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Teaching the Scaries.
Copyright © Renée Fuller, 2000 |
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"How nice to see you Jenny!" We greeted each other at the supermarket checkout line with the friendly warmth of two women who had gotten to know and like each other while serving on the same volunteer committee. Annie, Jenny's three-year old, whom I had never met, was hanging on to her mother's leg scowling fiercely.
"Hi, Annie." I said at the appropriate break, thinking that her scowling was a reflection of not being a part of the conversation. But I was wrong. With considerable indignity the three-year old pulled herself up to maximum height and declared, "I don't talk to strangers." Despite her evident attempt to be impressive there was fear as well as anger on her face. "No, no. Renee's no stranger. She's a friend." Jenny turned to me apologetically. "You know how it is. We felt we had to warn her." Jenny and I continued our conversation expressing sad comments about today's society that requires dire warnings to children. Annie continued her scowling, obviously confused and afraid. After leaving the supermarket I must have been thinking about Annie and how afraid and angry she had been. For gradually during my drive home along the chilly country lanes there emerged a memory from long ago. But rather than feelings of fear and anger, the slowly emerging memory was heralded by a warm and cozy sensation. I felt its glow enveloping me even before becoming fully aware of the long forgotten occasion that was triggering it. Its date: more than half a century ago. At the time I couldn't have been much older than Jenny's Annie. My mother was bending over me as she laughingly said "You know the kind of people who want to kiss you, put you on their laps when you don't like being kissed and hugged by them?" My mother giggled as she continued. "I remember so well how bad they smelled. And how I had to pretend I didn't mind." She made amused shuddering noises while both of us laughed. Then more seriously and with great affection she said, "You don't have to pretend you like their hugs and kisses. And you don't have to let them kiss and hug you or put you on their lap, even if they offer you candy. Instead this is what you do. You extend your hand in a handshake and tell them "I'm too old for that "." I felt pleased and proud at the idea of being too old to be mauled like a baby. It made the giggles with my mother all the more fun. And I knew exactly what she meant when she said that those adults smelled bad. It happened shortly thereafter. The "elderly" man tried to grab me to put me on his lap. I whirled around, extended my hand, shook his, and told him "I'm too old for that." There was rage on his face. Indignantly he demanded to see my mother who was in another room. When he found her he told her that I was a dreadful, mean child. Looking back now from the vantage of an experienced adult I realize that this "mauler" was accomplished not only in bullying children, but also their mothers. But my mother was not to be bullied. She understood immediately. She smiled as she said to him, "Did my daughter tell you she's too old for that? She is you know." On the way home my mother and I giggled about what had happened. I felt warm and secure. It had not been a frightening experience. After all, it had been so easy to take care of the mauler. Nor would I have let a stranger talk to me or give me candy. My mother's statement that I was too old for that meant that I was too old for strange adults to order me around or to make unwanted demands - to treat me like a baby. However, I also knew that when my mother was talking to a friend, even if I had never met that friend before, it was fun if that person also talked to me. After all my mother had shown me how easy it is to take care of yourself. So why didn't my mother explain to me that there are bad, dangerous people who might do horrible things to me? Mainly for four reasons. First, she was sure that she had transmitted enough of the message so I would know what to do. Obviously she had. Secondly, she did not want to deprive me of one of the pleasures of childhood, which is to be admired and cooed over by adoring friends without feeling threatened. And third, a most crucial insight: she realized that fear can be incapacitating. Psychologists have called this phenomenon downshifting. The downshifting refers to observation that strong emotions, like fear, prevent us from using our cortical reasoning powers. Our lower brain centers take over and we get rattled, we may even freeze. Fear, as we have all experienced, can be incapacitating. It makes us do stupid things. And that can be dangerous. The final reason was that she didn't want to rob me of a carefree childhood. Dire warnings of dangerous strangers can make the world of the child seem incomprehensibly frightening. Lacking the experience of the adult, the youngster is incapable of making the judgement call as to who might be dangerous and who not. And so all strangers appear menacing and evil. That was the logical conclusion Annie had drawn, why she was so frightened. My mother in contrast had, by transmitting the same basic information with humor, made sure that I wouldn't draw such drastic conclusions. Instead we laughed about the smelly adults who try to do unwanted things to children. At the same time she gave me the technique to handle such adults, thereby producing a feeling of competence. I was not to be a helpless child, frightened by every hulking stranger who might do dreadful things to me. I had been shown how to use my head, and that my mother would support me in its use. (Note: nowadays my mother would probably have left out the suggestion of the handshake, which is out of style and might even be dangerous.) As I continued my drive along the country lanes feeling the warmth of the recollection I realized how effective my mother's approach had been. Even now, more than half a century later, the memory radiates feelings of confidence. I am once more the competent personality who doesn't freeze when faced by unpleasant, perhaps even dangerous people. I know how to put them in their place, how to move out of their reach. Did my mother's approach protect me from the pathological child snatcher? Of course not. But then, is there anything we can tell our children that will protect them from someone with a gun, or someone who can physically haul away a screaming child? Not really. But must we tell our youngsters such a frightening truth? Will being told this truth increase their safety? It won't. What it will accomplish is to cast a cloud of fear that can haunt a child's very existence, producing dangerous feelings of helplessness, which are further exacerbated by the graphic TV news. Even we adults in order to avoid feelings of helplessness deny many hazardous realities - feelings that would be ours if we faced the actuality of the multitude of perils that surround us. And so we ignore, we actively push out of our minds the dangers of traveling by car, of flying, even of walking down many a city street. We do so in order to spare ourselves the sensation of impotence that comes with potential dangers over which we have no control. Unfortunately we're not always rational in our denials. Sometimes in our skittishness about feeling helpless we deny the dangers of risky behavior such as smoking, driving too fast, or abusing alcohol - dangers over which we do have control. Which brings us back to what's important in the teaching of the scaries. Effective teaching of the scaries means teaching the child how to deal with the dangers over which he/she can exert control. That's how we avoid creating feelings of hopelessness and helplessness. As for the reality that the world is a dangerous place - that there are many perils over which we have no control - that reality has traditionally been told through fairy tales and myths. These are the stories that in every culture warn of grisly dangers and describe their outcome. They tell about evil people who do terrible things. They describe cataclysmic events. Yet they do so in the circumscribed form of make-believe. Thus they impart to children important facts without creating an overwhelming fear of reality that can engender a sensation of helplessness. The best of these stories provide philosophical and/or ethical groundings that help in coping emotionally with the disasters and evils that are beyond our control. In contrast, the terrifying reality of the evening news provides no such solace. My own books about the hilariously incompetent but evil Vooroos have a function similar to the myths and fairy tales of old. The Vooroo books deal with the ineptitude of much of evil - a philosophical grounding that is apparent to many adults, although only implicitly understood by children. Instead youngsters respond to the stories as wonderfully goofy adventures. |
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| Young adults who as children had been taught with the Ball-Stick-Bird books tell us something important had been imparted. They describe how the stories gave them an allegory about the perils of evil but without generating fear. Instead, the comical stories conveyed a way of dealing emotionally with malevolence. These young adults tell of their conclusions with a warmth and affection similar to my own feelings during the drive home along the chilly country lanes. For them as for me, having the scaries taught humorously and with the knowledge as to how and where to confront gave us feelings of competence as well as lovely memories. |
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