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Archived Columns
For several years, I wrote a column entitled "Our Children" in Berkshire HomeStyle magazine. The column addressed topics in child development, mental health and education. The following are some selections of columns I wrote over the years. The dates given are the dates of publication.
"Our Children" February 2005
GOLDILOCKS RIDES THE WAVE
Card-carrying Behavioral Scientists like myself are often called upon to weigh in on weighty matters of national importance. No one has asked me (yet) for my opinion regarding the future of the Social Security system or the war in Iraq, but I do get calls once in a while to opine about what’s happening to America’s children. This is both a blessing and a curse: it’s nice to be asked, of course, but the opinions I generate are usually more complicated than the format allows. And, of course, prescribing reflection, which I often do, is always less popular than prescribing action. “Here’s a new way to think about it” is never quite as easily digested as “Here are three do’s and don’ts.”
So, dear reader, I turn to you, my harbor of quiet reflection in a sea of hyperkinetic information and prescription. I can tell you what I told the reporter from a major metropolitan daily two weeks ago when the reporter asked me to opine about the effects of tsunami news on America’s children. It turns out that I had a lot to say on the subject (really, are you surprised?) and, although I talked volubly and animatedly for a half-hour to said reporter, in the published article, our conversation was boiled down to one not-particularly-interesting quote. It was only after I saw the article that I realized why this had happened: the reporter was trying to write two articles at once.
Actually the reporter in question was not to blame. The article was simply a reflection of what is going on in the minds of American parents: the anxious wish to have their children have the perfect developmental experience. Having the perfect developmental experience of a tsunami (the news of it, not the thing itself) is kind of odd, but then, so is America. The article reflected that odd wish: it was an article about parents wanting their kids to know about and be affected by the tsunami news and to be moved to compassionate action by this news, while at the same time not being overwhelmed or frightened by said news. The parents in question were saying, basically, “I want my kid to be affected by this, but not too much.” This is what is called, in economics, the Goldilocks Effect: it is what is desired when, for example, the Federal Reserve Board tries to stimulate the economy without overstimulating it. The effect is named for dear old Goldilocks, who, in the old children’s story, was always searching for the porridge, or the bed, or whatever, that was “just right.”
So, said reporter (I am not naming the newspaper or the reporter, as you may have noticed. I don’t want to seem ungracious or hypercritical when I am, in fact, pleased to be asked my opinion) wrote two articles in one: one about how to “make” kids compassionate, and one about how to protect them from scary news of natural disasters. These are really two completely different issues, although they are related by the common thread of child psychology. What kids can, and cannot comprehend, and at what age, is a complicated developmental story that defies easy prescription.
For example, children, especially younger children, don’t really comprehend death, because they don’t comprehend the finality of death. The concept of “forever,” or “never,” is actually a pretty tough concept from a cognitive point of view, and one that takes a while to get. It is a disturbing fact that young children can lose a loved one- a grandparent, a sibling, even a parent- and they can be told of the death, go to the funeral, and see all the grieving, and then, two weeks later, ask when the loved one is coming back. It is completely out of their experience that someone goes away and NEVER comes back. And it takes a while to assimilate that information- that’s just how children’s minds work.
So how is a child who cannot truly comprehend the loss of one life, and that of a known person, to comprehend the loss of 150,000 unknown people? Who are they? Where did they go? They all went to the beach and died? Why didn’t they just go under the water and then come back up? A lot of adults I know are asking themselves these questions, so it’s not surprising that children are similarly confused. It’s not likely that kids are going to stay up nights feeling terrified about the tsunami- and, in fact, I have heard of no such outbreak of anxiety among American kids- because the whole thing seems so unreal and so distant.
But a lot of adults are pretty overwhelmed by the tsunami, and for a very understandable reason. The news has been filled lately with articles about religion and faith in the face of such disasters: how does an event like this resonate with people’s notions of a loving or merciful Deity? It is an event which challenges adults on the level of the meaning of life: what does it mean to work hard to preserve and extend your life and the life or your children if all your effort can be swept away in a moment of completely unpredictable natural disaster? Now this is a thought to give most parents pause. American parents have a lot of power and control, but something like a tsunami reminds us all of the limits of human control, Deity or no Deity. Something like this makes a lot of parents really anxious.
And many parents, because they are such devoted parents, have the same response when faced with overwhelming anxiety. They say to themselves, I will be okay if I know my kids are okay. So, they want to know, are my kids okay? Are my kids anxious about the tsunami? I can’t protect them from natural disasters, but at least I can help them feel safe. It will help me feel safe if I know they feel safe. I need to know that they, at least, feel safe.
This is all completely understandable, but it can turn out to be very wrong-headed. Because we then have a bunch of kids who cannot even say tsunami and certainly can’t comprehend it, and so are thinking about their next soccer game or birthday party, and a bunch of well-meaning parents who are saying “Honey, are you feeling okay about the tsunami? Are you scared? I know it’s scary to think about massive death and destruction and the apparent meaninglessness of life and all, but, really, honey, I want you to know it’s okay.” And then, when the kids give the blank looks and say, “What’s a tsunami?” the parents feel they are raising heartless idiots.
Here’s the deal about child psychology: kids do not, as a rule, think about THE MEANING OF LIFE until they are adolescents. So we cannot expect them to assuage our existential anxiety. We all want our kids to feel safe, and, by and large, they do. And if we don’t, it’s up to us adults to manage that on our own. We can make the world better by supporting tsunami relief, and if the kids want to pitch in, that’s fine. But we can’t expect them to give us the answers to the meaning of life- that is for us to figure out. So here’s the quote I really wanted to see in that other paper: “Our children may be our inspiration, but they cannot be our guide.”
"Our Children" December 2002
FOR THE CHILD WHO HAS EVERYTHING
Dear Santa: My name is Justin and I am eight years old. I have been thinking about what I want for Christmas, and here it is: I want to be blind. Maybe I should explain. See, my mom and dad got divorced about two years ago and after that I thought they would stop fighting all the time. But they didn’t stop fighting. In fact, they fight even more now than when we all lived together. I used to want them to get back together- I even asked you for that two years ago, remember? But now I don’t think that will ever happen. And then for a while I wanted them to stop hating each other. I don’t think that will ever happen either. But I don’t want to see that look in Mom’s eyes when she looks at my dad, like when he drops me off late or something. And I don’t want to see that look in my dad’s eyes either, when he looks at Mom. Because I love both of them. And when I see that they hate each other, I feel awful all over again. I don’t want to be blind all the time Santa- I just want to go blind for those times when they look at each other. I have been very good this year, and I won’t ask for anything else. Love, Justin
Dear Santa: Please read this letter in private, Santa. I don’t want anyone else up there to see it but you. My name is Mariela and I am eleven. Guess what happened to me this year, Santa? Well, I don’t know how to say this nice. I “developed” if you know what I mean. I am the first girl in my class to have to wear a bra, and, Santa, this is really no fun. The other girls are kinda jealous, I guess, but they’re acting kinda grossed out, too. The boys are all afraid of me now. That’s the boys in my class. The older boys in school are saying things to me that I can’t believe. They never used to look at me at all, and they still don’t look at my face, but they look at my chest, and then they say really stupid things that make me embarrassed. But the worst thing is my dad. He stopped touching me, Santa. He used to put his arm around me, and hug me and kiss me goodnight, like a dad is supposed to. Now he doesn’t touch me at all. It’s like he’s embarrassed, too, and he thinks I’m gross or something. I miss him so much. I can’t tell my mom about this- she’s already so worried about me, like I’m going to turn into a slut (sorry, Santa, but that’s what they’re called). What I want for Christmas is a big hug from my dad, like he used to give me. I know this isn’t an easy thing to ask for, but it’s not expensive. And I have been very good. I got perfect attendance at school and I made honor roll for the first time. Signed, Mariela
Dear Santa: My name is Laurie and I am ten. What I want for Christmas is, I want to be able to read a book. I can read, Santa, but I have something wrong with my brain that makes it really hard. I can spend an hour just trying to read one page, and when I’m done, I spent so much time figuring out the words that I can’t remember anything. My best friend Jamie (you know her- she’s the one that asks for horse stuff every year) can read anything. I’ve watched her reading a Harry Potter book and turning the pages so fast it’s hard to believe. That’s what I want, Santa. I want to be able to read a book without trying. I promise that, if you give me this, I’ll do all my homework before I read Harry Potter. Thank you, Santa. Everyone says I’m too old to write to you but I just tell them to shut up. That isn’t so bad, is it? Say hi to Mrs. Claus and all the reindeer and elves. Love, Laurie
Dear Santa: I know it’s stupid to write to you but since I can’t talk to anyone else, I figure what the Hell? My name is Anthony and I am fifteen. I like boys, Santa, and that’s what I want for Christmas. But I want a boy from you because I can’t get a boy any other way. It’s like this: I’ve known I was gay for a couple of years but I haven’t told anyone. I can’t tell my parents, because they think being gay is a sin or an abomination or something, and I certainly can’t tell the kids at school. I am so tired of being called a “faggot” all the time, as if it’s lower than dirt, and if I tell them I really am, I’m afraid I’ll get beaten up or worse. All I want is a nice boy to talk to (or maybe other things, but I promise I’ll be good)…somebody I can be honest with for once in my life. What do you say, Santa? Maybe another boy has sent you a letter just like this. If that happens, just forward his name and address. Thanks, Santa. I love you. Anthony
Dear Santa: I am a middle-aged child therapist and my name is David. I have been pretty good this year: I paid my taxes and watched my weight and I did not get any speeding tickets for a change. What I want, Santa, is for you to fix everything for everybody. But that’s a tall order, I know. If that’s too hard, there’s another thing I want that might be a little easier. What I want is for adults to think about all the troubled kids in their lives, and to try to make things a little easier for them. Maybe just these kids: just start with these four. If you can do that reindeer thing, I know you can do this. Thank you, Santa…and have a wonderful Christmas. Love, David
"Our Children" July 2003
HUNTING FOR GOOD NEWS
Hurray! School's out, and the kids can relax. The agony of the 12-week science research project on household mold is but a distant memory, and the model of the Roman aqueduct built out of painstakingly-crafted sheet rock bricks is gathering dust in the attic. It's time to kick back, and listen to the twitter of the birds in the trees. But wait. That's not the twitter of the birds in the trees- no bird twitters all day and all night, with the identical twitter every time. No, it's not the birds. It's the twitter of the video game console, which has been in constant use since the last day of school.
Just in time, the national newspapers have been chock-full of the latest findings about the effects of video games on children, following the publication of a study in the prestigious journal Nature that demonstrated that playing video games enhances some aspects of children's cognitive skills. The study's principal author, Patricia Greenfield of UCLA, was quoted in the New York Times as saying, "The cognitive effects are clear. Video games develop selective visual attention such as skill in monitoring more than one location simultaneously." These findings ostensibly shed some light on something about parenting, although it is hard to know what is being illuminated: the headline in the Times article is, appropriately, "On Video Games, The Jury Is Out and Confused." As I have argued elsewhere, the latest dispatches from the world of cognitive science, while eagerly awaited by a technology-infatuated public, rarely help to clarify what we should actually do with our children. Just as frequently, they make parents more anxious by giving them more contradictory data to weigh and re-weigh.
But what the heck? Let's weigh in and see what we can decide. First of all, we notice that, although the game in question in the research study was a violent first-person shooter game ("Medal of Honor," in case you were wondering) it is clear that the task is not dependent on the content. Any old game which requires children to respond quickly to peripheral stimuli will, apparently, improve their ability to respond quickly to peripheral stimuli. We could imagine a game called "Life List Mayhem" which might ask kids to identify birds flitting quickly in and out of a simulated forest environment: for each Prothonotary warbler correctly identified, the player's score might improve, enabling him or her to dismember an opponent at the end of the game. Such a game might also develop selective visual attention. Does this mean kids should play it for hours on end?
At times like these, we can turn with relief to the world of evolutionary psychology, the one school of contemporary psychology which always has all the answers, at least for those who favor the biology of knowledge. There is a reason why our early ancestors were called "hunter-gatherers," to wit, they evolved in an ecological niche characterized by a lot of hunting and gathering, and their brains evolved to solve the cognitive problems posed by such a niche. More often than not, it was the men who were hunting and the women who were gathering. And what is hunting like, after all? For those of you who have never hunted, it's like this: you walk through the woods (although sometimes you don't, sometimes you just stand there for hours on end) straining your eyes and ears to see and hear when your quarry might be crossing your path. It might come from any angle, and at any time, and (especially in the old days) predators might also come from any angle and at any time, so peripheral visual attention was a very good thing to have. It might have even developed, so the speak, in people who spent a lot of time hunting, and the skills of the hunters might have superceded those of the gatherers, whose quarry might have been a relatively slow-moving manioc root.
For those who believe that human interests are somehow pre-programmed, it is not surprising, then, that games which mimic hunting are appealing to kids, maybe especially boys. Practice makes perfect with these skills, whether behind the console or in the woods, and the US Army is fully aware that the console is a good training tool for the real-life hunting skills required in real-life combat situations. The question is, do suburban ten-year-olds need to learn how to do this?
The issue turns, as always in developmental psychology, upon the generalizability of acquired skills. When we say a video game "improves cognitive skills," we can believe that "it's making my kid smarter," if we choose. But how much smarter? Smarter all around, or smarter in the sense of "doing better at a task just like this one?" Some loyal readers of this space might remember (you're forgiven if you don't, it was years ago) a similar argument I made about the fabled "Mozart effect." Playing Mozart for college students improved one and only one visual-spatial skill, mental rotation as measured by a polygon folding task, and that improvement reliably lasted for about a half-hour after the exposure to Mozart. If this is what "smarter" means to you, by all means invest in the entire Kochel catalogue on CD. But don't be upset if your kids' SAT scores don't skyrocket as a result, because, fortunately, there is more to life than mental polygon folding.
The hoopla surrounding the latest research does indicate the measure of desperation many parents feel about video games and their children's intense involvement with them. But many of the same parents who cling to these hopeful findings like hapless sailors to the Raft of the Medusa would be appalled to consider the real-life alternative to the console. Imagine if Dr. Greenfield had recommended that children should enhance their selective visual attention skills not by taking up video hunting, but by taking up...real hunting. Hunting, after all, is the real thing. Furthermore, hunting does one more thing for children that video games do not: it combats obesity, which is the genuine, present, truly dangerous side effect of hours and hours in front of the PlayStation. Kids who learn to hunt by using a video game might be more likely than most to spot the tiger when it approaches in the jungle, but, of course, they would be way too hefty to outrun it or climb that handy tree when they need to evade certain death. Mother Nature always has the last laugh, does she not?
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