And Then There Were Eight

As much as Paul Molloy would like people to notice him for his successful TV column or the awards he has won, everyone seems most impressed by the fact that he is the father of eight children.

While his family was growing, so was his repertoire of anecdotes and stories about children and his views on child rearing were being put to a severe test. In And Then There Were Eight he relates some of those anecdotes, some of the inevitable problems, and much of the fun that has resulted in having six girls and two boys.

"How do they do it? Do they have a lot of money, a large house, and servants? No, but they have other compensations—such as nine close friends apiece. Space is a luxury, so is silence. The funny thing is that when Molloy did have privacy and quiet in which to work... he couldn't work because of the silence.

The greatest key to their smoothly-run household is discipline. Paul and his wife, Helen, firmly believe that discipline, not the lack of it, is a manifestation of parental love. They believe that a child bright enough to reject turnips in favor of cookies is almost bright enough to begin picking up after himself. Consequently each child helps another, and almost all are old enough to help around the house. A graphic result of such discipline was three-year-old Barbara saying to two-year-old Mark: "Don't touch dirty Daddy's ashtray." (She had the right idea anyway.)

Does Paul Molloy consider himself rich? "I head the world's most opulent corporation because there isn't a dividend around that matches the fun of being in love with Helen, and romanced by eight prejudiced kids."

—from the dust jacket