THE WORRIES OF PARENTS
A worrying parent is at once an exasperating and a pathetic figure.
She--for it is generally the mother--is so undeniably influenced by
her love that one can sympathize with her anxiety, yet the confidant
of her child, or the unconcerned observer is exasperated as he clearly
sees the evil she is creating by her foolish, unnecessary worries.
The worries of parents are protean, as are all other worries, and
those herein named must be taken merely as suggestions as to scores of
others that might be catalogued and described in detail.
Many mothers worry foolishly because their children do not obey, are
not always thoughtful and considerate, and act with wisdom, forgetful
that life is the school for learning. If any worrying is to be done,
let the parent worry over her own folly in not learning how to teach,
or train, her child. Line upon line, precept upon precept, here a
little, there a little, is the natural procedure with children. It
is unreasonable to expect "old heads upon young shoulders." Worry,
therefore, that children have not learned before they are taught is
as senseless as it is demoralizing. Get down to something practical. I
know a mother of a large family of boys and girls. They are as diverse
in character and disposition as one might ever find. She is one of the
wise, sensible, practical mothers, who acts instead of worrying. For
instance, she believes thoroughly in allowing the children to choose
their own clothing. It develops judgment, taste, practicability. One
of the girls was vain, and always wanted to purchase shoes too small
for her, in order that she might have "pretty feet." Each time she
brought home small shoes, her mother sent her back with admonitions to
secure a larger pair. After this had continued for several times, she
decided upon another plan. When the "too small" shoes were brought
home, she compelled the girl to wear them, though they pinched and
hurt, until they were worn out, and, as she said in telling me the
story, "that ended that."
One of her sons was required to get up every morning and light the
fire. Very often he was lazy and late so that the fire was not lighted
when mother was ready to prepare breakfast. One night he brought home
a companion to spend a day or two. The lads frolicked together so that
they overslept. When mother got up in the morning, there was no fire.
She immediately walked to the foot of the stairs and yelled, "Fire!
Fire! Fire!" at the top of her voice. In a few moments, both lads,
tousled, half-dressed, and well-scared, rushed downstairs, exclaiming:
"Where's the fire? Where's the fire?" "I want it in the stove," was
the mother's answer--and "that was the end of that."
The oldest girl became insistent that she be allowed to sit up nights
after the others had gone to bed. She would study for awhile and then
put her head on her arms and go to sleep. One night her mother waited
until she was asleep, went off to bed, and left her. At three o'clock
in the morning she came downstairs, lighted lamp in hand, and alarm
clock set to go off. As soon as the alarm-bell began to ring, the
girl awoke, startled to see her mother standing there with the lighted
lamp, herself cold and stiff with the discomfort of her position. "And
that was the end of that," said the mother.
Here was common-sense, practical, hard-headed training instead of
worry. Bend your sense, your intellect, your time, your energy, to
seeking how to train your children, instead of doing the senseless,
foolish, inane, and utterly useless thing of worrying about them.
Imagine being the child of an anxious parent, who sees sickness in
every unusual move or mood of her boy or girl. A little clearing of
the throat--"I'm sure he's going to have croup or diphtheria." The
girl unconsciously puts her hand to her brow--"What's the matter with
your head, dearie; got a headache?" A lad feels a trifle uncomfortable
in his clean shirt and wiggles about--"I'm sure Tom's coming down with
fever, he's so restless and he looks so flushed!"
God forbid that I should ever appear to caricature the wise care of a
devoted mother. That is not what I aim to do. I seek, with intenseness
of purpose, to show the folly, the absurdity of the anxieties, the
worries, the unnecessary and unreasonable cares of many mothers. For
the moment Fear takes possession of them, some kind of nagging is sure
to begin for the child. "Oh, Tom, you mustn't do this," or, "Maggie,
my darling, you must be careful of that," and the child is not only
nagged, but is thus _placed under bondage to the mother's unnecessary
alarm_. No young life can suffer this bondage without injury. It
destroys freedom and spontaneity, takes away that dash and vigor, that
vim and daring that essentially belong to youth, and should be the
unhampered heritage of every child. I'd far rather have a boy and
girl of mine get sick once in a while--though that is by no means
necessary--than have them subjected to the constant fear that
they might be sick. And when boys and girls wake up to the full
consciousness that their parents' worries are foolish, unnecessary,
and self-created, the mental and moral influence upon them is far more
pernicious than many even of our wisest observers have perceived.
There never was a boy or girl who was worried over, who was not
annoyed, fretted, injured, and cursed by it, instead of being
benefited. The benefit received from the love of the parent was in
spite of the worry, and not because of it. Worry is a hindrance, a
deterrent, a restraint; it is always putting a curbing hand upon the
natural exuberance and enthusiasm of youth. It says, "Don't, don't,"
with such fierce persistence, that it kills initiative, destroys
endeavor, murders naturalness, and drives its victims to deception,
fraud, and secrecy to gain what they feel to be natural, reasonable
and desirable ends.
I verily believe that the parent who forever is saying "Don't" to
her children, is as dangerous as a submarine and as cruel as an
asphyxiating bomb. Life is for _expression_, not _repression_.
Repression is always a proof that a proper avenue for expression has
not yet been found. Quit your "don't-ing," and teach your child to
"do" right. Children absolutely are taught to dread, then dislike, and
finally to hate their parents when they are refused the opportunity of
"doing"--of expressing themselves.
Rather seek to find ways in which they may be active. Give them
opportunities for pleasure, for employment, for occupation. And
remember this, there is as much distance and difference between
"tolerating," "allowing," "permitting" your children to do things, and
"encouraging," "fostering" in them the desire to do them, as there is
distance between the poles. Don't be a dampener to your children, a
discourager, a "don'ter," a sign the moment you appear that they must
"quit" something, that they must repress their enthusiasm, their fun,
their exuberant frolicsomeness, but let them feel your sympathy with
them, your comradeship, your good cheer, that "Father, Mother, is
a jolly good fellow," and my life for it, you will doubtless save
yourself and them much worry in after years.
Hans Christian Andersen's story of _The Ugly Duckling_ is one of the
best illustrations of the uselessness and needlessness of much of the
worry of parents with which I am familiar. How the poor mother duck
worried because one of her brood was so large and ugly. At first she
was willing to accept it, but when everybody else jeered at it, pushed
it aside, bit at it, pecked it on the head, and generally abused it,
and the turkey-cock bore down upon it like a ship in full sail, and
gobbled at it, and its brothers and sisters hunted it, grew more and
more angry with it, and wished the cat would get it and swallow it up,
she herself wished it far and far away. And as the worries grew around
the poor duckling, it ran away. It didn't know enough to have faith
in itself and its own future. The result was the worries of others
affected it to the extent of urging it to flee. For the time being
this enlarged its worries, until at length, falling in with a band of
swans, it felt a strange thrill of fellowship with them in spite of
their grand and beautiful appearance, and, soaring into the air after
them, it alighted into the water, and seeing its own reflection, was
filled with amazement and wonder to find itself no longer an ugly
duckling but--a swan.
Many a mother, father, family generally, have worried over their ugly
duckling until they have driven him, her, out into the world, only to
find out later that their duckling was a swan. And while it was good
for the swan to find out its own nature, the points I wish to make
are that there was no need for all the worry--it was the sign of
ignorance, of a want of perception--and further, the swan would have
developed in its home nest just as surely as it did out in the world,
and would have been saved all the pain and distress its cruel family
visited upon it.
There is still another story, which may as well be introduced here, as
it applies to the unnecessary worry of parents about their young. In
this case, it was a hen that sat on a nest of eggs. When the chickens
were hatched, they all pleased the mother hen but one, and he rushed
to the nearest pond, and, in spite of her fret, fuss, fume, and worry,
insisted upon plunging in. In vain the hen screamed out that he
would drown, her unnatural child was resolved to venture, and to the
amazement of all, he floated perfectly, for he was a duck instead of a
chicken, and his egg was placed under the old hen by mistake.
Mother, father, don't worry about your child. It may be he is a swan;
he may be a duck, instead of the creature you anticipated. Control
your fretfulness and your worry for it cannot possibly change things.
Wait and watch developments and a few days may reveal enough to you
to show you how totally unnecessary all your worries would have been.
Teach yourself to know that worry is evil thought directed either
upon our own bodies or minds, or those of others. Note, I say _evil_
thought. It is not good thought. Good thought so directed would be
helpful, useful, beneficial. This is injurious, harmful, baneful. Evil
thought, worry, directs to the person, or to that part of the body
considered, an injurious and baneful influence that produces pain,
inharmony, unhappiness. It is as if one were to divert a stream of
corroding acid upon a sensitive wound, and do it because we wished to
heal the wound. Worry never once healed a wound, or cured an ill. It
always aggravates, irritates, and, furthermore, helps superinduce the
evil the worrier is afraid of. The fact that you worry about these
things to which I have referred, that you yield your thoughts to them,
and, in your worry, give undue contemplation to them, induces the
conditions you wish to avoid or avert. Hence, if you wish your child
to be well and strong, brave and courageous, it is the height of
cruelty for you to worry over his health, his play, or his exercise.
Better by far leave him alone than bring upon him the evils you dread.
Who has not observed, again and again, the evil that has come from
worrying mothers who were constantly cautioning or forbidding their
children to do that which every natural and normal child longs to
do? Quit your worrying. Leave your child alone. Better by far let
him break a rib, or bruise his nose, than all the time to live in the
bondage of your fears.
Elsewhere I have referred to the fact that we often bring upon our
loved ones the perils we fear. There is a close connection between
our mental states and the objects with which we are surrounded.
Or, mayhap, it would be more correct to say that it is our mental
condition that shapes the actions of those around us in relation to
the things by which they are surrounded. Let me illustrate with an
incident which happened in my own observation. A small boy and girl
had a nervous, ever worrying mother. She was assured that her boy
was bound to come to physical ill, for he was so courageous, so
adventuresome, so daring. To her he was the duck instead of the
chicken she thought she was hatching out. One day he climbed to the
roof of the barn. His sister followed him. The two were slowly, and
in perfect security, "inching" along on the comb of the roof, when the
mother happened to catch sight of them. With a scream of half terror
and half anger, she shouted to them to come down _at once!_ Up to
that moment, I had watched both children with comfort, pleasure, and
assurance of their perfect safety. Their manifest delight in their
elevated position, the pride of the girl in her pet brother's courage,
and his scarcely concealed surprise and pleasure that she should dare
to follow him, were interesting in the extreme. But the moment that
foolish mother's scream rent the air, everything changed instanter.
Both children became nervous, the boy started down the roof, where he
could drop upon a lower roof to safety. His little sister, however,
started down too soon. Her mother's fears unnerved her and she slid,
and falling some twenty-five feet or so, broke her arm.
Then--and here was the cruel fatuity of the whole proceeding--the
mother began to wail and exclaim to the effect that it was just what
she expected. May I be pardoned for calling her a worrying fool. She
could not see that it was her very expectation, and giving voice to
it, in her hourly worryings and in that command that they come down,
that caused the accident. She, herself, alone was to blame; her
unnecessary worry was the cause of her daughter's broken arm.
Christ's constant incitement to his disciples was "Be not afraid!"
He was fully aware of the fact that Job declared: "The thing which I
greatly feared is come upon me."
Hence, worrying mother, curb your worry, kill it, drive it out, for
_your child's sake_. You claim it is for your child's good that
you worry. You are wrong. It is because you are too thoughtless,
faithless, and trustless that you worry, and, if you will pardon me,
_too selfish_. If, instead of giving vent to that fear, worry,
dread, you exercised your reason and faith a little more, and then
self-denial, and refused to give vocal expression to your worry, you
could then claim unselfishness in the interest of your child. But to
put your fears and worries, your dreads and anxieties, around a young
child, destroying his exuberance and joy, surrounding him with the
mental and spiritual fogs that beset your own life is neither wise,
kind, nor unselfish.
Another serious worry that besets many parents is that pertaining
to the courtship or engagement of their children. Here again let me
caution my readers not to construe my admonitions into indifference
to this important epoch in their child's life. I would have them
lovingly, wisely, sagely advise. But there is a vast difference
between this, and the uneasy, fretful, nagging worries that beset so
many parents and which often lead to serious friction. Remember that
it is your child, not you, who has to be suited with a life partner.
The girl who may call forth his warmest affection may be the last
person in the world you would have chosen, yet you are not the one to
be concerned.
In the January, 1916, _Ladies' Home Journal_ there is an excellent
editorial bearing upon this subject, as follows:
A mother got to worrying about the girl to whom her son had
become engaged. She was a nice girl, but the mother felt
that perhaps she was not of a type to stimulate the son
sufficiently in his career. The mother wisely said nothing,
however, until two important facts dawned upon her:
First, that possibly her boy was of the order which did
not need stimulation. As she reflected upon his nature,
his temperament, she arrived at the conclusion that what he
required in a life partner might be someone who would prove a
poultice rather than a mustard plaster or a fly blister.
This was her first discovery.
The second was not precisely like unto it, but was even more
important--that the son, and not the mother, was marrying the
girl. The question as to whether or not the girl would suit
the mother as a permanent companion was a minor consideration
about which she need not vex her soul. The point he had
settled for himself was that here, by God's grace, was the
one maid for him; and since that had been determined the
wise course was for the mother not to waste time and energy
bemusing (worrying) herself over the situation, especially as
the girl offered no fundamental objections.
Thus the mother, of herself, learned a lesson that many
another mother might profitably learn.
How wonderfully in his _Saul_ does Robert Browning set forth the
opposite course to that of the worrier. Here, the active principle
of love and trust are called upon so that it uplifts and blesses its
object. David is represented as filled with a great love for Saul,
which would bring happiness to him. He strives in every way to make
Saul happy, yet the king remains sad, depressed, and unhappy. At
last David's heart and his reason grasp the one great fact of God's
transcending love, and the poem ends with a burst of rapture. His
discovery is that, if his heart is so full of love to Saul, that in
his yearning for his good, he would give him everything, what must
God's love for him be? Of his own love he cries:
Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss,
I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and
this;
I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence,
At this moment,--had love but the warrant love's heart to
dispense.
Then, when God's magnificent love bursts upon him he sings in joy:
--What, my soul? see thus far and no farther? When doors great and small
Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth appall?
How utterly absurd, on the face of it, is such a supposition. God
having given so much will surely continue to give. His love so far
proven so great, it _will never cease_.
O! doubting heart of man, of woman, of father, of mother, grieving
over the mental and spiritual lapses of a loved one, grasp this
glorious fact--God's love far transcends thine own. What thou wouldst
do for thy loved one is a minute fraction of what He can do, will do,
_is doing_. Rest in His love. He will not fail thee nor forsake thee;
and in His hands all whom thou lovest are safe.