Let us look into the application of this principle with reference to the more serious problems of misconduct which are liable to arise.
In general experience, the most serious troubles, or faults, which a mother has to contend with, are forgetfulness, temper, selfishness, deception, lying. Her aim is to see them supplanted by a habit of reflection, self-control, consideration for others, sincerity, truth.
She believes and feels that these latter qualities are better for the boy"s own welfare, better for the people he loves, better for everybody.
She wants her boy to feel this way about it, too.
Very well, then, the first thing to be sure of is that the boy really understands the meaning of those things which you expect of him--the whys and wherefores and the good that is in them. Otherwise--if he is not sincere about it, if he must do things in which he doesn"t believe--there"s an element of sham about it which leads quite naturally to concealment and hypocrisy.
It is true, he may always be counted on to do a great deal for love, for mother"s sake,--provided that mother has cared for that love. But that is a sacred privilege, which should not be abused. It may have the effect of setting a bad example. If she has the right to ask him to do something which he doesn"t see the sense of and doesn"t feel like doing, why shouldn"t he have the same right to ask her to let him do things which she doesn"t see the sense of and doesn"t feel like letting him do?
If that is the way of love, why doesn"t it apply to one, as well as the other? This may be very cunning and sweet, upon occasion; but for steady diet, it does not help the growth of moral feeling.
It is much better that he should never be required to do things which he cannot understand sufficiently to feel the right of. This all comes about quite naturally, in the course of companionship. There are countless opportunities for explaining and questioning, about this, that, or the other. No growing child is slow about asking innumerable questions and trying his best to understand. Preaching of any kind isn"t necessary. It seldom, if ever, gets home in the best way. The same thing is true of scolding and harsh words. They are not at all necessary; and they usually do a great deal more harm than good.
Let us suppose, then, that your son has been guilty of an act of selfishness--and to make matters worse, through a feeling of shame, he has first attempted concealment and then resorted to lying.
That is a rather trying situation for mother to face. It is about as hard a nut as she will ever have to crack. In the old days, there would be no hesitation in saying that the first thing it called for was a good sound beating.
But instead of that, let us imagine that mother is brave enough to stick to her love feeling, rea.s.sures her boy, smilingly, and holds him close.
First she gives him a chance to tell all about it, in his own way, and helps him along to a confidential admission of the shameful facts.
And to make the case as extreme as possible, we will a.s.sume that there were no palliating circ.u.mstances whatever. The best that the boy can say for himself is that he just didn"t stop to think--he went ahead and did it--and afterwards, he felt ashamed and didn"t want anyone to know--and then, well, he tried to get out of it by lying.
_Mother (smiling, thinking):_ "Well, well--here"s a pretty kettle of fish--isn"t it? What in the world are we going to do about it?"
_Boy (looking down, nervous, does not answer)._
_Mother:_ "I suppose there"s no use crying over it. The main thing is how we can find a way to keep it from happening again. Perhaps it would help, if we could find the right kind of punishment?" (No answer.) "What kind of punishment shall it be--the fairest we can think of? Suppose you decide it for yourself. What would you suggest?"
_Boy (very nervous):_ "I don"t know."
_Mother:_ "How would it be if, the next time you told a lie, you and mother couldn"t, either of you, go riding in the automobile for two days?"
_Boy (troubled, thinking, giving her a look):_ "Two whole days?"
_Mother (smiling):_ "That"s a pretty big punishment but, after all, lying is a pretty bad thing, which we don"t want to have happen. Suppose we start with that and agree on it--two whole days?"
_Boy (looking down, thinking, very nervous):_ "If you couldn"t go riding, either--why should you be punished?"
_Mother:_ "Because I"m your own mother and I love you better than anything in the world. Whatever you do, can"t help affecting me.
Besides, you see, in a way, I"m largely responsible for whatever you do. If I don"t bring you up right--isn"t it my fault? And if we both have to be punished together, that may help you to remember."
_Boy gives her a glance, looks down, thinking--begins to smile, hesitates._
_Mother:_ "What are you thinking? Tell me."
_Boy:_ "You mightn"t know anything about it--if it was to the cook, or Delia, or Vincent--or somebody else?"
_Mother:_ "That"s true. It"s something else for us to think about. If a boy tells a lie to anybody--because he"s ashamed or afraid--that"s bad enough. But afterwards, if he doesn"t own up to it like a little man, but tries to conceal it from his mother, or deny it, that is ever so much worse. It deserves a much bigger punishment. Isn"t that right?...
Isn"t it?"
_Boy looks down, showing more nervousness, finally a.s.sents._
_Mother:_ "Very well, then--this is what seems fair to me: If my boy tells another lie and doesn"t attempt to deny it, afterwards--then the punishment will be as we agreed--two days, with no automobile for either of us. But if, before she hears of it, he comes, of his own accord, and tells mother all about it--that"s better, and we"ll reduce the punishment to one day. But if, on the contrary, he tries to conceal it and denies it and tells more lies, that is worst of all--and when it is found out, as it is very apt to be, sooner or later--then the punishment will have to be harder on all of us--and father will have to be included too."
_Boy (quickly):_ "Father?"
_Mother:_ "If father is going to have that kind of a son, he will have to know about it and suffer for it, too. He will have to take his punishment, whether he wants to or not--the same as you and I."
_Boy:_ "Oh, mummy, please! Does father have to know about that, yet?"
_Mother:_ "Well, you see, dear, father loves us both, very much. We both belong to him--we both bear his name--and he works very hard to give us everything he can to make us happy."
_Boy:_ "But if I don"t do it again----?"
_Mother (hugging him):_ "All right! If you really mean to try very hard, perhaps we"ll never have to come to that. I"m quite sure I don"t want to, any more than you do. There! it"s understood and agreed--and we won"t say another word about it."
That is a simple example of the principle; but it is enough to suggest the beginning and end of the whole thing. It can be made elastic enough--gentle or severe enough--to fit almost any or all cases that may be imagined.
The punishment is talked over and understood in advance, not in any way as a chastis.e.m.e.nt, inflicted by an angry parent, but as a necessary and eminently fair means of impressing upon an unformed character the need of self-control, and the avoidance of an act which he knows is unworthy.
There are always certain things in every child"s life which mean a lot to him--dolls, toys, games, skates, baseball, bicycle, automobile rides, swimming, tennis, golf--or something else--at all ages, up to manhood.
To be deprived of an important pleasure is a sure way of making him stop and think over the meaning of it. There is only one thing that will bring it home more surely and more deeply, and that is to see the one he loves best deprived of her important pleasures, too, as a result of his misconduct. If mother cannot go out in the automobile; if mother cannot play the piano; if mother cannot read to him, or tell him stories; if mother cannot come to the table for her meals;--the sight of this and the knowledge that he is the cause of it, will put a terrible tug on the heart-strings and the conscience. And in extreme cases, if father has to be included in the punishment, and deprived of his pleasures, too, that makes the boy"s feeling of guilty responsibility even more p.r.o.nounced.
Yet, with it all, there is no chance for a sense of personal resentment and injustice to obscure the meaning. The unfairness and severity--if there be any--applies most to mother and is inflicted by the boy"s own act. And if mother sets the example of accepting it bravely and smilingly, with no complaint and no scolding, and clings fast to her love and sympathy, in this trial of love, such experiences may be counted on to prove entirely helpful to the growth of moral feeling and self-discipline.
And once a punishment has been determined and agreed upon in advance, it should never be deviated from in the slightest degree. If a child were allowed to evade it, or modify it, by cajolery or cunning appeal, that would tend to destroy the spirit of fairness and faith in mother"s word.
If a child will not respond to this kind of treatment and this kind of punishment, it is fairly safe to a.s.sume that he would respond even less, as far as the development of character is concerned, to ill-temper, harsh language, and the whip.
So much for the question of discipline, about which many well-intentioned mothers of the present day are so perplexed and confused. In this connection, however, there remains to be made a general observation and warning, upon which too much stress can hardly be laid.
A certain amount of discipline, in a few important matters which involve moral feeling, is almost essential to the proper formation of character.
On the other hand, constant restraint and excessive discipline, in the natural exuberance of youthful impulses and activities, is unwise and unfair to human nature. A mother who puts a healthy, normal boy in a pretty suit of clothes, and then would talk punishment, because he plays in the mud, or climbs a tree, doesn"t deserve to have a healthy, normal boy. His impulse to play in the mud and climb trees is infinitely more vital and admirable than the vanity and sentimentality which attaches to spotless clothes. St.u.r.dy vitality is a splendid foundation for st.u.r.dy character. Almost any kind of activity which does not endanger his life or health is good for him. Lots of love and a little helpful guidance, in essential things, is all that he usually needs--and very, very little repression, of any kind--the less the better.
In a child"s nature the faculty of imagination and the force of example are important considerations in the development of the spiritual feelings and the formation of fine ideals. The world of make-believe, of purest fantasy, is just as interesting and just as significant as the every day actualities of life. It makes not the slightest difference to a little boy, or girl, whether the stories you read them, or the acts of hero and heroine, are reasonable or not. (And if, in the preceding pages, I have referred to the child as being a boy, that is only for convenience in writing and not to imply that the observations would differ in the case of a girl.) The child"s imagination is ready and eager to follow you anywhere and the main thing is the exercise of the feelings occasioned by fict.i.tious events.
This is one of the earliest ways for the tender soul nature to find nourishment and growth. The more rhymes and jingles it can hear, the more fairy tales, stories of adventure, thrilling deeds of heroism, the better it is for the forming traits of character. In nearly all the stories a mother may find to read or tell to her children, there are examples and side-lights of courage, devotion, honor, loyalty, cheerfulness, patience, and other exhilarating qualities. There is no necessity of picking and choosing too carefully, or of attempting to confine the exercise to a certain sort of fiction whose tendency is obviously moral. The biggest part of it is to give the imagination and feelings plenty of food to grow on, to encourage and stimulate a liking and admiration for things which appeal to the interest through the imagination. Given half a chance, nature can be fairly well trusted to look after the rest--and in the long run is apt to prove as true a guide as finicky and restricted notions which may be lacking in broad comprehension.
One of the loveliest and most helpful occupations any mother can have is to learn to tell stories to her children. Many mothers may find themselves a little deficient in this ability, at first; but, with the inspiration of love and their holy cause, almost any mother can soon acquire a charming facility in doing it. And the advantage to the children, as well as to mother, which may be derived from this method is very considerable. A story told by mother is easier to understand, more sympathetic, more delightful, less set and c.u.mbersome than nearly any story which has to be read methodically from the printed pages of a book. A mother is in close touch with the needs and natures of her own flock--she can embellish and interpret and add her own loving comments, as such and as often as she feels the call for it.
I have found by experience that so many stories which are supposedly designed for children, make use of big and stilted words, complicated ideas, and tedious, long-winded explanations. Mother can read them so quickly by herself and then preserve the pith and point of them in her own manner of recounting. There is practically no limit to the variety of kinds and subjects which may be interpreted and rendered available in this way. The story of Ivanhoe, or Quentin Durward, or Lohengrin, may be just as readily told in this way as Cinderella, or Robin Hood, or Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp. But set any child the task of reading for itself a great volume of Ivanhoe, or many of the other world cla.s.sics, or of listening to any one who waded through the long descriptions for hours on end, is hardly to be thought of.
Fortunately there are a number of books which seem to have been written by people who love children and understand them. These a mother can search out and select from and make good use of.
One of the curious things about youth is that children love to hear the same stories over and over again, even after they know them almost by heart. This is undoubtedly due to the fact that the appeal is princ.i.p.ally to the feelings and not to the intellect. Intellectual people, when once they know the contents of a book, seldom have any further interest in it. But music and painting and poetry do not lose interest through familiarity, even for mature natures. Their appeal is more like that which stories have for children.
Owing to this condition of affairs, a mother need never be at a loss for stories to tell or stories to read. This part of child life should not be an exceptional occurrence due to her mood or whim, but a constant feature of the daily life to be counted on and treasured up. The lovely atmosphere which surrounds it, the moral and spiritual ideals which are engendered by it, combine in making it a precious influence in the rearing of a new generation.