You like giving instructions in a loud voice . . . you feel the need to take things from others by force [sounds like toddlers] . . . you are most at ease in a crowd that is chanting your name and saluting you” (p. 17).
I forgot to coerce them into saluting me this morning.
But I’ve already mastered other dictatorial traits. Page 27 recommends focusing “on the most miserable aspect of your childhood” as a sort of back story. I do that each week when the child in charge of cleaning bathrooms begins to complain. I pull out the, “I had to clean the bathrooms EVERY day lecture!” The hapless child is then forced to hear my indoctrination for how I have made their lives so much better by demanding such cleanliness only twice a week.
But oh, that can change. (Ominous music plays: dun, dun, DUNNNN.)
Some days I feel like following Otto Von Bismarck’s dictum: “The great questions [or family arguments] . . . will not be settled by speeches and majority decisions . . . but by blood and iron!” (p. 43) My German ancestry then requires me to pound my fist on the table in agreement.
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| Oh, how I want that helmet! It screams, "Stand back, lest I ram you!" |
I can act the part very well, too: “Insist on having every whim obeyed, no matter how quirky . . . adopt a tone of infinite wisdom.” You should have to pass a test in this before they let you take the baby home from the hospital. Bonus points if you can raise one eyebrow menacingly and make the nurses cry.
“Above all . . . wave your hands about when you give speeches.” My lectures are always well-received if my gestures bring down a few flies.
A few ways I could improve my mad despotism would be to adopt a power name or add a nickname. For example, Ivan Vasiljevich became much more impressive when he became “Ivan the Terrible.” And he wasn’t even that terrible by dictator standards; the name has carried him. I could be “Mother the Manic,” to inspire fear, or “The Grand Dame,” to prove my majesty. “Trish the Tyrant” has a certain ring to it.
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| Hmm . . . Ivan's portrait painter certainly captured that dictatorial glare. |
I should also develop an eccentricity. True, I’ve been known to put diapers on my head (almost always clean) to get the attention of my babies, but I need something to divert my cynical teens. My son here is demonstrating the advice given on page 121 to “grow an amusing mustache” (mine might be bushier than his) to keep my masses from noticing what I’m really up to.
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| Ah, but he does so well with the raised eyebrow and "dictator hands"! |
Tyranny, after all, is just a perception. Margaret Thatcher, the Iron Mama herself said, “I drive people but it’s my job to do that; it’s utterly ridiculous to call me a dictator” (p. 125).
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| Seriously, a dictator? She's not waving that arm violently enough. |
But if tyranny is what works to maintain control over my mad life, then let the dictatorship begin!
Then again, if all of the children are “imprisoned” in their rooms for rebellion, who will do all the housework?
Ah, this parenting thing is a tricky, tricky balance.
In the meantime, I’m taking suggestions for great dictator titles.
