Here's to You, Mrs. Openheimer
Posted: Friday, June 17, 2011
by Dave Potchak
PO's Peek at the Past
Here's to You, Mrs. Openheimer
Without a doubt, I owe much about my character and how I act today to Mrs. Openheimer, who lived in my home town of Beaverdale, PA. Please don’t bother trying to do a genealogy hunt for her because I’m sure you won’t find anything about her in any search engine other than in mine and my siblings’ minds. You see, Mrs. Openheimer (no first name ever given) was a made-up lady in town that my poor mom used as a clever tactic to try to force the four of us kids to behave.
As soon as we did something to warrant admonishment, an inquiry from Mom like “Do you want me to call Mrs. Openheimer?” suddenly stopped us in our tracks and halted any further misbehaving.
On the rare occasion when the threat needed further reinforcement, Mom would reach for the phone and say, “I’m going to call her right now.”
That’s pretty much all the warning that we needed. We straightened up like privates saluting a general in the army.
Dad played along, too. “Mrs. Openheimer will come and steal all bad kids and take them away with her,” he cautioned. We never knew what she did with these kids, or what happened to them. Frankly, we were afraid to ask.
It didn’t take my older sister long to imitate the tale-telling we heard and learned while growing up. She was four years older than I and she came up with a whopper of a tale, so intriguing, it was impossible for me to dismiss as fiction. Common to most coal mining areas, a light, ash-like rock was present in the boney piles around our home. She informed me with a straight face that if I placed the rock under my bed, it will turn into a chicken by morning!
Of course, I forgot about the rock until Mom found it under my bed while cleaning. I still remember how disappointed I was that it hadn’t yet turned into a chicken.
You might think that this method of telling tall tales is not only odd, but possibly capable of scarring a kid for life -- and you would be right. So, what did I do when I became a parent later on? I used Mrs. Openheimer and other yarns and anecdotes, too, although not to the same degree that my parents did.
And my father-in-law, my kids’ pappy, added his own twist to this Openheimer travesty. “She’s so old, she has leaves growing out of her cane,” he would tell his grandchildren. They would look at me with wide eyes and ask if she was for real. Of course, I nodded in agreement.
A psychologist would have a field day with my family regarding the yarns spun by my relatives. Today, I laugh because I’m just like the rest of them, spinning similar tales. At times I still use these powers of persuasion with my grandkids, but never to the extent that it will cause them anxiety or worry in any way ….. at least, I hope not.
Several years ago, two of my grandchildren (twin girls) were told by their mom to eat their broccoli because it was good for them. Fortunately, they found the greens to be palatable and the kids amazingly enjoyed the taste. A day or so later, my old beagle hunting dog, Muffin, got a little too close to the kids and they couldn’t help but notice the dog’s bad breath. I immediately reinforced the notion of eating broccoli with the fact that Muffin’s breath smelled horrible because she never ate broccoli. I told them that their breath would never be as bad as Muffin’s as long as they ate their vegetables.
Imagine the look on the face of their other pappy, my daughter’s father-in-law, when the kids told him (a pediatrician) that they intend to always eat their vegetables so they will have fresh breath. They emphatically proved their point when they explained that Muffin’s breath and stained teeth were directly related to the fact that she refused to eat vegetables. I’m not sure what Doc thought of the methodology, but he agreed that my strategy was okay in that it did produce desirable results.
I wanted to conclude by proving to you that the tales I’ve heard and used throughout my life have had no negative effects on my emotional or mental well-being. That is, I wanted to show you that I’m a normal adult husband, parent and grandparent, but I can’t do that just now. I hear my wife calling me to the bedroom where she apparently found a chicken under the bed with a severe halitosis problem. I’m going in to take care of it immediately before she calls Mrs. Openheimer and I’m never seen again.
Feel free to visit www.pospeek.com
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Top-level comments on this article: (5 total)Dave, isn't it amazing how parents, and especially moms had psyche degrees but never studied psychology? Mrs. Openheimer did a fabulous job helping your mom raise you, for sure! This was an enjoyable read. Thanks, Dave!thanks for your comments, Avis - always good to hear from you - I haven't been a regular on SW, much lately, but being too busy elsewhere is my excuse - AND you are 100% correct - neither my mom nor my dad even graduated from h.s., but I think I'm blessed with the manner in which they tried to raise us four kids....thanks again, Dave Potchak, author
Dave, about that time (my childhood) my mother also frightened us with a witchy tale. If she saw our hair untidy, like a fluffy dog's, the witch would come and take us away to the deep jungle and never let us back.
Time proved it a white tale eventually. Haha !Hilda, good to know that other parents used similar methods in child-rearing.
And, we turned out okay, didn't we?!?! DaveThanks for your comments. Always good to hear from other readers. Dave
Dave, your stories always leave me smiling. I never had a Mrs. Openheimer in my childhood, but there was this one house we passed walking to school each day that had a reputation of horror to us. It looked, if we squinted at it at certain time of day, much like a gingerbread house. We never saw anyone go in or come out. Coincidence? Thanks for a great start to my day!My mail indicates that there are quite-a-few parents who used, or still use these tactics. WE had the old house, the boogey man tree, a witch and Mrs Openheimer to contend with. No wonder I am the way I am. Thanks for commenting, Dave
When I was a child it was the boogeyman that scared me. We were told if we didn't go to sleep the boogeyman would come and throw sand in our eyes.We had the boogey man tree - a black, dead, leaf-less old tree across the train tracks from our front porch. Now I wonder why my parents thought they needed such multiple reinforcements to combat our behavior issues - were we really that bad???? Always good to hear from you, David. Hope you are doing well. Dave
My father would yell through the house, when it needed cleaning (which was continuously). This place looks like "Doxeyville". They were a real family from down the road. We always came home from their house and exclaimed at how messy they were. This was largely a weak defense about our responsibilities. So he just turned our defense around and compared us negatively to our best bad example. Loved your article.Thanks for your comments Christofer and thanks for the recall trip too. Just down the road, between us and the imaginary Mrs. Openheimer, lived the "Crums" (yes, that is a real name). They were not good housekeepers either. And we often heard, "this place looks like the Crum Bum's." Parents, !?!? aren't they something??? But I wouldn't have traded mine for anyone's or anything. Dave
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