CHILDREN AND TYRANTS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19412, 21 August 1926, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHILDREN AND TYRANTS.

DISCIPLINE IN PRACTICE. SY GBAHAAI HAY. My aunt met me in the street one day and took me to task. " You've often told us your opinions on men, women and horses—what about children ? Do they hold no place in your scheme of things ? " " Decidedly," I replied, " but children speak so much more eloquently for themselves than any grown-up can speak for them that I always feel it a pity not to leave it to them. Grown-ups are so very apt to make them say those sweetly cute things of American flavour which were never lisped in this world except in pen and ink. They have a foundation of fact, of course, but the tact has been edited, refined and polished till it has taken on the smug artificiality of the adult mind. These children of grown-ups are very delightful, but they pale into nothingness when confronted with tho hearty bluntness of the child itself. Until we get at him, the child is as God made him, direct, blunt, and—pardon me, dear , aunt—a little coarse. It's the coarseness of Nature, who seldom beats about thfc> bush to assuage her needs. There's nothing so uncomfortable and unnatural as a small boy just out of a bath. Neither ho nor a sheet are to be recommended when newly washed. But it requires a very delicate pen to convey in their correct proportions the charm, the stubbornness, the freshness, the precocity, the candour, the dirt, the merriness which go to make up a child. A Kenneth Grahame or a Richard Middleton can do it. We lesser men do well to pause and dabble in coarser clay."

Nevertheless I find that I have some views on children, views that I fear will not please my aunt, and as the afternoon is on my hands, I will sit down and put them on paper. Too Many Treats.

5 In dealing with children, there is a growing tendency to pile all good things upon them, to make their lives a succession of treats and pleasures. At the very time when buoyant youth can feed on its own happiness, and rejoice in the mere newness of everyday things, we surfeit it with a round of devised pleasures. Left to themselves, children are naturally busy and interested in their awakening minds, with the wonderful things which demand attention on every side. We are apt to forget that the child of to-day is the man of to-morrow, and that happiness is just as important and desirable for one as for the other. At the very time when, childhood and youth past, the man would welcome some artificial stimulus in life, we neglect him totally. Nay, more, we demand that he shall step aside to make way for youth. When his powers and appreciation of life are at their height, we put. him into the role of a mere spectator. ■ Hence we find that children, staled with' pleasures, grow discontented, make more and more demands, become selfish and overbearing. We kill them with kindness. It does not increase their happiness, it merely increases our self-esteem. Children Bhould be disciplined; it is a mistake to give them everything they want. . . At this point my writing was interrupted by a suppliant, who was saying in a voice very imperious for a suppliant, " bah—,bah —," only stopping to intersperse it with grunts. Looking down, I found it came from a young person who took up his abode under my roof nearly two years ago. His supplication, which I recognised as short for " back, back," was really ; an appreciation of a merit he has found in me. It seems that ,the one thing I was born into the world to achieve success in is to imitate a quadruped. Mounted on my back, he regards me with almost as much satisfaction as a bowl of gruel. Well, it's good to be appreciated; besides I remember I promised to keep an eye on him this afternoon, so I might as well humour him for a while. I take him up therefore, and go cavorting about the house in a series of ridiculous postures. It's easy work at first, but what with the blood flowing up, and the breath flowing down and the various sinews and pipes being stretched by the unusual attitude, my powers begin to fail. Moreover, the situation is complicated by the. young person's predilection for a rough ride. Mere speed is nothing to him; he craves uncertainty of tenure as well. It's the same spirit of adventure which later in life makes a man climb the Alp 3, or marry, or grow green peas. The Martinet.

But these violent up and down movements are fatal to the wind and bring the game to a premature conclusion. He capitulates on conditions, the chief of which involves possession of the clock. Well—it's a good strong clock, so I don't see much harm in letting him have it. " 'Oundy, 'ound," he says. Oho! that means we must take the back off. After all, children will never learn unless they see things. The more active wheels hold his attention for a time, but after a bit his logical mind finds displeasure in those which seem still. He grunts his dissatisfaction, and, oh horror! he starts to stir them up with a biscuit. I save the wreck —I can decide later whether to have it cleaned or buy a new one—and replace the back.

That lets loose pandemonium. Oh, horrible, horrible, I can't stand it—a truce —a truce —anything —anything—only give it a name. " Loi—ol," copies through his tears. Yes, yes, that's easy; he gets into low gear, and " 'Eep—awp," he adds. I was afraid of it. " 'Eep-awp " is short for creepy-crawpy," and refers to another of my accomplishments. It means that I am to go down with my stomach on the floor and go through that painful series of contortions known in gymnasiums as pull-ups. He caught me at it once and he has taken an interest in my bodily welfare ever since. With his low gear threatening to change back into high gear I daren't refuse. In my heydey I could do somewhere in the proud twenties with ease, now I enjoy doing two, four is an effort, but this young slave-driver goads me up to eight, when I stick. " 'Urn," he commands, which means that I must turn round upon one hand. Wobblingly I comply. " 'Nonner," commands the martinet. How can man die better ? Death at this moment would be Jery sweet. I summon my waning powers, come saggmgly half-way round, and then collapse ignoniiniously in the dust. As I lie there—a spent light—a voice breaks in,: "Goodness! the child'll fall, perched on that. table all by himself—and look what a mess he's in—his hands and face, and oh, all down his dress! You might have given him some little attention while I was away," and he is borne ignominiously away to be cleaned. Somewhat ruefully I pick myself up, brush myself down and return to my writing. " Let's see—where was I ? Oh, yes—" Children should bo disciplined; it is a,mistake to give them everyining they want—"