We, the kids of my generation, heard it a lot- the conversation-ending, final and authoritative, entirely unsatisfactory answer- “Because I said so.”
“Why can’t I paint my room orange?”
“Because I said so.”
“Why can’t Fido sleep in my bed?”
“Because I said so.”
“Why can’t I ride my bike to Jan and Terry’s house?”
Jan and Terry were (and still are) my cousins. It was fun to go to their house. They had horses, a creek, and a Boston Terrier named Mitzi who could do tricks. Not only that, Terry had a motorbike and a need for speed. Riding on the back of his Honda 50 was several thrilling notches up from my safe usual existence. They lived less than a mile up the road. Why couldn’t I hop on my banana seat bike and pedal there?
My mother had her reasons, and she had explained them before, the first dozen times I asked. For one, our country road was narrow, hilly, and curvy, and most drivers “flew low,” except for Jennie Jo Ezzard, who wore glasses three inches thick and never went faster than twelve miles an hour- but she lived north of us and never ventured down our way. (She did pull out in front of us fairly often, when we were “flying low,” topping Cavender Hill, late for school. Daddy would slam on the brakes and throw out his arm to keep my brother and me from flying around the cab of the truck. Then he let everybody know what he thought about Jennie Jo’s driving and whoever issued her a license. Come to think of it, she was probably saying the same things about him, if she even saw the blur as he passed her). Somebody was always running off in the ditch and many were the possums and other unfortunate critters who met sudden, messy ends on Dug Gap Road. My mother did not want me to end up like one of them, I guess.
My mother also feared danger from “roughnecks,” an unreasonable phobia I dismissed, despite a hair-raising tale from my dad’s youth about some drunk roughnecks he and his cousin encountered when they were walking home from town one night. The story involved a lot of running and hiding in the bushes (by my dad and his cousin), and a lot of shooting, hollering, and cussing (by the roughnecks), and some bird-calls, and a miraculous escape, but that is a tale for another time.
My Aunt Joanne worked most days, and if Jan and Terry were home, they didn’t need me- they could get in enough trouble on their own. If I went, my brother would beg to go, and Fido would follow and fight every dog he met along the way, and none of us had been invited, a fact which was extremely important to my mother.
So I always asked to go, and Mother always said, “No,” and I always demanded to know why not, and one day my mother said, “Because I said so.” In those days, with these words, the judge’s gavel banged. The argument was over, the verdict rendered, and the only recourse was to answer, “Yes, Ma’am,” and slink away. There was no hope for an appeal. When Daddy came home from work, he would merely ask, “What did your mother say?”
My mother had superior knowledge and wisdom, along with authority to make the rules. She also was a good and kind parent who loved me beyond my ability to imagine, and was fully committed to my health and prosperity. For a time, it was hard for me to see any attribute other than her authority to make the rules.
I complained to Fido about her oppressive dictatorship, and explained how happy I would be if I could do whatever I wanted. Fido understood, first because he made it his mission in life to agree with me and offer support; and second, because he lived under oppressive rule, too. He was not allowed to drag garbage all over the yard or bark all night or eat any of our cats, things he thought were fun, worthwhile, and important.
Thankfully, I was never courageous or impulsive or rebellious enough to scorn the judge, hop on my bike, and pedal to Jan and Terry’s anyway. As soon as I left the driveway and entered the road (on the other side of a blind hill), I would exit the pleasant realm under my parents’ protection and care- a world, I might add, with a trampoline and swings, woods to explore and apple trees to climb, books and toys, and every good thing a kid could wish for- even a pony, (but she was mean). When I passed the mailbox I would enter the perilous world of defiance and consequences. I might end up like the squashed possum- or I might suffer nothing more than the exchange of my mother’s trust for her displeasure. I might play all afternoon (or at least until I was apprehended) and have tremendous fun- but afterwards would follow an inevitable Day of Reckoning. The reward wasn’t worth the repercussions.
In time I came to understand that I was not allowed to ride my bike to Jan and Terry’s because my mother’s character and motives were trustworthy and she knew much more than I did. I finally figured out that she loved me too much to let me pedal off into a situation I did not understand and was not equipped to handle. By parenting with love and backbone, she taught me a simple but profound truth: “Because I said so” is a perfectly satisfactory answer for Someone who is entirely trustworthy, Someone who has perfect knowledge, perfect wisdom, perfect love, perfect goodness, and authority to make the rules.
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding. Proverbs 9:10
Blessed is everyone who fears the LORD, who walks in all His ways. Psalm 128:1
Great piece, Debbie! Funny, yet tender and wise.
Thank you Debbie for giving me far more credit for wisdom than I deserve. My mother would never let me ride my bicycle on that road either. We both made it to adulthood safely, so perhaps “because I say so” was a good thing to say after all. Love you!