Deep inside I believe that humans desire a sense of discipline from youth; guidance assures a child that his guardians care about his life enough to intervene in areas of possible danger or misdirection. Discipline commands respect toward oneself and others because it brings order to chaos and reality to life. As I grew and observed my classmates, I saw those whose parents were not restrictive often led sordid lives. They lied excessively or vulgarly splashed the truth before their parents to openly wound them. I cringed to see such cruel treatment of good people, for these parents had never lived lives similar to their child. At first I was baffled by my classmates' apparent hate for their parents, so I compared their lives to my own and discovered that, as children, tantrums and tears produced their desires. I used neither, for neither would have proven effective; "no" always meant "no" whether referring to a request or given as a disciplinary expression. I respected my mom and dad's authority, which consequently augmented my love for them. This was essentially the differing factor which separated my childhood from that of my friends. I concluded that their "hate" evolved from a lack of respect combined with the bitterness of leading empty, selfish lives; instead of searching themselves, they blamed their parents for their frustration. The parents cannot bear the entire burden, however, for each normal human possesses a mind which is quite capable of inviting either positive or negative change into his life. Discipline is essential for the attainment of maturity, and the sooner one encounters it, or becomes aware of its necessity, the sooner growth can begin. I reflected over my current wish for freedom, and was silently glad that my parents had always voiced appropriate objections toward my sometimes doubtful intentions. No one had ever labeled me a "brat," I mused with satisfaction, so why should I babysit for other people's nightmares? My first "real" job, for which I filled out an application, was as a clerk in a fabric store. Since my ex-sister-in-law had worked there and because I sewed occasionally and purchased goods at the store, I viewed the place as somewhat of an old friend. That fact did not abate my initial nervousness, however, nor did it serve to reverse my ultimate opinion of the place once its image had steeped in a boiling pot of reality. I liked people, but when people became "customers" certain nasty transformations often took place. This I quickly learned when, without ample training, I was hurled amid a mob of angry women who had stampeded into the store for the weekly bargains and expected rapid service. Once my nerves were ruffled, I tottered precariously on the edge of tears; I wished to please, but my conscientious attitude could not tolerate overt customer hostility when I was doing my best.