THE TIRED CHILD.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 276, 20 November 1926, Page 26

THE TIRED CHILD.

STRAIN ON THE INFANT. PSYCHOLOGY OF FATIGUE.

(By G. EDITH BURTON.)

Under the heading "Psychology of Fatigue," in the "Star" of November 6, is a report of what must have been a most interesting address by Professor Shelley, delivered at a meeting of the "Parents' National Union." Stressing the great benefit psychological science had been (in the matter of fatigue) to industrial workers, Professor Shelley deplores the fact that similar research had not been made in the interests of school children. Two statements Professor Shelley made in his address provide food for the gravest thought. The first is: "It has been ascertained that 20 per cent of children during their first year at school increased neither in height nor weight." Xow, this sounds a terrible statement, yet, after a fairly wide experience, I should say emphatically that, not only is it the case, but that 20 per cent was even below the mark. Most children in New Zealand start their school age at the tender age of five years. Taking into consideration first the physical expenditure, one finds that this infant, as one might almost call it, leaves home at 8.30 a.m. (often before) and leaves school at 2 p.m., very rarely arriving home before 2.30. Then, unless help is kept, or the mother sacrifices every afternoon to her child, there is often a hurried washing and dressing, and a further jaunt till about 5 p.m. Added to this long day, in many cases, is a picture evening, vaudeville or concert. In winter weather life is not so hard for the tiny school child; bad weather and short days make the hours in bed longer, but in the long hot summer days the amount of energy a school child of five expends is terrific. Then there is the nervous strain, the unusual shouting and continuous chattor of the playground. The inevitable conflict with older and stronger children, the necessary and wholesome fear of punishment—all these unaccustomed factors make a formidable pressure on sensitive little nerves. No Rest For Little Backs. With all due respect to those who compile our syllabus and set the hours of attendance, one cannot help wishing that there was no afternoon sessions for children below Standard I. Most people who have had care of little children must remember how they will come in, even from play, at intervals on hot days, to lie down on the floor to rest. At school little backs never get a rest—muscles seldom relax. Is it any wonder in many cases that growth ceases? The smart, "bright" child suffers most. Unconsciously teacher presses him just a little—in fact, it is hard to restrain him. At home his feats are greeted by adoring parents with a terrible, blind pride—a pride bo fierce and blinding that, though the child is wilting before their very eyes, though his head aches frequently, his size in boots and shoes is at a standstill, his nerves are in rags, they get him off each morning, be he ever so listless. Their bursting pride infects him —the school hours soon become to him the field of battle, whereon he earns medals to satisfy the expectant ones at home. Will the puny man of stunted growth, strained nerves, weak eyesight, be grateful to those parents, who "pushed" him at the expense of health. Does any degree compensate any living soul for a loss of health or stature? Professor Shelley's second strong indictment was against excessive homework. "'lf homework were abolished," Professor Shelley said, "children would have leisure to devote to creative work, and would develop individuality. Many children at the end of their school career did not know how to employ their time. They were not educated at all." A Lack of Co-operation. This is certainly very true of many pupils, but whether it is because of excessive homework is very questionable. Rather it seems lack of co-operation on the part of the parents in the home life. It is not the lack of education on the part of the parents which matters most, it is lack of interest. Many parents of very slight education have a great fund of intellectuality—a power of observation—and are often great book lovers. These will, with the aid of a good school, turn out well-balanced, inI teliectual children. Children must be "lived with" by their parents. They must not be relegated to the kitchen, or the garden, or, worse still, the street, and then to bed, or what they get in school hours will, with a few exceptions, be just shed like a garment when all tuition is over. Taking religious instruction for granted, of course, the next best thing you can introduce your child to is good literature, and I do not think there is a living child who will reject books, or be entirely without a love of reading, if you begin early enough with him. To wait till a child can read for himself is too late. You must, long before that, plant the great seed, by reading to him each day the Gospels, "Alice in Wonderland," "Peter Pan," "Water Babies," simple hymns, and extracts from "David Copperfield, "Old Curiosity Shop," "Dombey and Son"—indeed, most of Dickens' works have tales of children very suitable for reading to children—and nature stories. And, above all, you must "talk" to your children. Substitute your speech idiom and views for those too readily picked up in the street.