People have called her the Iron Lady, for her no-nonsense approach and ability to handle even the toughest of characters. No, I do not refer to Margaret Thatcher, although she was the inspiration for that particular nickname. The “Iron Lady” I refer to is actually my mother.
I personally can see why that nickname was bestowed on her by her former boss. My mother worked as a supervisor in a homeschool center for more than 10 years, and she soon developed a reputation for being able to handle the “problem kids”, students who were rebellious, lazy, or disrespectful, met their match in my mother. She was able to clamp down firmly yet respectfully on unacceptable behavior, and under her, students performed better academically and got more work done. She would be clear and fair with the rules, and consistent and firm in applying consequences should said rules be broken. She never publicly quailed at disrespectful and rude students, standing her ground to show that she would not shift her standards for a mere show of youthful rebellion. She would set individual goals with each student, that were achievable, yet ambitious and rigorous at the same time. Students who buckled down and learned to trust her methods would find that they could excel where they had formerly struggled. Students who dragged their heels would either reach their goals, albeit unwillingly, or receive the consequences of not completing their goals,
This was the same approach my mother took in my education, and it also extended to her parenting philosophy. She was aware of my speedy reading, above-average memory, and academic ability, and never allowed me to get away with anything less than my full effort. She made sure I revised every workbook I completed before taking the workbook test. She even insisted on my memorizing every one of the vocabulary words in each workbook. She instilled rigor, discipline, and excellence in my studying habits, and while I chafed at times, I thank her now that I look back upon the achievements and look forward through college. Her lessons serve me well, and I still excel in my studies to this day, by God’s grace, and by her training.
She was the driving force behind my piano training. While I willingly requested to learn the piano, it was she that firmly insisted upon my daily practice. Her tireless chiding grated on my occasionally lax attitude; I grudgingly banged out song after song for an agreed minimum of twenty to thirty minutes a day. Looking back, I blush at my childish reluctance and laziness. Today, I play regularly in my church’s worship band, and I acknowledge that without my mom’s prodding, I would not be at the level that I am now, if she did not see my potential with her velvet heart, and drive me on with her iron glove.
I chose not to use the phrase “iron fist in a velvet glove” to describe my mother, because that is an inaccurate picture. It paints a picture of a cold and hard-hearted person who first acts pleasant to achieve their goals, and then takes off the gloves should they not see their desired results. No, my mother has a truly loving heart, and it is out of this “velvet” heart that she pushed me on with her iron will and insistence.
My mother has taught me what “tough love” is. It is doing what needs to be done, in order to help the people in your care to excel. It is not a love that tries to make things cushy and easy. It is a love that can resemble the earth’s magma; hot, and pressurizing, but with the ultimate goal of compressing carbon into a diamond. It is a love that can resemble sandpaper; rubbing harshly and polishing a piece of furniture to its maximum shine. This is what parenting needs to be; a loving yet stern insistence on giving your whole effort in everything you set your hand to. It may not always feel nice; however, when I look back, I can only thank my mom whole-heartedly for her "velvet heart in an iron glove" approach to raising me.
