Chapter V: The American Child

The United States has sometimes been called the "Paradise of Women;" from the child's point of view it might equally well he termed the "Paradise of Children," though the thoughtful observer might be inclined to qualify the title by the prefix "Fool's." Nowhere is the child so constantly in evidence; nowhere are his wishes so carefully consulted; nowhere is he allowed to make his mark so strongly on society in general. The difference begins at the very moment of his birth, or indeed even sooner. As much fuss is made over each young republican as if he were the heir to a long line of kings; his swaddling clothes might make a ducal infant jealous; the family physician thinks $100 or $150 a moderate fee for ushering him into the light of day. Ordinary milk is not good enough for him; _sterilised_ milk will hardly do; "_modified_" milk alone is considered fit for this democratic suckling. Even the father is expected to spend hours in patient consultation over his food, his dress, his teething-rings, and his outgoing. He is weighed daily, and his nourishment is changed at once if he is a fraction either behind or ahead of what is deemed a normal and healthy rate of growth. American writers on the care of children give directions for the use of the most complex and time-devouring devices for the proper preparation of their food, and seem really to expect that mamma and nurse will go through with the prescribed juggling with pots and pans, cylinders and lamps.

A little later the importance of the American child is just as evident, though it takes on different forms. The small American seems to consider himself the father of the man in a way never contemplated by the poet. He interrupts the conversation of his elders, he has a voice in every matter, he eats and drinks what seems good to him, he (or at any rate _she_) wears finger-rings of price, he has no shyness or even modesty. The theory of the equality of man is rampant in the nursery (though I use this word only in its conventional and figurative sense, for American children do not confine themselves to their nurseries). You will actually hear an American mother say of a child of two or three years of age: "I can't _induce_ him to do this;" "She _won't_ go to bed when I tell her;" "She _will_ eat that lemon pie, though I _know_ it is bad for her." Even the public authorities seem to recognise the inherent right of the American child to have his own way, as the following paragraph from the New York _Herald_ of April 8, 1896, will testify:

WASHINGTON, April 7.--The lawn in front of the White
House this morning was littered with paper bags, the dyed shells
of eggs, and the remains of Easter luncheon baskets. It is said
that a large part of the lawn must be resodded. The children,
shut out from their usual romp in the grounds at the back of the
mansion, made their way into the front when the sun came out in
the afternoon, and gambolled about at will, to the great injury
of the rain-soaked turf.

The police stationed in the grounds _vainly endeavored to
persuade the youngsters to go away_, and were finally successful
only through pretending to be about to close all the gates for
the night.

It is, perhaps, superfluous to say that this kind of bringing up hardly tends to make the American child an attractive object to the stranger from without. On the contrary, it is very apt to make the said stranger long strenuously to spank these budding citizens of a free republic, and to send them to bed _instanter_. So much of what I want to say on this topic has been well said by my brother Findlay Muirhead in an article on "The American Small Boy," contributed to the _St. James's Gazette_, that I venture to quote the bulk of that article below.

The American Small Boy

The American small boy is represented in history by the youthful
George Washington, who suffered through his inability to invent a
plausible fiction, and by Benjamin Franklin, whose abnormal
simplicity in the purchase of musical instruments has become
proverbial. But history is not taken down in shorthand as it
occurs, and it sometimes lags a little. The modern American small
boy is a vastly different being from either of these
transatlantic worthies; at all events his most prominent
characteristics, as they strike a stranger, are not illustrated
in the earlier period of their career.

The peculiarities of young America would, indeed, matter but
little to the stranger if young America stayed at home. But young
America does not stay at home. It is not necessary to track the
American small boy to his native haunts in order to see what he
is like. He is very much in evidence even on this side the
Atlantic. At certain seasons he circulates in Europe with the
facility of the British sovereign; for the American nation
cherishes the true nomadic habit of travelling in families, and
the small boy is not left behind. He abounds in Paris; he is
common in Italy; and he is a drug in Switzerland. He is an
element to be allowed for by all who make the Grand Tour, for his
voice is heard in every land. On the Continent, during the
season, no first-class hotel can be said to be complete without
its American family, including the small boy. He does not,
indeed, appear to "come off" to his full extent in this country,
but in all Continental resorts he is a small boy that may be
felt, as probably our fellow-countrymen all over Europe are now
discovering.

There is little use in attempting to disguise the fact that the
subject of the present paper is distinctly disagreeable. There is
little beauty in him that we should desire him. He is not only
restless himself, but he is the cause of restlessness in others.
He has no respect even for the quiescent evening hour, devoted to
cigarettes on the terrace after _table d'hôte_, and he is not to
be overawed by a look. It is a constant source of wonder to the
thoughtfully inclined how the American man is evolved from the
American boy; it is a problem much more knotty than the
difficulty concerning apple-dumplings which so perplexed "Farmer
George." No one need desire a pleasanter travelling companion
than the American man; it is impossible to imagine a more
disagreeable one than the American boy.

The American small boy is precocious; but it is not with the
erudite precocity of the German Heinecken, who at three years of
age was intimately acquainted with history and geography ancient
and modern, sacred and profane, besides being able to converse
fluently in Latin, French, and German. We know, of course, that
each of the twenty-two Presidents of the United States gave such
lively promise in his youth that twenty-two aged friends of the
twenty-two families, without any collusion, placed their hands
upon the youthful heads, prophesying their future eminence. But
even this remarkable coincidence does not affect the fact that
the precocity of the average transatlantic boy is not generally
in the most useful branches of knowledge, but rather in the
direction of habits, tastes, and opinion. He is not, however,
evenly precocious. He unites a taste for jewelry with a passion
for candy. He combines a penetration into the motives of others
with an infantile indifference to exposing them at inconvenient
times. He has an adult decision in his wishes, but he has a
youthful shamelessness in seeking their fulfilment. One of his
most exasperating peculiarities is the manner in which he
querulously harps upon the single string of his wants. He sits
down before the refusal of his mother and shrilly besieges it. He
does not desist for company. He does not wish to behave well
before strangers. He desires to have his wish granted; and he
knows he will probably be allowed to succeed if he insists before
strangers. He is distinguished by a brutal frankness, combined
with a cynical disregard for all feminine ruses. He not seldom
calls up the blush of shame to the cheek of scheming innocence;
and he frequently crucifies his female relatives. He is generally
an adept in discovering what will most annoy his family circle;
and he is perfectly unscrupulous in avenging himself for all
injuries, of which he receives, in his own opinion, a large
number. He has an accurate memory for all promises made to his
advantage, and he is relentless in exacting payment to the
uttermost farthing. He not seldom displays a singular ingenuity
in interpreting ambiguous terms for his own behoof. A youth of
this kind is reported to have demanded (and received) eight
apples from his mother, who had bribed him to temporary
stillness by the promise of a few of that fruit, his ground being
that the Scriptures contained the sentence, "Wherein few, that
is, eight, souls were saved by water."

The American small boy is possessed, moreover, of a well-nigh
invincible _aplomb_. He is not impertinent, for it never enters
into his head to take up the position of protesting inferiority
which impertinence implies. He merely takes things as they come,
and does not hesitate to express his opinion of them. An American
young gentleman of the mature age of ten was one day overtaken by
a fault. His father, more in sorrow than in anger, expressed his
displeasure. "What am I to do with you, Tommy? What am I to do
with you?" "I have no suggestions to offer, sir," was the
response of Tommy, thus appealed to. Even in trying
circumstances, even when serious misfortune overtakes the
youthful American, his _aplomb_, his confidence in his own
opinion, does not wholly forsake him. Such a one was found
weeping in the street. On being asked the cause of his tears, he
sobbed out in mingled alarm and indignation: "I'm lost; mammy's
lost me; I _told_ the darned thing she'd lose me." The
recognition of his own liability to be lost, and at the same time
the recognition of his own superior wisdom, are exquisitely
characteristic. They would be quite incongruous in the son of any
other soil. In his intercourse with strangers this feeling
exhibits itself in the complete self-possession and _sang-froid_
of the youthful citizen of the Western Republic. He scorns to own
a curiosity which he dare not openly seek to satisfy by direct
questions, and he puts his questions accordingly on all subjects,
even the most private and even in the case of the most reverend
strangers. He is perfectly free in his remarks upon all that
strikes him as strange or reprehensible in any one's personal
appearance or behaviour; and he never dreams that his victims
might prefer not to be criticised in public. But he is quick to
resent criticism on himself, and he shows the most perverted
ingenuity in embroiling with his family any outsider who may
rashly attempt to restrain his ebullitions. He is, in fact, like
the Scottish thistle: no one may meddle with him with impunity.
It is better to "never mind him," as one of the evils under the
sun for which there is no remedy.

Probably this development of the American small boys is due in
great measure to the absorption of their fathers in business,
which necessarily surrenders the former to a too undiluted
"regiment of women." For though Thackeray is unquestionably right
in estimating highly the influence of refined feminine society
upon youths and young men, there is no doubt that a small boy is
all the better for contact with some one whose physical prowess
commands his respect. Some allowance must also be made for the
peevishness of boys condemned to prolonged railway journeys, and
to the confinement of hotel life in cities and scenes in which
they are not old enough to take an interest. They would,
doubtless, be more genial if they were left behind at school.

The American boy has no monopoly of the characteristics under consideration. His little sister is often his equal in all departments. Miss Marryat tells of a little girl of five who appeared alone in the _table d'hôte_ room of a large and fashionable hotel, ordered a copious and variegated breakfast, and silenced the timorous misgivings of the waiter with "I guess I pay my way." At another hotel I heard a similar little minx, in a fit of infantile rage, address her mother as "You nasty, mean, old crosspatch;" and the latter, who in other respects seemed a very sensible and intelligent woman, yielded to the storm, and had no words of rebuke. I am afraid it was a little boy who in the same way called his father a "black-eyed old skunk;" but it might just as well have been a girl.

While not asserting that all American children are of this brand, I do maintain that the sketch is fairly typical of a very large class--perhaps of all except those of exceptionally firm and sensible parents. The strangest thing about the matter is, however, that the fruit does not by any means correspond to the seed; the wind is sown, but the whirlwind is not reaped. The unendurable child does not necessarily become an intolerable man. By some mysterious chemistry of the American atmosphere, social or otherwise, the horrid little minx blossoms out into a charming and womanly girl, with just enough of independence to make her piquant; the cross and dyspeptic little boy becomes a courteous and amiable man. Some sort of a moral miracle seems to take place about the age of fourteen or fifteen; a violent dislocation interrupts the natural continuity of progress; and, presto! out springs a new creature from the modern cauldron of Medea.

The reason--or at any rate one reason--of the normal attitude of the American parent towards his child is not far to seek. It is almost undoubtedly one of the direct consequences of the circumambient spirit of democracy. The American is so accustomed to recognise the essential equality of others that he sometimes carries a good thing to excess. This spirit is seen in his dealings with underlings of all kinds, who are rarely addressed with the bluntness and brusqueness of the older civilisations. Hence the father and mother are apt to lay almost too much stress on the separate and individual entity of their child, to shun too scrupulously anything approaching the violent coercion of another's will. That the results are not more disastrous seems owing to a saving quality in the child himself. The characteristic American shrewdness and common sense do their work. A badly brought up American child introduced into a really well-regulated family soon takes his cue from his surroundings, adapts himself to his new conditions, and sheds his faults as a snake its skin. The whole process may tend to increase the individuality of the child; but the cost is often great, the consequences hard for the child itself. American parents are doubtless more familiar than others with the plaintive remonstrance: "Why did you not bring me up more strictly? Why did you give me so much of my own way?" The present type of the American child may be described as one of the experiments of democracy; that he is not a necessary type is proved by the by no means insignificant number of excellently trained children in the United States, of whom it has never been asserted that they make any less truly democratic citizens than their more pampered playmates.

The idea of establishing summer camps for schoolchildren may not have originated in the United States--it was certainly put into operation in Switzerland and France several years ago; but the most characteristic and highly organised institution of the kind is the George Junior Republic at Freeville, near Ithaca, in the State of New York, and some account of this attempt to recognise the "rights of children," and develop the political capacity of boys and girls, may form an appropriate ending to this chapter. The republic was established by Mr. William R. George, in 1895. It occupies a large tent and several wooden buildings on a farm forty-eight acres in extent. In summer it accommodates about two hundred boys and girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen; and about forty of these remain in residence throughout the year. The republic is self-governing, and its economic basis is one of honest industry. Every citizen has to earn his living, and his work is paid for with the tin currency of the republic. Half of the day is devoted to work, the other half to recreation. The boys are employed in farming and carpentry; the girls sew, cook, and so on. The rates of wages vary from 50 cents to 90 cents a day according to the grade of work. Ordinary meals cost about 10 cents, and a night's lodging the same; but those who have the means and the inclination may have more sumptuous meals for 25 cents, or board at the "Waldorf" for about $4 (16s.) a week. As the regular work offered to all is paid for at rates amply sufficient to cover the expenses of board and lodging, the idle and improvident have either to go without or make up for their neglect by overtime work. Those who save money receive its full value on leaving the republic, in clothes and provisions to take back to their homes in the slums of New York. Some boys have been known to save $50 (£10) in the two months of summer work. The republic has its own legislature, court-house, jail, schools, and the like. The legislature has two branches. The members of the lower house are elected by ballot weekly, those of the senate fortnightly. Each grade of labour elects one member and one senator for every twelve constituents. Offences against the laws of the republic are stringently dealt with, and the jail, with its bread-and-water diet, is a by no means pleasant experience. The police force consists of thirteen boys and two girls; the office of "cop," with its wages of 90 cents a day, is eagerly coveted, but cannot be obtained without the passing of a stiff civil service examination.

So far this interesting experiment is said by good authorities to have worked well. It is not a socialistic or Utopian scheme, but frankly accepts existing conditions and tries to make the best of them. It is not by any means merely "playing at house." The children have to do genuine work, and learn habits of real industry, thrift, self-restraint, and independence. The measures discussed by the legislature are not of the debating society order, but actually affect the personal welfare of the two hundred citizens. It has, for example, been found necessary to impose a duty of twenty-five per cent. "on all stuff brought in to be sold," so as to protect the native farmer. Female suffrage has been tried, but did not work well, and was discarded, largely through the votes of the girls themselves.

The possible disadvantages connected with an experiment of this kind easily suggest themselves; but since the "precocity" of the American child is a recognised fact, it is perhaps well that it should be turned into such unobjectionable channels.