The Cookie Burn
“Look,” I said, holding my pointer finger. I showed my four-year-old son a small burn I had gotten from baking cookies the night before, hoping to get one of his sweet kisses on my boo-boo. Instead, the first words that came out of his mouth were, “I told you not to bake cookies.”
In reality, he didn’t. But what shocked me wasn’t the lie; it was the way he echoed back my own words toward him. This “I told you so” reaction was a morning wake-up call I wasn’t expecting. It made me come to grips with how I am raising my children. Instead of offering a kind or compassionate word, his “I told you so” showed me that I was doing a bad job raising compassionate kids.
As parents, it can be easy to default into authoritative mode; to reprimand every fall, mess, or mistake a child makes instead of offering an encouraging word or a compassionate hug. When I replayed all the “I told you so’s” I say in a single day, I realized that if someone kept a tally, it might be the main form of communication I have with my children all day. What starts as a habit can quietly become a disposition.
It reminded me of my years as a middle school teacher, dealing with coworkers who were unable to turn off their “teacher voice”. After spending eight hours as an authoritarian, saying phrases like, “Raise your hand. Stay in your seat. Spit out your gum. No, you may not go to the bathroom. No talking. No running in the halls,” they were unable to turn it off. They were condescending to colleagues, parents, and other adults in the school building.
I decided in that moment to do my best to break this habit. This meant not only reflecting on my communication with my children, but also in other areas of my life. It meant looking at how I spoke to my spouse, how quickly I judged strangers, how I reacted to inconveniences, even the tone in my writing. Children absorb everything – the way we yell at drivers (“What is this guy doing?” “Use your signal!”), our impatience at the grocery store, the way we rush past the elderly in an aisle, or neglect to hold a door.
As parents, we need to understand that we are shaping our child’s inner voice. Just as my son gave me an “I told you so” instead of the little wet kiss I was hoping for. We often hear that today’s parenting style is too soft, that kids these days need discipline. Instead of arguing between the old and new schools of parenting, we should use Jesus as our example. Jesus formed, not dominated, the disciples. He told stories, not lectures. Jesus led with love and mercy, not law and punishment.
I work at a Catholic university, and part of my job is to lead like Christ. This is why I was surprised when a student told me about a bad experience she had with a professor. She was two minutes late to class, and the professor told her to leave. I have been an educator for over ten years, and I totally understand setting the tone and respecting the class. But in this case, the student was a college freshman. It was her first day, and she was late because she got lost trying to find the room. Moments like these are when we should ask ourselves: Do I correct more than I connect?
As Catholic writers, we should think about the tone and message in our writing as well. Are we correcting or truly connecting with our audience? Do we slip into an authoritative voice? How are we evangelizing with our storytelling?
That burn on my “I told you so” finger was a reminder, almost like the scarlet letter, of what I was becoming—a harsh mom. Unlike Hester, I don’t have to wear my burn forever. In fact, it’s already healed and barely noticeable. But my son’s words are pressed into my mind like a cookie cutter. His silly scolding — “I told you not to bake cookies” — showed me that my own words were lacking compassion. His comment was the little dash of truth my cookies and I needed. Mercy isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you practice, just like baking. Next time, I won’t be baking, not because my son “told me”. Instead, I’ll just pick up a neat little box of ladyfingers — the perfect treat for a mom whose fingers clearly need spiritual formation. 😉
copyright 2025 Janet Tamez
She opens with brief paragraphs that generally describe each of the four. Then she jumps right into the saints and why she thinks a specific saint owns that particular temperament. This method of organization speaks to the point of the title, but at times, particularly in the chapters on St. Francis de Sales and St. Peter, while enjoyable, can be confusing and repetitive. In both, she moves on to address other saints of the same temperament, perhaps to give additional examples of the trait, but sometimes it sounds as though she is trying to force the saint to fit the trait. St. Francis de Sales is described as “Melancholic-Choleric” in the chapter title and she spends the first few pages talking about the Choleric disposition. She notes, however, that, upon studying his life and words, Choleric is the least of his traits. To her point, she impresses upon the reader that, ideally, we want to become a balance of the best of all four traits, which St. Francis de Sales achieved through a great deal of prayer, intention, and work.