COMPUTER GAMES WITH NO INSTRUCTIONS
They talk faster because they think faster. Than us, that is. They look at a computer monitor filled with complication and interpret it with the sharpness of a pilot distinguishing the shapes and colors he sees 50,000 feet below him. Who? Children.
They write 20-page book reports. I did too! Only they did it in grammar school. Where writing poetry was something I had to discover on my own, they have classes in it 5 and up. And don’t get me started on computer-savvy: intricate computer games with NO instructions, and 200 facebook friends. I don’t even KNOW 200 people. Television images speed by so fast that only THEY can focus. NPR specials on “millionaires under the age of 10.” Little girls playing soccer; with ferocious drive to win.
Barbie computer game, CD-ROM for PC computer
PRETTY LITTLE THING
Even the youngest kid has the instant come-back to flatten whoever bothers them. When I see a seated child, her little legs stretched out in front of her, too short to reach the ground, pretty pink shoes, and a little white bow in her hair, I give her a big smile because we are allowed to be familiar with children; at least, we used to be. This little one stares me down coldly without moving so much as an eyelid. She lets me know that I have assumed far too much, and I must back down, look away.
Another cute little one in her pink cashmere jacket with a big daisy, and her Barbie backpack, waiting for the subway, vigorously berating her humbled father who stands with head bowed. Apparently she disagrees with his adult judgment, some rule he has set for her, and its consequences.
'Sulking Child' by Jez C. Self
website link
. . . exactly like this
With glowering eyebrows curved like an archery bow, she accuses him that he is unfair. With all the wisdom of her seven years on earth, her indignation so agitating her little body that she hops from one foot to the other on her pretty patent shoes. At one point she whirls around, as she crosses her arms and shows him her back, to insult him.
ON HER TERMS
Does he say flatly: I am the father, I make the rules, you are the child, you listen to me? No he pleads with her, cedes to her, taking the argument on the terms she has defined, not on his.
Finding myself next to a fifth grader at the dinner table (that’s 10 years old), naturally I looked for common ground by asking if she liked Harry Potter. As you know, I love to talk about Harry Potter. She screwed up her face. I DID, she said-- but that was THIRD grade. Oh no. In an instant I felt so- juvenile.
Sanders, lyneesheritage.wordpress
NO.
Two boys in the cafeteria section of Whole Foods, 20 feet apart throwing a ball as customers pass back and forth. Someone manly-looking with a Spanish accent tells the parents to make them stop.
They attempt it feebly, and as the children pay them no attention, they begin to gather up their things and say We have to go.
NO said one boy, I want ice cream. No, we have to go. They continue their packing.
NO I want ice cream. The next thing I know he’s got ice cream. This wasn’t just a case of spoiling; they looked so quiet- so SCARED of him.
FOLLOW OUR NOSES
What a perfect idiot I was at that age. I didn’t understand human nature, I was stumbling through life. I didn’t understand the finer points of getting along with people, of making decisions, and I certainly had never asked myself what I wanted to do for a living, not until ten minutes after college graduation.
It took my generation of adults a very long time before we began to understand ourselves. It wasn’t until we were already adults before the first self-help books came out, the first how-to television shows and magazine articles, telling us how to follow our noses.
(cards by Dr. Steven Richfield) **
Our children, on the other hand, were right there learning along with us. They have been raised from scratch in our era of how-to books, television psychiatrists and sarcastic, adult-themed sitcoms. They have parents who spare the rod and reason with them instead. As the child careens down the supermarket aisle, the parent has bent down, begging, coaxing: Now what did we say about listening to me?
You’ve read all this before and I’ve already gone on too much. Complained too much. I haven’t googled the topic but I suspect there are lots of people like me taking great pleasure in knocking this target. I’m taking too much pleasure in it myself.
NO MERCY
The children are spoiled, entitled; but then, they do have mastery, real mastery. In fact, they have made this new world. Our world was touchy-feely. Theirs is go and grab. How will I survive in the world they are creating, a world without mercy?
[Created in 1899, Jean Marc Cote's vision of a classroom in the year 2000 illustrates the long history of technological fantasies about education. The students are connected to a network placed on their heads, although they sit at desks in disciplined rows, all faced towards the front, while the teacher feeds them books via a kind of mechanical mincing machine.] picture used by David Buckingham in "Beyond Technology..."
We managed to learn to use a computer instead of a typewriter; but it was people born after, say, 1965 who are agile in a world transformed by internet, social media, etc., new skills that they grew up using. How can we compete with them for jobs- when all the job-descriptions have changed beyond recognition?
On every level, they have mastery. They understand the world far better than I did; they take part in, control and excel in things; and they know that. They are strong mentally and physically. It’s what protects them, what gives them their confidence, their courage.
But I know there is a lot going on below. Beneath the flung insult, a child is hiding his fear. Beneath the bragging, a child’s insecurity. Cold judgment protecting a raw sensitivity. They are, after all, just children. But I have to keep reminding myself of that. Why don’t they ACT like it? WE did.
by Hildegard of Bingen
COMPETITION
It’s painfully obvious that I, childless, have far less to gain in the boundlessness of our youth, than do people with children. Through their children, mothers and fathers claim a personal stake in the future. The attainments of their children only make parents stronger themselves. Whereas for me rather than benefit, it’s competition.
There are many older people who are large and generous enough that they, even if childless, take the greatest pleasure in ushering in the new ones, giving them as much of themselves as they can.
They understand that children are everybody's investment, and the more equipped children are, the better the chances for our world. I know such people, their faces always a bit glowing, and certainly beloved. And as a teacher, I suppose that in my way I do the same.
MASTER BUILDER
But I can’t help sympathizing with Ibsen’s Master Builder. Solness at middle age is considered the greatest architect in the region. It is significant that he too has no children. His reputation is firmly established:
. . . Ah, yes, Mr. Solness, you have undoubtedly had the luck on your side.
SOLNESS.
[Looking at him with embarrassment.] Yes, but that is just what makes me so horribly afraid. .
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