Part 3 (1/2)
Alas! and as my home I neared, How very big my nurse appeared, How great and cool the rooms!
Some children do not even need _objects_ as a starting point for their imaginative activity. They can just conjure up persons and things to serve as material for their play. Many children, when alone, have imaginary companions. One little boy, when taken out for his airing, daily met an imaginary friend, whom he called ”Buster.”
As soon as he stepped out of the house he uttered a peculiar call, to which Buster replied--though no one but he heard him--and he would run to meet him and they would have a lovely time together, sometimes for hours at a stretch.
Another little child received a daily visit from an imaginary cow.
There was a certain place in the living-room where this red cow with white spots would appear. The child would go through the motions of feeding her, patting her, and bringing her water.
In these two cases the ”companions.h.i.+p” lasted but a few months, but there are children whose imaginary companions grow up with them and get older as they get older.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Imagination supplies this two-year-old a prancing steed.]
In some instances there is a group of such imaginary companions, and their activities const.i.tute ”a continued story,” of which the child is a living centre, although not necessarily the hero.
It seems to me that the power to create his own friends must be a great boon to a child who is forced to be alone a great deal or has no congenial companions.
There need be no fear--except perhaps in very extreme cases--that such activity of the imagination is morbid. A little girl who plays with her dolls is really doing the same thing, only that she has a symbol for each of her imaginary companions.
But although an imaginative child is much easier to teach later on, and although he does not trouble you with the incessant nagging ”What shall I do now?” the mother whose idea of good conduct is ”keeping quiet” will find the unimaginative child much easier to care for. He is very much less active and therefore ”less troublesome.” This explains why this priceless gift of imagination has so often been discouraged by parents and teachers. But they did not know that they were actually _harming_ the child by so discouraging him, or, let us hope, they would not have chosen the easier way. For, after all, we are not looking for the easiest way of getting along with children, but for the best, and the best for them will prove in the end to be the best for us.
It must certainly try your patience, when you are tired, at the end of a day's work, to have Harry refuse to come to be put to bed because you called him ”Harry”; and he replies, perhaps somewhat crossly: ”I am not Harry, I told you. I am little Jack Horner, and I have to sit in my corner.” But no matter how hard it may seem, do not get discouraged. Once you are fully aware of the importance of what seems to be but silly play, you will add this one more to your many sacrifices, and find that it will bring returns a hundredfold.
And, after all, as in so many other problems, when you resolve to make the sacrifice, it turns out to be no sacrifice. For, once you approach the problem in an understanding spirit, the flights of the child's imagination will give you untold pleasure.
Another reason why imagination has been suppressed by those who are in charge of children is the fear that it will lead to the formation of habits of untruthfulness. It is very hard to realize, unless you understand the child's nature, that the child is not lying when he says something that is manifestly not so to you and the other adults. I have heard children reproved for lying when I was sure that they had no idea of what a ”lie” is. In one family an older boy broke a plate and, when charged with the deed, denied it flatly. His little brother, however, confessed and described just how he had broken it. Now, the older boy was telling a falsehood consciously-- probably from fear of punishment. The little fellow, however, was not telling an untruth--from his point of view. He really imagined having broken that plate. He had heard the event discussed by the family until all the incidents were vivid to him and he pictured himself as the hero.
Up to a certain time it is impossible for the child to distinguish between what we call _real_ and his make-believe. Both are equally real to him, and the make-believe is ever so much more interesting.
Until about the fifth year a child does not know that he is imagining; between the ages of four and six the imaginative period is at its height, and there begins to appear a sort of undercurrent of consciousness that it is all make-believe, and this heightens the pleasure of trying to make it seem real. Gradually the child learns to distinguish between imaginary experiences and real ones, but until you are quite certain that he _does_ distinguish, do not attach any moral significance to his stories. Should an older child be inclined to tell falsehoods, you may be sure that this is _not_ because his imagination has been cultivated. There are then other reasons and causes, and they must be studied on their own account.
After you come to a clear appreciation of the value of imagination in the child's development you will, instead of suppressing his feelings, look around for ways of encouraging this activity of his mind. You will see a new value in fairy tales and fables and a new significance in every turn of his fancy.
IV.
THE LIES CHILDREN TELL
None of the petty vices of childhood appears to shock adults so much as lying; and none is more widespread among children--and among adults. As we are speaking of children, however, it is enough to say that all children lie--constantly, persistently, universally.
Perhaps you will be less grieved by the lies of your children, and less loath to admit that they do lie, if you realize that _all_ children lie. The mother who tells you that her child never lies is either deceiving herself or trying to impress you with the superiority of her off-spring. In her case the untruthfulness of childhood has not been remedied.
However, although lying is so common, that is no reason for ignoring the lies of children. They have to be taught to know the truth, and to speak it and to act it. And they can be taught. The Psalmist said, ”All men are liars”; but he spoke hastily, as he afterward learned. All of us are probably born with instincts that make it easy for us to acquire the art of lying; but we have also the instincts that make us love the truth and speak it. Indeed, a child may acquire a hatred of untruth that is so keen as to be positively distressing; and this condition is just as morbid and undesirable as that of the other extreme, which accepts lies as the usual thing.
As in other problems connected with the bringing up of children, the first and the last aim should be to understand the child, the individual, particular child. Will your child become a habitual liar, or will he simply ”outgrow” the tendency toward untruthfulness, as he will leave other childish things behind him? It is impossible to tell; but for the vast majority of children a great deal depends upon the kind of treatment given. If you do not treat the lies of your children _understandingly_, there is the danger that you will bring out other characteristics, perhaps even more undesirable ones--such as cruelty, vindictiveness, or even _actual deceit_.
We must recognize that there is no general faculty of lying. It is very easy for us to cla.s.s as _lies_ every word and every act that is not in complete harmony with the facts--as we understand them. But there are many kinds of lies, as well as many degrees of them. A child that is branded a liar has undoubtedly given abundant occasion for mistrust, and has lied aplenty; but undoubtedly also he has specialized in his lying, and would be incapable of certain kinds of lies that are common enough with other children. As we are the judges of our children in all of their misdeeds, we must preserve not only a judicious att.i.tude, but we must really be _just_. And to this end it is essential that we take into consideration all the circ.u.mstances that lead to a lie, including the motives, as well as the special traits of the particular child.
The first thing that we should keep always in mind is that the moral character of the child is still unformed, and that his standards of truth, like his other standards, are not the same as those of the adult. Indeed, this fact is at the same time the hope of childhood and the source of its many tragedies. It is the hope because the child is _growing_, and acquiring new vision and new powers; the child of to-day is the adult of to-morrow, and most of the children of to-day will be at least as developed, in time, as the adults of to-day. The tragedy arises from the fact that as we grow older we forget the outlook of the child, and misunderstandings between the parents and the children are almost inevitable.
Whatever the prevailing morality of a community may demand, the fact remains that practically all children up to a certain age consider it perfectly legitimate to lie to their enemies if they but tell the truth to their friends. Children may lie to the policeman, or to the teacher, or to anyone with whom they are for the moment in conflict.
This is a relic of the time when our savage ancestors found it necessary to practice deceit in order to save themselves from their enemies. So ingrained is this instinct that many a child will stick to a falsehood before the teacher or other inquisitors, only to retract and ”go to pieces” when obliged to answer his mother. It has been shown over and over again that children even well along in the teens consider it quite right to tell one story to a teacher or to another child who is disliked, and a different story to one that is liked. This att.i.tude probably arises not so much from a desire to deceive as an outcome of natural cunning and adaptability.
This is ill.u.s.trated by the little girl who used to throw the crust of her bread under the table, to get more soft bread. The child was too young to deceive anyone; she could not possibly have the idea of deceit or of lying. She had simply come to dispose of the crust in this way because she had a.s.sociated the arrival of more bread with her empty-handedness; to throw the bread under the table was a direct way to the getting of what she wanted. The question of truth or untruth never entered the little mind. To treat this child as a liar would not only be unjust, but would be apt to make the child conscious of the idea of deceit. Later in his development the child may still use the same kind of cunning in getting what he wants or in escaping what he does not like, without the intention to deceive.
And a lie, to be a lie, must include that intention.