Children Seen and Not Heard

In a department store one day, I heard a man bark to the corps of small children around him, "Children—" It was said with such authority that if there had been other children within twenty feet, they would have run to him obediently too. The youngsters were without question quiet and well-behaved. Why did I feel a vague sense of discomfort? It was something in the tone of his voice, and the palpable apprehension of his children.

I felt something else too. Where had I heard that commanding tone before? Oh yes, Captain von Trapp in the "Sound of Music" who ordered his children about in military fashion with little love and no grace at all. I didn't know the man in the store—nor did I want to.

Another father—this one I knew—snapped his fingers and beckoned sternly for his children to fall in at his side. He was proud of their disciplined obedience. And I would have been too. Of my dog.

A couple of generations ago, when my parents were children, they were sort of non-persons. "Children should be seen and not heard," was the prevailing attitude, coming probably out of the fifteenth century in England and applying specifically to young women! Many children of my generation, especially in conservative communities, experienced the same restriction in our homes. I wonder why? We were loved, I am sure, but somehow positive interaction, especially in public, was not the norm. Certainly, children must learn appropriate social behavior, but that is not acquired in a vacuum; real-life practice is the better way and it needs to begin early. Just because we see some children and young people who are badly behaved, we should not expect to limit communication and deny the privilege of choice to all!

Fortunately by the time I was rearing a family, many of us had learned there are approaches other than "Children should not be heard." My very young daughter and I were eating in a restaurant once, seated where we could see another family nearby. She said to me in surprise, "Look Mama, they're not talking!" This was strange to her, because while we ate, we always chatted about the things that had happened during the day, or the plans we were making. Sometimes school lunch rooms do have an "Eat silently" rule because there are just so many children, but when a family meal includes no conversation, she thought there must be something wrong! (And indeed, there may have been.) I now see the benefit in her own children who are at ease when carrying on conversation with an adult, but without being excessively noisy and intrusive or whiny and argumentative.

Will children who are allowed to express themselves misbehave sometimes? Of course. Will they embarrass us sometimes? Oh my, yes! But consider the alternative. I have to wonder about those children who are silenced all the while they are growing up. As adults, especially young women, will they know that they have worthwhile opinions? Will they trust their own judgment? Will they be able to express themselves clearly and courteously? Will they understand that manipulating and controlling other people is unfair? Will they respect one another? After all, children learn what they live. And then, later, they live what they have learned.

Marjorie