NERVOUSNESS OF TEACHER AND PUPIL
Nervousness of teacher and pupil deserves special mention. So universal
is this physical defect that we take it for granted, especially for
teachers. Teachers themselves feel that they need not even apologize
for nervousness, in fact they too frequently use it as an excuse for
impatience, ugly temper, discourtesy, and unfairness. Children, slates,
papers, parents, blackboards "get on their nerves." Nervousness of
teacher causes nervousness of pupils and adds to the evil results of
mouth breathing, bad teeth, eye strain, and malnutrition. These
conditions, added to bad ventilation, bad light, and an overcrowded
schoolroom, render the atmosphere thoroughly charged with
electricity--nerves--toward the end of the day. Lack of oxygen to
breathe as well as inability to breathe it; lack of well-printed books
and good light, as well as lack of the power to use them; toothache,
earache, headache, deplete the vitality of both teacher and pupil.
Most of the disturbances at school are but outward signs of unwholesome
physical conditions. If the teacher attempts to treat these causes by
crushing the child, she makes confession of her own nervousness and
inadequacy and visits her own suffering upon her pupils. A transfixing
glance prolonged into an overbearing stare, a loud, sharp voice, a
rough manner, are successful only so far as they work on the
nervousness of her pupil. She finds that it is temporarily effective,
and so by her example and practice sets the child an example in losing
control of himself. The position often assumed by school children when
before authority, of hands held stiffly at the side, head drooped, and
roving eye, does not mean control: it means a crushed spirit,
hypocrisy, or brooding anarchy. The mother or teacher who obtains
obedience by clapping her hands, pointing her finger, distorting her
face, is copying in her own home the attitudes of caste in India, of
serfdom in Russia, the discipline of the prison the world over, a
modern reminder of the power of life and death or of physical torture.
A young college girl unfamiliar with the ways of the public school was
substituting in the highest grammar grade. The time for civics arrived.
Here, she thought, is a subject in which I can interest them. The boys
showed a vast amount of press information, as well as decided opinions
on the politics of the day. The candidates which they elected for the
position of ideal American patriot were Rockefeller, Lincoln, and
Sharkey the prize fighter. During the ensuing debate, which gave back
to Lincoln his proper rank, the boys in the back of the room had moved
forward and were sharing seats with the boys in the front. Every boy
was engrossed in the discussion. The room was in perfect order,--not,
however, according to the ideas of the principal, who entered at that
moment to see how the new substitute was managing the class, famed for
its bad boys. With the stern look of a Simon Legree she demanded, "How
dare you leave your seats!" When one child started to explain she
shouted: "How dare you speak without permission! Don't you know your
teacher never permits it? Every boy take his own seat at his own desk."
This principal was far more to be pitied than the boys, for they had
before them the prospect of "work papers" and a grind less monotonous
and more productive than the principal's discipline. She was a victim
of a nerve-racking system, more sinned against than sinning.
There is nothing in school life _per se_ to cause nervousness. Given a
well-aired, sunny room, where every child has enough fresh air to
breathe, where he can see without strain, where he has a desk fitted to
his body and work fitted to his maximum abilities, a teacher who is
physically strong and mentally inspiring, and plenty of play space and
play time, there will be no nervousness. One who visits vacation
schools is struck with the difference in the atmosphere from that of
the winter day schools. Here are the same rooms, the same children, and
in many cases the same teachers, but different work. Each child is busy
with a bright, interested, happy expression and easy attitude. Some are
at nature study, some are weaving baskets, making dresses, trimming
hats, knitting bright worsted sacks and mittens for the winter. Boys
are at carpentering, raffia, or wrought-iron work. In none of the rooms
is the absolute unity or the methodical order of the winter schoolroom,
but rather the hum of the workroom and the order that comes from a
roomful of children interested in the progress of their work. This
condition only illustrates what a winter schoolroom might be were
physical defects corrected or segregated, windows open, light good, and
work adapted to the child.
[Illustration: VACATION SCHOOL INTEREST: AN ANTIDOTE TO
NERVOUSNESS]
Nervousness is not a monopoly of city teachers and city pupils. In
country schools that I have happened to know, nervous children were the
chief problem. Nervousness led in scholarship, in disorder, in
absences, in truancy, and in backwardness. After reading MacDonald's
_Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood_, I became interested in one or two
particularly nervous children, just to see if I could overcome my
strong dislike for them. To one boy I gave permission to leave the room
or to go to the library whenever he began to lose his self-control. My
predecessors had not been able to control him by the rod. A few weeks
after Willie's emancipation from rules, the county superintendent was
astonished to see that the county terror led my school in history,
reading, and geography.
Had I known what every teacher should be taught in preparation,--the
relation of eye strain, bad teeth, adenoids, "overattention," and
malnutrition to nervousness and bad behavior,--I could have restored
many "incorrigibles" to nerve control. Had I been led at college to
study child psychology and child physiology, I should not have expected
a control that was possible only in a normal adult.[6] In its primary
aspect the question of nervousness in the schoolroom is purely
physiological, and the majority of principals and teachers are not
trained by professional schools how to deal with it. Normal schools
should teach the physical laws which govern the child's development;
should show that the pupil's mental, moral, and physical nature are one
and inseparable; that children cannot at one time be docile, sickly,
and intelligent,--perfect mentally and imperfect physically. Until
teachers are so taught, the condition cannot be changed that makes of
our schools manufactories of nervous teachers and pupils.
Country nervousness, like city nervousness, is of three kinds: (1) that
caused by defective nervous systems; (2) that resulting from physical
defects other than defects of the nervous system, but reacting upon it;
(3) that due to habit or to lack of self-control. Children who suffer
from a defective nervous system should, in city schools, be segregated
where they can have special care under constant medical supervision.
Such children in schools too small for special classes should be given
special treatment. Their parents should know that they have chorea,
which is the same trouble as St. Vitus's Dance, although often existing
in a degree too mild to attract attention. Special treatment does not
mean that such children should be permitted to interfere with the
school progress of other children. In many rural schools, where special
privileges cannot be given children suffering with chorea without
injury to other children, it would be a kindness to the unfortunates,
to their parents, and to all other children, were the parents requested
to keep such children at home.
Nervousness that results from removable physical defects--eye strain,
adenoids, indigestion, earache--will be easily detected by physical
examination, and easily corrected by removing the physical defect.
Preventable nervousness due to "habit" can be quite as serious in its
effects upon the mind and health as the other two forms of nervousness.
Twitching the face, biting the nails, wetting the lips, blinking the
eyelids, continually toying with something, being in perpetual motion
and never relaxing, always changing from one thing to the next, being
forever on the rush, never accomplishing anything, are common faults of
both teacher and pupil. We call them mannerisms or tricks of
personality. They are readily imitated by children. I once knew a young
lawyer who had started life as an oyster dealer, whose power of
imitation helped to make him responsive to both helpful and harmful
influences. After being at the same table for two weeks with a
talented man whom he admired, he acquired the latter's habit of
constantly twitching his shoulder and making certain gestures. These
habits in turn quickly produced a nervousness that interfered with his
power to reason straight.
Nervousness is often confused with aggressiveness, initiative,
confidence. "Think twice before you jump, and perhaps you won't want to
jump" is a very difficult rule to follow for any one whose bodily
movements are not under perfect control.
It is said that the confusion of city life causes habits of
nervousness. Unfortunately no one knows whether the city children or
the country children have the highest percentage of nervousness. There
is a general feeling that city life causes an unwholesome degree of
activity, yet one finds that those people in the city who least notice
the elevated railway are those whose windows it passes. City noises
irritate those who come from the country, or the city man on returning
to the city from the country, but a similar irritation is felt by the
city-bred man on coming to the country. Mr. Dooley's description of a
night in the country with the crickets and the mosquitoes and the early
birds shows that it is the unusual noise rather than the volume or
variety of noises that wreck nerves. At the time of the opening of the
New York schools in 1907 a newspaper published an editorial on "Where
can the city child study?" showing that in New York the curriculum, the
schoolhouse, and the tenements are so crowded and so noisy that study
is practically impossible. Lack of sleep, lack of a quiet place in
which to study at school and at home, are causes for nervousness,
whether these conditions are in the city or in the country. What
evidence is there that the country curriculum is less crowded or
country work better adjusted to the psychological and physiological age
of the country pupil? The index is there; it should be read.
In breaking habits of nervousness the first step is to explain how
easily habits are formed, why their effects may be serious, and how a
little attention will correct them. When a habit loses its mystery it
becomes unattractive. Children will take an interest in coöperating
with each other and with the teacher in curing habits acquired either
at home or at school. My pupils greatly enjoyed overcoming the habit of
jumping or screaming after some sudden noise. I told them how, when a
boy, my imagination had been very much impressed by one of Thackeray's
characters, the last remnant of aristocratic traditions, almost a
pauper, but possessing one attribute of nobility,--absolute
self-control. When his house burned he stood with his ankles crossed,
leaning on his cane, the only onlooker who was not excited. For months
I imitated that pose, using sticks and rakes and fork handles. The
result was that when I taught school, a scream, a broken desk, or
unusual noise outside reminded me of my old aristocrat in time to
prevent my muscles from jumping. In a very short time several fidgety
and nervous girls and boys had learned to think twice and to relax
before jumping.
One test of thorough relaxation in a dentist's chair proves the folly
of tightening one's muscles. When in school or out the remedy for
nervousness is relaxation. The discipline that prohibits a pupil from
stretching or changing his posture or seat is as much to be condemned
as that which flourishes the rod. It has been said of our schools that
children are not worked to death but bored to death. Wherever a room
must be stripped of all beauty and interest to induce concentration,
wherever the greater part of the teacher's time must be spent in
keeping order, there is confession either of inappropriateness of the
present curriculum or of the failure of teacher and text-book to
present subjects attractive to the pupils. Nervous habits will be
inevitable until the pupil's attention is obtained through interest.
Sustained interest will be impossible until teacher and pupil alike
practice relaxation, not once a morning or twice a day, not during
recess or lunch hour, but whenever relaxation is needed.
In overcoming nervousness of teacher and pupil, both must be interested
in home causes as well as school causes of that nervousness. Time must
be found to ask questions about those causes and to discuss means for
removing them. Naturally it will be embarrassing for a very nervous
teacher to discuss nervousness with children,--until after she has
overcome her own lack of nerve stability. To help her or to compel her
to learn the art of relaxation of bodily and of mental control is the
duty and the privilege of the school physician, of her doctor, and of
superintendent and trustees. The outside point of view is necessary,
because of the peculiar fact that almost every nervous person believes
that he has unusually good control over his nerves, just as a man in
the midst of his anger will declare that he is cool and
self-controlled. Had Robert Burns been thinking of the habit of
nervousness he could not have thought of a better cure than when he
wrote:
Oh wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as ithers see us;
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] _The Unconscious Mind_ by Schofield, _The Study of Children and
their School Training_ by Dr. Frances Warner, and _The Development of
the Child_ by Nathan Oppenheimer show clearly the physical and mental
limitations and possibilities of children.