Dear All,

Someone amongst you, one of you, has been going around telling little innocent children that the Tooth Fairy does not exist. It’s appalling, and I’m here to tell that she does exist; in fact, as you can see, she has a gender, she’s a she.

This letter is to make it clear to you why she exists so that you can stop misguiding poor, innocent gullible souls who have done just fine so far. I send it with the authority vested upon me as a parent, and also based on the fact that indeed, I too believe that she exists because I have seen her at work. We have worked together on all kinds of projects and I can tell you that she always delivers on time and according to instructions.

The Tooth Fairy comes to my rescue on matters not just relating to teeth, but everyday things as well. To systematically show you how, let’s start with what we all know she does best – the teeth. Sometimes, one of my kids will have a tooth that has been shaking in its root for weeks and they won’t let anyone get near it. All I need to say is that if they don’t get it out, the Tooth Fairy is going to send a dog tooth instead of a good tooth. Like magic, the child is suddenly asking everyone if they can help them get the tooth out. As a result, all my children have straight teeth. If a tooth happens to get out on time, the Tooth Fairy and I keep our end of the bargain: she continues to exist and all I have to do is buy cheap candy and place it under the pillow. We, the Tooth Fairy and I, are now exploring how we can actually make sure that we get the straight teeth brushed as recommended.

Sometimes I have to leave the kids for 1 or 2 hours unattended so that I can get an errand done. I only have to say that my Tooth Fairy is watching for any kind of mischief and she will let me know right away if any of the children is causing a ruckus – she just whispers in my ear wherever I am. I can tell you that each time, I get back home and the kids themselves are intact and so is my house. Try that without having the Tooth Fairy help you’ll and see what happens.

The Tooth Fairy sees no gender.

There are nights when a tummy is bad and a child cant sleep. Have you ever tried telling them that you’ve just had a word with the Tooth Fairy, and she is sending her sister who is a nurse to come and have a look and the tummy will be better? You see, the Tooth Fairy has a family too and they work in a sort of company where everyone has an allotted role. You know that the bad tummy is nothing serious – the child was trying out the taste of the weeds in the garden, and a trip to the doctor is not really necessary. The Tooth Fairy takes away pain, and she is within reach, and so I use her.

The Tooth Fairy has a relative called Snitch. And Snitch sits on the shoulders of children who do bad things and goes back to report everything to the Tooth Fairy herself. My children know that should they be caught in the act, they can forget anything nice that was coming their way because the Tooth Fairy only works with good children. Snitch, oh, I love Snitch. It means that I don’t have to be in the same room with them every waking minute – Snitch is there doing my work for me.

The Tooth Fairy comes out at night.

There is another relative I must mention, and her name is Candy. She is terrific for keeping kids on the straight and narrow. She is plump, round and sweet and all she asks is that I have a secret stash of cookies for when we, she and I, need them. Her work is to notice good things that the kids have done. She tells me, and I have to hand out a cookie and say thanks, good boy, or good girl. The buzz from that will last for hours on a kid – I know because I get to rest in that time.

One of the most useful relatives when it comes to matters of hygiene is called Tub. Tub hangs around bathrooms and usually sits on bubbles that are on the soap. If he doesn’t get a bubble to sit on all day from each of us, he can get pretty upset and then the Tooth Fairy has to deal with that – she doesn’t like it at all because it’s hard to make Tub happy. She will get him to smile in the end, but trust me, she won’t be visiting you with anything nice for a while. All children must make bubbles for Tub with soap and water by taking a bath. Tub and I, and the Tooth Fairy of course, make sure that baths are rather regular.

You can see why you cannot possibly say the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. I could go on, but I have to go because I have a feeling Snitch has just flown in. I could intervene for whichever child of mine for whom the visit is intended on this one occasion so that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t get to hear about it.

One last time, please, if you are a self-respecting adult who has any kind of regard for the hard job of parenting, do not any child that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. They just might believe you.

Mutuo Mbilla

Article by Mutuo Mbilla - www.goodarticlewriter.com Mutuo is a professional article writer and IMer who likes to occasionally emerge from her work and catch up with the rest of the world. Her articles here are mainly from what she sees when she sticks her neck out :-).

Website - More Posts

A few years before I was born, the Crystals recorded He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss). The writers claimed it as a protest song after hearing the singer Little Eva’s explanation for accepting her boyfriend’s violence – he did it out of love. The record-buying public disagreed and condemned it for justifying domestic violence. Listen to the song on ‘You Tube’ and you can see their point. But…

Is it possible to hit someone out of love?

The UK government recently announced plans to educate all children about domestic violence. Thankfully, it’s no longer acceptable for the police to brush off a husband slapping his wife as a domestic matter. As a society, at least morally, we have moved on, even if what happens behind closed doors doesn’t always match up to the ideal.

But why are we still clinging to the right to smack our children? I’m not asking to provoke or challenge. I genuinely want to know. Why?

At the risk of being called a Dragon, let me tell you where I’m at. Last year, I was awarded a place on the Isis Project, a scheme being run by the London-based Documentary Film-Maker’s Group, funded by the Equality and Human Rights Council, to train and develop more female documentary film-makers. The British Institute of Human Rights was a partner in the project, and as part of the application process; I had to pitch a human rights idea.

My idea had been rattling around my consciousness for some time. A year or so previously, I had been at a celebratory memorial event for a young man who had been stabbed to death in broad daylight when he tried to intervene in a fight. In between the singing, dancing and rapping, a panel of influential people answered questions from the black audience. One parent claimed that the reason why young people were violent was because ‘the government says that we can’t smack our children any more’. When a panel member, the only white person present, replied – very politely, I should say – that she didn’t think physical discipline always worked, the audience booed her. Yes, booed her. Within minutes, the MC returned and gave the classic response – ‘I was smacked as a child and it didn’t hurt me’. Debate over.

I was incandescent with rage. Or to be more accurate, frowning a lot and muttering to myself. I was also really bewildered. Weren’t we supposed to be talking about anti-violence and children’s safety? We talk about our aspirations for our children, but how often do we reflect on the parents we want to be?

Sixteen women were selected to go on the intense Isis course of training in documentary film-making. My film was one of three chosen to be made. For many reasons, it wasn’t an easy process, but with the help of a wonderful crew, Licks and Beats was born. It’s my baby – and, yes, I’m proud.

The film has been made to stimulate the debate about physical discipline. It is not a polemic; it is not about demonising parents. All those black parents who were at that memorial event were attending because they were passionate about their children’s welfare. The debate about how smacking can or can not protect our children’s welfare is one that we need to have.

So, I would like to declare the debate open. But, first, I would like to address some of the objections I have met so far. Just, you know, so the discussion doesn’t go round in circles. Here goes.

1. You should talk about all children, not just black ones

As a black parent coming from a long line of black parents, I want to explore my own heritage and community. What are the stories and experiences that we share? How do we shape the generations that come after us? In a magazine article recently, Skin from the rock band Skunk Anansie, spoke about being in the first generation of black teenagers born in Britain. If you’re in your 40s, you’re possibly one of the first generation of British-born black parents too. We’ve endured the barely coherent muttering of the National Front in the 80s and now the far more articulate and highly-publicised propaganda of the BNP. Only this month, commentators in right wing British media have performed another hatchet hob on Caribbean boys while the left wing Guardian published an article about the ‘epidemic’ of schizophrenia in the British Caribbean communities. With a General Election coming up, the topic of immigration is going to get more of a kicking than the ball in next year’s Cape Town final.

There are specific and profound pressures on black parents and we need to reflect on the best way of nurturing resilient, confident and ambitious children.

2. You are reinforcing stereotypes by focussing on black parents

Do black parents smack more? I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine any survey producing truly accurate results. And we don’t have to compare ourselves to others before we look at ourselves.

But we do give good comedy about our beatings, don’t we? The mother in ‘Everybody Hates Chris’ reaches for her belt and we laugh in sympathy. Last month, the comedian Leo Muhammad performed his one-man show ‘Honey, I Beat the Kids’ in London. How many other black comedians have you heard joking about their beatings? Indeed, how many black friends have you heard joking about their beatings? We’ve given it a light-hearted mythology. But now we’ve laughed, let’s talk.

3. Smacking is condoned in all holy books

As an agnostic speeding towards atheism, I’m not in the best place to answer this. However, the exact interpretations of most Holy books often seem to be disputed, let alone the challenges of applying dogma to twenty-first century life. Although not ‘of faith’, I have a strong moral code and a very keen sense of social justice and equality. I want my daughter to share these values with me and I try and demonstrate it – certainly, not always successfully – in my parenting.

4. Physical discipline is part of our culture

It’s not part of mine. My grandmother was a harsh disciplinarian. This was less about culture than the pressure of being the mother of thirteen children in economically challenged circumstances in colonial Trinidad. But even if something is cultural, does it make it right?

A couple of weeks ago, I was leafing through the photograph section of the Times Sunday supplement. There was a picture of an 11-year-old girl on her wedding day. She was marrying a 40-year-old man. In her immediate society that was culturally acceptable, but nothing will ever, ever convince me that’s right.

Culture is not absolute. When we hold positions of power, as parents do in family, we can change tradition.

5. You end up with buses full of unruly school pupils

I’m surprised how often the bus-full-of-feral-kids argument is set as the default. Do we really believe that none of those children were ever smacked, or, further along the spectrum, the young people holding knives never experienced physical discipline? Do we honestly believe that no other factors are at play? (And do we honestly believe that the thought of a smack stopped us misbehaving on school buses when we were younger?)

Why don’t we set our default to all the glorious children and young adults we know who weren’t smacked. I know plenty. Eschewing smacking doesn’t mean abandoning discipline. I believe very firmly in boundaries, good manners and neat homework. But, I also do not expect my child to live up to standards that I can’t manage myself, so I have to work really hard at me being the person I want her to be.

6. “I was smacked as a child and it didn’t harm me.”

There are two responses to this, really. Firstly, when some people utter that phrase, I would like to argue that that is highly debateable. (But, of course, I dare not argue back in case they hit me.) The most notable example of this very obvious denial was in the BBC series ‘We Are Family’. In this poignant, heart-pulling episode, five adult siblings of a Jamaican-Welsh family watched a film of one of the sister’s confronting their stepmother about the beatings she had given them as children. She was adamant that the beatings she herself had as a child never harmed her, in spite of inflicting such ferocious punishment that the children continued to carry emotional scars far into adulthood.

But – secondly – even if it didn’t harm us, is that the best we can do for our children? We need to raise our game. We need to talk to our children to understand the challenges, pressures and pleasures of their world. Our parenting practices must simply be way above not doing harm, for all the reasons above and beyond.

I’m showing Licks and Beats to black parents and black practitioners, as well as doing some interviews on radio. Indeed, the title to this piece comes from a comment a father made about the beatings he received as a child from his own father. However, I want to emphasise again, this is not about demonising black parents, but for us to start a debate that can help us make the next generations soar.

Licks and Beats is a film directed by Patrice Lawrence / Camera by Carol Sidney. It is a short exploration of the use of physical discipline in UK Caribbean families.

Patrice Lawrence