THAT’S
COURTESY!
A
good look at the endangered graces of politeness and its importance in our lives!
CONTENTS
1. The House Was a Wreck
2. When Visitors Come
3. The Family on Vacation
4.
Store Is Not a Race Track
5. The Table Next to Me Was a Sight
6. But What Did You Do?"
7. The Home, Producer of Saints or of Sinners
8. "I Don't Like to . . .
9.
Parents Need to Pull Together
10.
A Platter of Criticism
11.
Her Blameless, Faultless Benjie
12.
Does Your Child Believe in Your Religion?
1.
The House Was a Wreck
NEARLY
everyone has a list of dreaded guests. Even an old black Persian cat that we
once owned had a list. When we lived near a particularly rough group of
children, poor old Blackie was once nearly pulled in two, and he became wary
of this set of visitors. I heard the prattle of children approaching one day,
and as a low obbligato to their approach, I heard Blackie begin to growl. I
saw him get up majestically and view the path down to the road. Sure enough,
there came his enemies. He ran to the boys' bedroom, got into the closet, and
slipped through a scuttle hole into the attic, where he remained until the
children had gone home.
There
are some child-guests who come in confidently, buoyantly, and even joyously
—and depart in the same frame of mind, leaving the host and hostess to survey
the wreckage, lick their wounds, and try to recover their equilibrium and
sanity. This is a pity, for every child has a right to be liked. Every child
needs approval. He needs to develop the social side of his life. But he can
never be accepted in society unless he is trained to regard the belongings of
others as sacred to them, not as his to unscrew, take apart, or destroy.
There
are moral reasons why a child should be taught this, as well as social reasons.
In the first place, destructiveness and making free with other people's
possessions are a type of dishonesty. If a child is to develop into a person
people will like and welcome, he must have a high regard for the "Thou
shalt not steal" commandment.
Second,
there is a danger in becoming impervious to the desires of others. A child who
is indifferent to correction is in a dangerous condition. It is wholesome to
care what others think of what you do. It is a terrible state, and fraught with
grave danger, when a child comes to the place where he does not care what you or
anyone else thinks, so long as he can have what he fancies for the moment.
Harold
came rushing into our house right after Christmas. When he left, the children's
toys were a shambles, and my wristwatch was in his pocket. I would have lost it
if I had not decided to look in his pocket as he was sidling out the door.
Naturally, I did not let him come again to play. He came again and again to my
door, and I told him I was sorry, but he could not play with the boys, for he
had not been a good boy the last time he came.
Bobby
brought a little boy home from school one day. I happened to be at the store.
When I got home even the curtains were torn from the windows! A vase was
broken, and my children stood in the doorway watching Lee tear around. They both
burst out crying when they saw me.
"What
is this?" I asked in a firm voice.
"Boy,
I never swung on curtains before," answered unrepentant Lee, unabashed.
"You
never will again here," I said firmly. I took him by the arm and sent him
home. He was old enough to know how to act, but either he had not been taught or
he did not care. He saw that I was irate, but merely shrugged his shoulders. How
callous and impervious! Later I saw him with his mother, and I understood. When
she pleaded with him and begged him to do something, he refused. He hit her when
she tried to take his hands away from a forbidden object. Is there any wonder
that she weeps now as she tells everyone that her boy is worldly and never looks
inside the church? When he was young and impressionable he did not learn to
respect anyone, much less the dear Lord.
It
is a pity for a child to be disliked, and finally banned. I love children, and I
hate to forbid any child from coming to see me. When we lived in Africa my
husband traveled considerably. Once when he was to be gone, the mission doctor's
little girls came and told me so sweetly that they would be glad to stay with
me. They were lovely children, and a joy to have as guests. We worked it out for
Nelle to come one night and Lois the next. I arranged a little program for
each evening.
First
they would go with me to gather the eggs and shut up the chickens. Then we would
feed the monkey and the baboon and the little dog and the cat. By that time
Andy, the cookboy, had supper on the table. We ate, then played hide-the-thimble
in the living room.
After
a while we had a story hour, and I told stories by the fire until we both got
sleepy. Then we would get into the big bed, with the mosquito netting draped all
around it. After we got into bed there was one more story, and a poem story. I
used to amuse my own children this way, and Nelle and Lois loved it. I would
tell some running story in rhyme, and the ridiculous way the rhymes came along
would convulse us both with such laughter that we would be breathless by the
time we were through. On the third day the girls' mother came to see me.
"Donnie
is crying his eyes out," she said. "He wants to come and stay all
night with you."
"Let
him come," I laughed. That evening I saw a little three-year-old coming
across the yard, pulling a wagon in which were his pajamas and his slippers.
He came running in, and we went through the same rigmarole. He laughed all the
time. Never once did I have to pry his small fingers out of some forbidden
place. He had been taught at home how to behave, and was a model visitor.
Finally
I lighted the candle and put the little fellow into bed. He rolled over joyously
and shouted, "Ain't it nice that I'm going to hear stories and poems?"
I had to agree with him that it was really very nice. And it was. It was one of
the sweetest parts of my mission life to play with the little children.
Jack the Predator
But
when I was just a young girl we dreaded to see Mrs. Hall come to see us. She was
always smiling, and little Jack, her son, was always a few feet ahead of her,
with a predatory look on his face. They no sooner got into the house than he
would start running all over to investigate. His mother did not even seem to see
this, and she made no effort to restrain him.
We
would look out the window, and someone would say, "Oh dear, here come Mrs.
Hall and Jack. Hurry and lock the pantry. Put those knickknacks away. Lock the
study door. Fasten that cupboard."
I
was usually detailed by my mother in a low whisper to follow and watch the
child. It was not a pleasant chore. He would kick and bite if I tried to protect
anything from his investigating hands. I could hardly keep up with him.
Once
I ran into the kitchen after him and found he had all the gas burners turned on
full, including the oven. I was kicked and bitten when I shut them off. I tried
to lead him out into the yard, but he eluded me. He was into my father's desk
next. In shutting a drawer, I accidentally pinched an inquisitive finger. Mrs.
Hall came running to the rescue when his screams rose, far out of proportion
to the small hurt.
"She
hurt me; she hurt me," he screamed, pointing at me. "Oh, darling, let
mamma kiss it," cooed Mrs. Hall, giving me an unpleasant look. "You
just come in here with mother, where you won't be hurt."
"I
don't want to," he declared. "But make her go away." My mother
interposed at that. "I told her not to let anyone get into daddy's
desk," she said. "You come into the living room, Jack. You can play in
there."
He
cried and screamed so that his mother finally went home. We all were glad to
see them go, for it had been an exhausting afternoon for us. Yet, it was a pity.
Little Jack would have been happier if he had been trained how a guest should
act. It is part of a child's birthright to learn the grace and beauty of being a
lovely guest. It is a good thing for him to learn that not everything even in
his own home is for him to handle and play with. I used to tell my small boys,
"This is not yours. It is mine. You have your things, and you must not
bother my things. "
A
child who is permitted to rummage in any drawer, paw through mother's purse, get
into auntie's or sister's things, is likely to be a nuisance guest.
How
are you training your children? They have a right to be liked, to be welcomed,
to be asked to come again. It is your fault and your neglect if they are
dreaded. A child is happier if he has learned the lesson of self-control.
"To
a very great extent, the mother holds in her own hands the destiny of her
children."-Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 244. Those who overindulge their
children will one day weep for the results of their misguided love.
2. When Visitors Come
EVERY
time I go to the home of a friend her little boy welcomes me as warmly as she
does. He smiles, runs to take my coat and purse, and does all he can to see that
I am well cared for. Though he is only five, he has a rare grace for so small a
child.
Only
yesterday he stood in front of me, and looking up into my face, he said, "I
think you would like a nice cup of Ovaltine, wouldn't you?" I could not
resist that, and he ran to fix it for me—with his mother's help.
Children
need to be taught to greet a guest. It is necessary for them to learn this. They
are a part of the home, and any training is woefully deficient if it is lacking
in this particular.
When
children come in from play or from school or from an errand, it is rude and
uncultured for them to dash through the house, paying no attention whatsoever
to a guest in the home. Many children come in shouting, slamming doors,
demanding, and never give a guest so much as a glance.
This
should not be, for the child will always need the grace of meeting people. Much
of his happiness and success will depend upon such small niceties. Public
relations are important, and these principles cannot be learned in a minute.
Beauty of behavior comes from years of careful training in the art of being
gracious.
It
is a pleasant and rewarding experience to meet a family of well-trained,
well-mannered children. Every time I go to a certain home, even if I am
unexpected, the children run to meet me almost before my car is stopped.
Little Elizabeth will say, all out of breath, "You can stay for supper,
can't you? And you can stay all night too, I hope."
And
James's eyes will be shining when he says, "Boy, I like to see you
come!" Needless to say, I love to visit in that home. The children want me
to see their new books, their pets, their hobbies, and their games."
I
am convinced that these lovely traits of character do not crop up by accident;
they represent days and months and years of gracious counsel and training, and
the product is a delight to behold.
In
some homes, when a visitor is there, the children seem to think they must be
seen and heard continually. They will pound on the piano and scream and run
through the house to such an extent that the hostess and the guest can hardly
hear themselves speak.
This
is not fair to the children, for they cannot know how to act unless the mother
and father teach them.
"A
well-ordered Christian household is a powerful argument in favor of the reality
of the Christian religion,— an argument that the Infidel cannot
gainsay."-Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 1.
"Let
not a mother allow her mind to be occupied with too many things. . . . With
the greatest diligence and the closest watchfulness she must care for the little
ones who, if allowed, will follow every impulse springing out of the fullness of
their unpracticed, ignorant hearts. In their exuberance of spirit they will
give utterance to noise and turbulence in the home. This should be checked. Children
will be just as happy if they are educated not to do these things. They are to
be taught that when visitors come, they are to be quiet and respectful."
-Child Guidance, p. 97.
Mrs.
Brown went calling on a neighbor one afternoon. Just as she walked into the yard
she noticed that her neighbor was coming out ready to go someplace.
"Oh,
I'm sorry," said Mrs. Brown. "I just ran over for a few minutes. I'll
come back later, if that will be more convenient."
"I
was just going for some peaches," answered Mrs. Smith. "I tried to get
mother to come and watch the children, but she's sick."
"I'll
be glad to stay with your children," said Mrs. Brown. "That is, if you
won't be gone too long. I have to be home at three."
"I'll
be home long before that, and I do thank you. I was going to take them, but it's
always harder."
The
five-year-old boy was standing there scowling. "I hate you!" he said
angrily. "I want to go." Mrs. Brown was not sure whom he was
addressing, her or his mother.
"You
can't go today, dear," his mother said. "You help Mrs. Brown with the
baby, and I'll bring you something from the store."
"You'd
better!" the child replied rudely. The mother said not a word of reproof to
the ill-behaved child.
As
soon as his mother drove away, the little boy came and stood in front of Mrs.
Brown. "I'm not going to mind one word you say," he said impudently.
"Is
that so?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Well, then, I won't do what I had
intended to do."
The
child stood and regarded her a moment.
"What
were you goin' to do?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Well,
first, I thought I would take you and your little sister for a walk, and we
could play in some of the sand by the river. Then I was going to put your little
sister to sleep and tell you some stories and draw some pictures for you. But I
don’t like to hear children talk the way you talk. I’ll have to wait till
the next time I come, and see whether you are doing any differently. Then we
will see."
The
child stood for a moment and looked long at the visitor. He had not met with
this kind of talk before. He was trying to figure the matter out in his mind.
Just what was involved, anyway? He had a distinct sense of loss of some kind.
When he turned away he had a very unhappy look on his little face. Rude children
are not happy.
When
the mother returned, the child asked her abruptly, right in front of the guest,
"Mamma, can Mrs. Brown tell stories?"
"I
should say she can," said the mother. "You ought to hear her tell
stories."
The
child turned again and looked at the guest with the same bewildered look.
"Would you tell me stories next time you come —if I'm good?" he
asked in a subdued voice. Mrs. Brown put her arm around the little fellow.
"Of course I will," she answered. "I love to tell stories to
good little boys." The mother looked a little quizzical, but the child and
Mrs. Brown understood each other perfectly. He wished that he had been good.
But he had never been restrained and taught to choose the better part. Small as
he was, he was aware that he had lost something.
Training Necessary
All
children, at times, do things that parents regret, but rudeness to guests will
not occur if the child has been reared to be respectful to his parents. This
training is more important to the child than to the guest.
"Neglecting
the work of disciplining and training until a perverse disposition has become
strengthened is doing the children a most serious wrong; for they grow up
selfish, exacting, and unlovable. They cannot enjoy their own company any
better than can others; therefore they will ever be filled with discontent. The
work of the mother must commence at an early age, giving Satan no chance to
control the minds and dispositions of their little ones."-Ibid p. 230.
It
takes constant work to train a child to have the grace of politeness toward
visitors in the home, but the effort is worthwhile. "A child's truest
graces consist in modesty and obedience—in attentive ears to hear the words
of direction, in willing feet and hands to walk and work in the path of duty.
And a child's true goodness will bring its own reward, even in this
life."-Ibid p. 145.
3.
The Family on Vacation
No
CHILDREN allowed." This sign appearing occasionally in public places is
an attempt to prevent destruction and loss. Because of youthful vandals and
their vandal parents, many well-behaved children are thus also barred from
places that would be educational and inspirational. The necessity for this sign
is evident, as is also the reason for the children's poor conduct. Parents are
woefully remiss in training their children how to act at home, so when they are
away from home they do not know, nor do they care, how to act.
"Mothers,
teach your children from their earliest years that they are not to look upon
everything in the home as playthings for them. By these little things order is
taught. No matter what fuss the children may make, let not the organ of
destruction, which is large in babyhood and childhood, be strengthened and
cultivated. 'Thou shalt,' and 'Thou shalt not,' God says. Without loss of
temper, but decidedly, parents are to say to their children, No, and mean it.
"With
firmness they are to refuse to allow everything in the home to be handled
freely and thrown about on the floor or in the dirt. Those who allow a child to
pursue such a course are doing him, a great wrong. He may not be a bad child,
but his education is making him very troublesome and destructive."-Child
Guidance) p. 101.
Such
tendencies go with the family when they go on vacations and outings. And often
the families are not aware of the fact that many people dread to see them and
their children appear in the group. This ought not to be, for the child's sake,
for he will develop a callous feeling toward the attitudes of others if this
situation occurs very often.
A
sensitive person is ever alert lest he offend or is in a place where he should
not be. Christ Himself taught that His followers should be awake to this, when
He told them to take a lower seat lest they be humiliated by being asked to step
down from a place they had brazenly appropriated. A child who is used to
offending has not the sweet grace of sensitiveness that is the characteristic of
a well-trained person. And "the influence of an ill-regulated family is
widespread, and disastrous to all society."-Patriarchs and Prophets) p.
579.
The
Marywell family were on a vacation. They had planned just where they would go,
and where they would stop, and what they expected to see. But alas, they were a
poorly trained lot, and they spread dismay and desolation wherever they went.
Relatives
were glad to see them go, although they seemed not to sense this. They had
trouble at nearly every motel because of the noise and loud talk and running
about that went on. A manager at one place came twice to ask them to be quiet.
"Of
all the nerve!" the mother said angrily, when he had left. "Seven
dollars for this place, and they want us to be still as the grave!" And the
children were listening. The oracle had spoken.
To
them, naturally, mother's utterances were exactly right, and if she said they
were shoved around, the children believed it. Watch a child's face when a parent
is airing some unwise views. It is a sad sight to behold. It is in public places
that the child's training shows up, to his advantage or his disadvantage.
The Broken Lamp
The
Marywells stopped at one motel late in their trip. They moved in and settled for
the night. The children were in bed, all but little seven-year old Martin, who
persisted in turning on and off a beautiful lamp on a table beside the bed. He
jerked the pull chain so roughly it was a wonder he did not break it.
Mother
and Father Marywell acted as though they could not see what he was doing. They
sat and read and talked and looked at television, just as if everything Martin
was doing was perfectly all right. Yet, a lamp is not, was not, and never will
be, a plaything. He should have learned that at home.
The
next morning, while the family was in a bustle getting packed up to leave,
Martin got busy again on the lovely lamp. Father Marywell had gone out to a
store to get some groceries, for they were planning to eat some cereal and fruit
in the room before they left.
Suddenly,
crash! The lovely vase-lamp lay on the floor, smashed in pieces.
Mrs.
Marywell stopped her packing and shrieked at the child, "Now, just look
what you've done, Martin! Just see! Now, you just march and get that big
wastebasket. Clean it all up before daddy comes. He mustn't see it. And now
we'll have to get right out of here or we're going to have to pay for that lamp.
That'll be at least $20, and money doesn't grow on trees!"
The
children were listening, for little Jean told several people about it when they
got home. "You should have seen us hurry and get out of there," she
confided. "We had the car all packed by the time daddy got back, and we
didn't have to pay for the lamp."
What
a lesson in dishonesty those children learned that day—a lesson in conniving
too; a lesson in deceit; a lesson that will make it harder in a hard world for
those little children to find the path to life eternal.
"Honesty
should stamp every action of our lives. Heavenly angels examine the work that is
put into our hands; and where there has been a departure from the principles of
truth, 'wanting', is written in the records."-Counsels on Stewardship, p.
142.
Someday
the Marywells, with their children, must stand before the judgment bar of God.
There will be before them the gate of heaven, with the ineffable glory of
eternity shining through, beckoning with a joy unspeakable to the sweetness of
an endless life with Christ and the redeemed who have washed their robes. But to
allow vases, and lies, and lamps, and trivia, to bar that gate would be a
frightful tragedy.
A
child's character is warped by such experiences as the one just mentioned. He
should be taught at home to respect the property of others. It is the duty of
parents to teach him to be alert on this. He has to learn to be discerning,
observant, full of grace and sweetness.
"Some
parents allow their children to be destructive, to use as playthings things
which they have no right to touch. Children should be taught that they must not
handle the property of other people. For the comfort and happiness of the
family, they must learn to observe the rules of propriety. Children are no
happier when they are allowed to handle everything they see. If they are not
educated to be care taking, they will grow up with unlovely, destructive traits
of character." Child Guidance, pp. 101, 102.
Trips
can be a blessing to families that have been in the habit of following the
blessed Jesus. They can be drawn nearer to the kingdom of heaven than ever
before. This sweet fellowship of leisure and rest in travel can run like a
golden thread through the very fabric of their characters. Integrity,
kindness, love, and togetherness will bring the family into oneness with Christ.
During the long hours of travel, by loving counsel, by example, by story, and by
precept the children can learn more surely the way to the kingdom.
"Let
parents and children remember that day by day they are each forming a character,
and that the features of this character are imprinted upon the books of heaven.
God is taking pictures of His people, just as surely as an artist takes pictures
of men and women, transferring the features of the face to the polished plate.
What kind of picture do you wish to produce? Parents, answer the question!
What
kind of picture will the great Master Artist make of you in the records of
heaven?"-Ibid., p. 562.
4.
A Store Is Not a Race Track
THIS
lovely and careful business of getting children ready for life should include
the grace of good manners in stores and places of business. Here the child, a
bundle of curiosity and filled with the natural childish desire to handle
everything, can become a dreaded nuisance. Here, also, children can violate the
"Thou shalt not steal" commandment. If in a child's own home he is permitted
to appropriate for his own use anything he can reach or touch, he is bound to
consider everything "fair game" in stores and other public places.
Parents who, out of a desire to solve a problem in an easier way, put out of
reach or hide things they do not want their children to have, unwittingly give
their children the idea that anything they can reach is theirs by way of
discovery. I have met many children who had this idea; and they learned it at
home.
Parents
often say, "Hide this quickly, while he's not looking." It may be
harder and it may involve a little difficulty at first, but if a child learns by
a word that some things are just not his, he will be a happier child than if he
is turned loose on everything. His restless acquisitiveness should have
bounds.
One
day grandmother saw little Charlie examining a pretty, expensive vase on a
small table. "I'll put it up so he won't break it," she said.
"Oh,
no," I told her, "please don't. Come here, Charlie," I
interrupted myself to say. The baby came to me, happily, confidently.
I
took his little hand and led him to the vase. "That is Aunt Gert's pretty
vase," I told him. "Baby must not touch it, for it might break."
He
looked up into my face. "Charlie not touch?" he asked.
"No,"
I said. "Charlie must not touch."
He
went away and played with something else and did not bother the vase any more.
Grandma and auntie marveled at it, but it was not so wonderful. We had talked
of such things in that way for a long time, and he understood me perfectly. I
never had to spank his hands any more, for he knew what I meant when I said he
must not touch. And he was not unhappy.
In
stores children reveal their home training. As far as possible, parents should
accompany their children to stores. Children should be instructed to
look—yes, look all they want to—but not to touch unless they are invited to
do so by the clerk. It is a part of the training of a child in the graces of
life to be well-mannered in stores. Here he may witness to the refining
influence of the truth of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I
used to tell stories about the different things I wanted to teach my boys when
they were small. Little rhymes helped too.
"The
things in stores are not yet yours;
Keep
hands away until you pay."
I
took some children to a yard-goods store one day. They had begged me to take
them with me. But as soon as they got in the door they began to chase one
another all around, whirling and flying from one aisle to another. I called them
to me. "You must not do that," I said. "This is a store, not a
race track. You are bumping into people and making a nuisance of
yourselves."
"Oh,
mamma doesn't care," the oldest one assured me. "She always lets
us."
I
told them that if they wanted to be with me, they could not do this, for people
do not like it. I pointed out that even the manager was standing up to look. I
showed them that a clerk nearby was watching. "You must always watch to see
whether you are doing something that is not polite," I told them. "Get
the habit of watching. That is a part of growing up. You would not want to be
told to get out of this store, would you?"
The
children considered. "I guess not," the oldest child decided.
"I might want to come back."
Last
summer I was eating lunch in a large drugstore near a university. A group of
teen-agers came in. They were around fourteen or fifteen years old. There were
both girls and boys, and they filled about three tables. I noted that the girls
who waited tables were very nervous, and one called the manager.
He
came out, very angry.
"Get
out of here, everyone of you," he commanded. "And you are lucky if I
don't call the police and have you run in!"
They
got up and left, but stood out in front and talked awhile. It was a hot day, and
they seemed to want a cool drink or some ice cream, but their bad behavior had
closed at least one door.
"You
should have seen the mess they made of the tables yesterday when they came
in," a waitress volunteered to me. "They emptied salt into the sugar,
filled the salt shakers with Coca Cola, and broke nine glasses. It took a long
time to clean up after them."
Such
children have never been taught the first principles of courtesy and politeness.
"The
essence of true politeness is consideration for others. The essential, enduring
education is that which broadens the sympathies and encourages universal
kindliness. That so-called culture which does not make a youth deferential
toward his parents, appreciative of their excellences, forbearing toward their
defects, and helpful to their necessities; which does not make him considerate
and tender, generous and helpful toward the young, the old, and the
unfortunate, and courteous toward all is a failure."-The Adventist Home p.
423.
Let
us, then, as Christians teach our children the refining nature of real religion.
"One child, properly disciplined in the principles of truth, who has the
love and fear of God woven through the character, will possess a power for good
in the world that cannot be estimated."-ELLEN G. WHITE in Signs of the
Times July 13, 1888.
5.
The Table Next to Me Was a Sight
ANYONE
who has served at camp meeting or at junior camp or in a cafeteria anywhere
can wish fervently that some children could have a little training in
unselfishness and in propriety of conduct before eating in a public dining
room. There it can be seen just what kind of background children have had. And
sometimes it is a sad revelation.
When
children paw through the bread or the toast in search of some slice they fancy,
when they reach far over other food to get the biggest piece of cake or the
biggest apple or piece of fruit, one can be sure that someone has been remiss,
someone has failed to teach these children the principles of gracious living.
It
is a never-ending task, an exacting chore, to train children to do the lovely
and the proper thing. Too often the child has been in a home where the manners
of one or both of the parents have left a great deal to be desired. He has seen
his father reach across the table and pick morsels from serving dishes with his
fingers. He has seen the soup dish tipped up and drunk from to get the last
tasty drop. He has seen food pushed onto the spoon or fork with the fingers. He
has never been in company with people who have learned to do things the right
way. Some children in their homes have never been curbed in heaping up their
plates with food. They greedily take more than they need, pick at it, mess with
it, and go away leaving more on their plates than they should have eaten in two
meals. My father used to say, "Take only a little, and if you want more you
can take it later. I don't want to see a lot of good food wasted and thrown out.
I've seen too many people hungry." But not a word of caution is given to
many children who heap their plates with impossible amounts of food.
"Oh,
well, we have chickens," someone may remark. "It is not entirely
wasted." Perhaps that is so, but it is expensive food, and not particularly
suitable for animals or fowls. Besides, a wonderful opportunity to teach the
child good judgment and life's niceties is thus missed. A child will heap a tray
full of food in a cafeteria, teasing all the time for this and that, until he
has more than he can possibly eat. He will then pick at it, and eat only a
fraction of the good food, paid for by his mother or father, and pettishly
demand to be able to eat his dessert and leave the other. He knows that before
the afternoon is over he can persuade them to get him something.
Good
food is thrown out by the ton, and millions of children are getting the idea
that their wants are more important than anything else. They have never been
told, and they would not care if they were told, of the millions whose living
standards do not nearly approach ours.
Jean
went through the academy cafeteria line every day and handled this and that
until she found the biggest and best dish of food for herself. Her behavior was
more than revealing. The self-love she had grown up with had gone along with her
to the academy, to be seen by everyone.
Children's
table manners often show unfavorably in public places. Food is scooped up in
gigantic bites, and dropped on floor, clothing, and tablecloth. These young
ones have never been taught how to manage their napkin, fork, or knife. They
spread a whole slice of bread at once, and smear their greasy hands over face
and tablecloth.
Their
voices are heard frequently monopolizing the conversation and, of course,
talking with their mouth full of food. Once a friend of mine touched my arm.
"Look at that," she said in a low voice. The table next to me was a
sight to behold. There was food on the floor and one boy old enough to know
better was in the act of drinking from the side of his plate. Food was strewn
from one end of the table to the other.
There
is really no need of this. Many books have been written about manners and about
neat habits of eating. There is no good reason for any family to be in gross
ignorance regarding genteel behavior. In these days no one can live to himself.
Children are bound to have to go out and meet a world that often is not too
kind. A child needs an armor of gentle training in doing the right thing to help
him get on in a world that is hard to conquer at best. In some places the whole
message of the remnant church has fallen into evil repute because of the
crudeness and boorishness of some people who are ignorant and uncultured and
seem to be proud of it. The whole church is judged by the bad example of such.
Because
we are an "epistle. . . , known and read of all men," we need to
exercise great care and caution lest we take the name of the Lord in vain.
"The Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain."
6.
"But What Did You Do?"
THE
little face was pitiful. How it tugged at my heartstrings. It brought tears to
my eyes. Big tears also brimmed in the sweet brown eyes.
"But,
Mamma, I am your own little boy and you love me. You won't spank me, will
you?" The little voice was so sweet, and the fat little hand patted my hand
in childish conciliation.
I
would rather have said to him, "Well, I'll let you go, this time. But you
must never do it again." But I did not dare do this. It was a building
block in his little character to learn to be depended on and to learn to obey. I
would have destroyed his confidence in my word.
He
had been told several times to come straight home from the store. He had been
told why, and had been told that at nightfall the streets are not safe for
children. The traffic is heavier, and the evil in the cities is great.
But
he had not heeded. He had again stopped to play, and he had played so long that
we were worried as to his safety and had been out hunting for him. I had told
him before, that the next time he did this he would have to be punished. For his
own sake I must do what I had told him I would do. It was not easy, but it was
the only right thing to do. His punishment helped him to remember, for a child
must learn the "Thou shalt's" and the "Thou shalt not's" of
the home. Then he will not chafe at the rules of the school and of the church
and of the Lord.
"In
allowing children to do as they please, parents may think themselves
affectionate, but they are practicing the veriest cruelty. Children are able to
reason, and their souls are hurt by inconsiderate kindness, however proper this
kindness may be in the eyes of the parents. As the children grow older, their
insubordination grows. Their teachers may try to correct them, but too often the
parents side with the children, and the evil continues to grow, clothed, if
possible, with a still darker covering of deception than before. Other children
are led astray by the wrong course of these children, and yet the parents cannot
see the wrong. The words of their children are listened to before the words of
teachers, who mourn over the wrong."-Child Guidance, p.326.
From
the moment the child shows his small, earnest, shy, mischievous, or
self-centered face in the schoolroom, he is a living display of the manners he
has learned in his home. Parents would be terribly embarrassed if they could
see how nearly their children carry to school the imperfections of the home.
"Let
me help you," Vernon said to me shyly. I was sweeping out the entry of the
school. He took the broom and carefully finished the small chore. There was real
pleasure glowing on his small, earnest face.
I
knew by this that Vernon was in the habit of helping his mother and his father
at home. He had been taught to be alert to things to do. Later when I visited in
the home, Vernon was on the job, doing his chores. He fed the cookstove, took
out the peelings, and filled the woodbox.
"Anything
else, Mother?" he asked, brushing the bark slivers from his sweater
sleeves.
"You
may go and play now," she had said gently. The boy left almost reluctantly.
It was as though he would rather be indoors helping his mother than outside
shouting with the other children.
Harley Was Different
But
it was not the same with Harley. He was a trial everywhere. He teased the little
ones, and took their things from them, and threw their small toys so he could
watch them run for them. His uproarious laughter was not a lovely thing to
hear. He had to be sternly dealt with, to stop him from this doubtful pleasure.
On
the playground he was an especial trial. Big and overgrown, he had a perpetual,
dissatisfied scowl on his face. I always played with the children, and I noticed
right at the beginning that the children would not choose him for their side
until the last. I was to learn why very soon.
We
started a game of prisoner's base. Harley got caught early in the game, and the
trouble began right then.
"No
fair, no fair," he shouted. "You ganged up on me. I ain't goin' to
prison. I ain't." He marched right back to the line, his lips stuck out
defiantly. I had seen the whole thing. He had been honestly caught.
"Do
you mean you are not going to play?" I asked. "Oh, yes, I'll
play," he said. "But they're not supposed to catch me. I never take
'it.' My mother says I don't have to." "I'm sure your mother does not
know how this game works," I told him. "In this game, if you are not
willing to be caught and go to the prison, you cannot play. That is how the game
goes. You can sit on the steps and watch us, if you don't want to play."
Harley
opened his mouth to speak, a look of incredible surprise spreading over his
face. Then, looking at my face, he changed his mind. He stood for a moment and
looked at me, and I looked at him. "Aw right," he said in a low voice,
"I'll go to the prison."
Then
the game became gay and uproarious. I was the one to tap him and get him out of
prison. Later, when I got in prison, he sneaked around and got me out. When we
ran back to the line together, he said, "Boy, I like to get caught; I
didn't know it was so much fun."
"Mrs.
Edwards, you're in for it," an eighth grader told me. "He'll go home
and tell his mother, and she'll call you up and tell you off tonight. She always
tells the teachers off if they do, anything to Harley."
I
decided to talk to the children awhile after the recess about the value of
playing the game. I told them that games are for recreation, for exercise. As we
play them we must not care whether we win or lose, but have a good time. Someone
must lose or the whole pattern of the game is lost. Life is like a game, I told
them. Sometimes we lose, sometimes we win, but we can play the game and be happy
in it all.
I
told them about the One who lived to bless others, and how as a child He was
full of grace and truth. We can make our lives so sweet that we can be like Him.
"The aged, the sorrowing, and the sin-burdened, the children at play in
their innocent joy, the little creatures of the groves, the patient beasts of
burden,—all were happier for His presence. He whose word of power upheld the
worlds would stoop to relieve a wounded bird."-The Desire of Ages, p. 74.
Then
I told the children that much depends on how lives are built every day. If we
are spoiled and hateful when we are children, it is likely that we will be
spoiled and hateful when we are grown. I told them of hateful and mean old women
and men I had known, and how unhappy they were because they had never learned
how sweet it is to get along with other people. We must strive to overcome the
ugly things in our lives while we are young, or they will set like varnish, or
cement, and it will be next to impossible to change when we are older. That is
the reason that being converted is a miracle. The Lord does something that is
really impossible. He takes an ugly, hateful life and makes it into something
lovely and beautiful.
I
felt sorry at the significant glances the children cast in Harley's direction;
this was a cruelty his parents had inflicted upon him. He had a right to the
pleasure of popularity and amiable association and fellowship. But he had never
tasted that joy. Selfishness and unwise love had set him apart as an oddity, and
not a pleasant one at that. He could only look on sadly, for he honestly did not
know how to get along with the other children.
Slanted Reporting
Many
a teacher's life is made wretched and miserable by children who have never
learned grace and truth. Tales are carried home from school so slyly twisted
that the parents accept them as truth. Then the parents arraign themselves
against the teacher. The child sees what a stir he has caused, and it gratifies
his ego to see how worked up he can get his parents, with a bit of slanted
reporting.
Then
begins the journey of the child toward an unlovely life. His critical and
untruthful reporting goes on, for he sees what excitement he can cause. It gives
him a sense of power to get revenge on a teacher who may be, and usually is,
trying her best to help him. He is encouraged by those who should be with the
teacher wholeheartedly in the business of helping the child.
His
sweet innocence gives way to faultfinding and downright lying. The slightest
occurrence is reported with a twisted significance. Hearts have been broken and
lives have been saddened by the actions and attitudes of parents with children
like this. "Do not allow your children to see that you take their word
before the statements of older Christians. You cannot do them a greater
injury. By saying, I believe my children before I belieye those whom I have
evidence are children of God, you encourage in them the habit of
falsifying."-Child Guidance, pp. 273, 274.
When
a child comes home with a tale from school, do not for a moment let him see that
it is of any particular significance to you. Do not do your child this injury.
He is watching you closely, more closely than you realize. Do not let him think
that you are pleased with this way of doing.
"All
right, but what did you do?" I used to ask, when some kind of plaintive
tale was brought home to me, calculated to arouse my sympathy toward my poor
wronged child.
"Why
I—“
"Come
now," I encouraged, "I want to hear what you did to provoke this. I
know you quite well, you know, and I know that at home you do not always act
like a nice boy. And I want the teacher to see to it that you are a good boy at
school. Now, what did you do?"
I
tried to be very careful to help my children to see the other person's side of
any difficulty, and never to forget that they themselves had faults too. I
usually ferreted out the full story, and made plain that the small punishment
they received was merited. They were happier than they would have been with an
injured-innocence role.
Criticizing the Teacher
I
never criticized a teacher in their presence. I have gone and talked to a
teacher, if I was puzzled about some small happenstance, but I have never yet,
never even once, found that my child had been wronged, or discriminated against
in any way. "Nothing should be said or done to weaken the children's
respect for the one upon whom their wellbeing in so great degree
depends."-Ibid p. 326.
"The
neglect of parents to train their children makes the work of the teacher doubly
hard. The children bear the stamp of the unruly, unamiable traits revealed by
their parents. Neglected at home, they regard the discipline of the school as
oppressive and severe. . . . The good that children might receive in school to
counteract their defective home training is undermined by the sympathy which
their parents show for them in their wrongdoing. . . . Fathers and mothers
professing the truth for this time might better come to their senses and no
longer . . . carry out Satan's devices by accepting the false testimony of their
unconverted children. It is enough for teachers to have the children's influence
to contend with, without having the parents' influence also."-Ibid, pp.
326, 327.
Some
parents who read this will say that their case is different, that these
statements from the inspired pen are not applicable in their case; but they
are applicable wherever there are children and church schools and parents. There
are in every center unwise people who believe strongly that their children are
always in the right. They are due for a rude awakening, if they do not see their
error, for the stakes are great. Their children's eternal welfare is at stake.
They hold their children's destinies, to a great degree, in their hands. They
need not make mistakes, for the Lord has given us a blueprint and careful
directions which, if we heed them, will mean life eternal for us and for our
children.
CONTINUE
PART 2
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