A Kinder, Gentler Citizenry

I’ve never forgotten that day thirty years ago when a child said to me, ‘You’re not the boss of me.’ I felt righteous satisfaction in proving him wrong. This past year, while volunteering at a local school, I’ve thought about it a lot because the administration promotes reasoning and conflict resolution over direct orders or confrontation. I think the policies are supposed to teach children to be individuals with self-respect and respect for others. What I learned last Tuesday is that the kinder, gentler approach obviously does not teach them to question authority.
Along with seven other adult volunteers and three school teachers, I accompanied twenty three third graders on a trip to 1886. The old homestead, located deep in the forest on the wilderness area of Lake Whatcom, had several learning stations. The children would chop and haul wood, carry water up from the creek, make candles, make various types of food, and go to a primitive school. The adult volunteers were assigned roles. I was made the school teacher, mostly because the others didn’t think they could take it seriously.
While we were being trained in our roles, the staff instructed the third graders on their roles. I didn’t overhear the training, but this was the result: Please, thank you, yes ma’am, no ma’am, when I finished eating a child put her lunch aside and carried my empty plate away. The rules about how they were supposed to act towards adults were clearly something from the distant past. The fascinating thing was, they seemed to enjoy the strict rules, the hard work, and being told what to do.
I had about fifteen minutes with each group of five or six children at my learning station. I taught them how to write with a chicken feather in a ‘copy book’ and read in unison. But more to the point, a gnarly looking stick was demonstrated with an echoing blow to the table as I read them the list of rules of behavior, and how many lashes erring children would receive. When two boys began squabbling over a feather pen, I whacked the table convincingly enough that one of them asked if I was really allowed to whack them. I thought I had done a believable job, but later, when Pioneer Joe asked them if Miss Ima Meany lived up to her name, I overheard a chorus of ‘No, she wasn’t mean.’ Well, I did my best.
Since then, I have been pondering about how the children seemed to appreciate following especially strict rules. There is something unsettling about such easily-won, unquestioning obedience.
Nancy Sherer