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'What a temper he has, ma'am!'
The poor nanny was standing at the door of the mother's room, stressed, flustered, and at her wits' end. The piercing yells that filled the entire house explained the poor nanny's distress. Mrs. Belmont looked worried. She went upstairs wearily to deal with what she knew would be a difficult task. Just fifteen minutes earlier, the day had seemed so promising--the sun was shining, sparrows were chirping, lilacs and golden laburnum blossoms were making the neighborhood gardens especially bright. When she thought of her three darling little ones in their room, her own heart felt like a songbird chirping thanks and praise. But now that mood had evaporated. Outside, the world was just as bright as ever, but she herself felt like she was under a dark cloud. She knew only too well how those shrieks from the children's room would ruin her day.
There lay the boy, banging the floor with his fists and feet, emitting one monstrous roar after another. His face was twisted and his eyes were bulging like a wild creature in a rage. He was so lost in the passion of his fit that even his own mother wondered if the noble look and charming smile of her son had ever been anything more than her imagination. He eyed
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his mother from the corner of his eye through his tousled blond hair, but her presence only seemed to provoke the demon within him. The screams became even more violent, and the beatings on the floor more than ever like the rage of a maniac.
'Get up, Gavin.'
Renewed screams, and even more violent action of the arms and legs.
'Did you hear me, Gavin?' in tones of forced calmness.
The uproar subsided a little. But when Mrs. Belmont laid a hand on his shoulder to help him get up, the boy jumped to his feet, rushed at her with his head like a bull, kicked her, beat her with his fists, tried to rip her dress with his teeth, and would probably have conquered his delicate mother if his father, Mr. Belmont, hadn't finally had enough of the disturbance and come upstairs to disengage the raging boy and carry him off to his mother's room. Once he was put in that room, his father locked him in and left him 'to cool off in his own time,' his father said.
Breakfast was not very cheerful, either upstairs or downstairs. The nanny was in a bad mood. She snatched up little Fiona, and then shook the baby for fussing until she had them both in tears. In the dining room, Mr. Belmont read the newspaper with a more disagreeable expression than the news warranted. Sharp words were on the tip of his tongue, but, when he turned the page of his paper, he caught sight of his wife's pale face and plate of food, untouched. He held his tongue, but she knew what he wanted to say and she was as hurt by his unspoken thoughts as she would have been if he'd voiced them aloud. Meanwhile, two closed doors and the wide space between the rooms couldn't muffle the ear-torturing screams that came from the imprisoned boy.
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Suddenly there was a lull--a sudden and complete cease in the noise. Had the child had a stroke?
'Excuse me for a minute, Edward,' and Mrs. Belmont ran upstairs. Her husband was right behind her. Imagine her surprise to find Gavin, face composed, looking at his face in her mirror! In his hand, he had a photographer's proof from a recent portrait sitting that had just come back from the photographer's. The boy had been fascinated by the process of picture taking, and now here was the picture. Gavin was solemnly comparing the picture with his own reflection.
No more was said on the subject. Mr. Belmont left for work, and his wife went about her household chores in a better mood than she had anticipated. Gavin was let out of the bedroom and allowed to have his breakfast, which his mother found him eating very contentedly with the sweetest face in the world. There was no more trace of the violent fit than there is on a June day when the sun comes out after a thunderstorm. Gavin was absolutely delightful. He was attentive and compliant with the nanny, full of charming fun to amuse his two younger siblings, and very sweet and docile with his mother, coming up with the cutest things to say. One might have suspected he was working overtime to make up for the morning's trouble if he hadn't had such an innocent face, so totally unconscious of anything he had done wrong.
This sort of thing had gone on since he had been an infant. He'd have a frantic outburst of passion, which would be just as suddenly followed by a sweet fresh face and cheerful mood so that any resolutions that his parents made about punishing or trying to reform him passed away like frost beneath the warmth of Gavin's cheerful, warm mood.
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The day after this storm passed without incident, in peace and pleasantness. But the day after that, some hair went astray and a rose leaf crumpled under his foot, bringing on another furious outburst. Once again, they went through the same dreary routine, and once again, the ugly scene was forgotten in the cheerfulness of the rest of the child's day.
It hadn't been forgotten by the father, though. Mr. Belmont had finally been roused to fully notice the trouble that had been going on right under his eyes for almost the whole five years of Gavin's short life. What others had seen for years finally dawned on him--that his wife's nervous headaches and general look of stress might very well be due to this constantly recurring affliction. He was an intelligent and well-read man, familiar with the most current trends in scientific thought, and especially interested in the physical root of character--the interaction between what happens in the physical brain tissue, and the invisible thoughts and feelings that it processes. He had even done some experiments and made some observations of his own that had been valued by his friend and co-worker, Mr. Weissall, the head doctor at the county hospital.
One such experiment was a month of spreading bread crumbs on the windowsill every morning at 7:55. The birds gathered right on time to eat the food, and there was no trace of a crumb by 8:00. So far, the experiment had been a lot of fun for his children Gavin and Fiona. They couldn't figure out how the birds knew how to tell the time.
After a month of free breakfasts, Mr. Belmont said, 'Now you'll see whether the birds come because they can see the crumbs.' The concept was exciting, but, unfortunately,
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this stage of the experiment wasn't so pleasant to the children's tender hearts.
'Oh, Daddy, please let us put some crumbs out for the poor birds! They're so hungry!' pleaded the children. Mrs. Belmont added her heartfelt plea to theirs, and Mr. Belmont readily gave in. Even the best of us have our moments of weakness.
'How interesting,' said Mr. Weissall. 'Nothing could show more clearly how quickly a habit can be formed in even less intelligent creatures.'
'Yes, and more than that--it shows that an action becomes automatic once the habit is formed. Note how the birds came on time as usual even when there were no crumbs for them. They didn't arrive, look around and notice no crumbs and fly away as soon as they saw that there were no crumbs. They settled on the windowsill as they had before, stayed as long as usual, and then left without any sign of disappointment. In the same way that we walk by putting one foot in front of the other without thinking about it, they came simply out of habit, without any deliberate intention of looking for crumbs, or any conscious intention of any kind. It was a mere automatic action, like a machine, that has nothing to do with conscious thought.'
There was another little experiment that Mr. Belmont was especially proud of because it touched on both heredity and automatic behavior in one little series of observations. Rover, the family's dog, had first appeared as a miserable puppy who had been saved from drowning. He was of no particular breed, but steady care and good living had agreed with him. He developed a beautiful shaggy white coat, a serene face with nice features, and betrayed his questionable origin by only one bad habit: he didn't notice bicycles, but not one car, big or
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little, could come within sight without him barking and running after it in an unbearable way, ignoring the honking horn and yells of the driver, and dodging the wheels like a street urchin. Interestingly, it was related by the mailman that Rover's mother was killed as a result of this very habit.
Here was a golden opportunity. Mr. Belmont felt that he could prove, not only that the barking was automatic, but that the worst habit, even when it's inherited, can be cured.
Mr. Belmont devoted himself to his new experiment with total dedication. He gave orders that Rover wasn't allowed to be outside unless he himself took him out personally. Now two pairs of ears were on the alert for vehicular wheels. Rover had one particular accomplishment that he had mastered: he could carry a newspaper in his mouth. Wheels were heard in the distance. 'Here, Rover!' and now Rover trotted along, proudly carrying The Times in his mouth. This went on every day for a month until the association between wheels and newspaper was well established, and a distant hum of wheels would bring Rover around with a demanding appeal in his eyes for his newspaper. Thus, Rover was cured. Before long, the presence of a newspaper was no longer needed, and 'Heel! Good dog!' was all that was needed when an ominous falling of the jaw threatened that his old habit might return.
It's amazing how wide the gap is between theory and practice in most of our practical lives. Mr. Belmont had once attended a scientific lecture. The speaker had declared that, 'A person who knows how powerful habit is has a key with which to regulate his whole life, and the lives of those in his family, even down to the cat who sits by his fireside.' The audience had applauded. But only this morning did it dawn on him that he had this key of habit right in his hand, yet he was allowing
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his wife's health and his little son's life to be ruined by a habit that was not only destroying the present household peace, but his son's hope of self-control in his manhood. Poor Mr. Belmont! It was an unpleasant half hour that morning on his drive to the city. He wasn't naturally given to introspection, but when it was forced on him, he was honest with himself.
'I need to see Weissall tonight and discuss this whole thing with him.'
Later, at work, he talked to Weissall. 'Oh, really? Poor Gavin. How long has he been having these outbursts?'
'All his life, as far as I can tell. At any rate, it began when he was just an infant.'
'And do you think, my friend,' and here the Doctor laid a hand on his friend's arm and peered at him with his eyes twinkling and his mouth very grave, 'Do you think it just might be possible that Gavin could have, er, inherited this little weakness? From a grandfather, perhaps?'
'You really mean me, I know you do. Yes, it's true. And I got it from my father, and he got it from his. We're not very good stock. I know I'm a cantankerous guy. It's been a thorn in my side for my entire life.'
'Don't be so hard on yourself, my good man, don't be so quick to judge yourself. I cannot allow you to speak badly about my best friend. But I do have to admit, you do have thorns and bristles just under the surface, and it only takes a touch to bring them out. It would have been so much better for you and for Science if your father had cured all of that!'
'Like I need to do for Gavin. Yes, and how much better it would have been for my wife, our children, the servants, and my friends! But it's Gavin I need to focus on right now. Do you have any ideas for me?'
The two of them visited far into the night discussing a problem whose solution would impact the future of a noble boy, and the happiness of his family.
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They found the subject of their discussion so profoundly interesting that the church clock tolled 'two' and startled them into an abrupt end of their visit. Mrs. Belmont and Mrs. Weissall resented their husbands' neglect of the late hour, but they would have been less irritated if they had known that the engrossing topic that kept them up so late wasn't science or politics, but raising children.
Scene: The Dining Room, breakfast three days later. Hilary, THE NANNY enters with MR. BELMONT and MRS. BELMONT.
'Hilary, you've been a faithful servant and a good friend, both to us and to the children, but we place some of the blame on you for young Gavin's outbursts. Don't be offended, we blame ourselves even more. Your share of the blame is that you've practically worshiped him from the time he was a baby, and let him get his own way in everything. Now, your part of the cure is to do exactly what we tell you to. At the moment, I only want you to remember that prevention is better than cure. It's important that we all take precautions to prevent even one more of these outbursts.
'Keep a close eye on Gavin. No matter what causes it, if you notice flushed cheeks, pouting lips, flashing eye, frowning and furrowed eyebrows, stiff arms and legs, hands in balled fists, head thrown back a little--if you notice any or all of these signs, it means that Gavin is on the verge of a tantrum. Don't stop to ask questions, or soothe him, or make peace, or threaten him. Instead, change his thoughts. That's our only hope. Just say, very naturally and pleasantly, as if you hadn't noticed a thing, 'Your father wants you to help him in the garden right now,' or, 'wants to play a game
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of dominoes with you,' or, 'Your mother needs your help in the pantry,' or 'to straighten her sewing box,' depending on the time of day and what we're doing. And you can be very confident that we do want to see him.'
'Excuse me sir, but do you really think it will do any good to prevent him from blowing over when the rage is right there in his heart?'
'Yes, Hilary,' said Mrs. Belmont, 'it will do all the good in the world. I suspect that Gavin's outbursts have become a habit, and that the best way to cure him is to make sure that he goes for a long time--a month or two--without even one single outbreak. If we can manage that, the trouble will be over. As far as the rage in his heart, that comes along with the outward signs. We can cure both together. Please help us, Hilary, and Mr. Belmont and I will be forever grateful to you!'
'Of course,' sobbed Hilary (she was a tender-hearted woman, and it touched her that the Belmonts were taking her into their confidence like this), 'Of course I'll do whatever I can, especially since it's partly my fault. Please understand that I never meant to. If I forget your instructions, I hope you'll kindly forgive me.'
'No, Hilary! You can't forget! That would be as damaging as forgetting to take a sharp knife away from the baby. This is practically a matter of life and death.'
'Yes, sir. I won't forget, thank you for explaining it to me.'
Breakfast turned out be unlucky. That very morning after their talk, the nanny had her opportunity. For some unknown reason, Fiona decided that she'd rather eat her oatmeal with her brother's spoon than her own. And, right on cue, there are the flushed cheeks, puckered eyebrows and stiffened body!
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'Gavin, honey,' said Hilary (she had learned her lesson well), 'run down to your father, he wants you to help him in the garden.'
Instantly, the flash in the eye was transformed to a delighted sparkle. His stiff body became buoyant and eager. He was out of his chair, out of the room, downstairs, and in the garden with his father as quick as anything. And his face was joyous, sparkling, full of expectation--had Hilary been mistaken about his mood? Not a chance. Both parents were fully aware of how quickly Gavin usually emerged from his black moods, and they trusted Hilary's judgment.
'Hello, son. So you've come to help me in the garden? Good! But I haven't had breakfast yet. How about you? Have you finished yours?'
'No, Daddy,' with a drooping lip.
'Well, I'll tell you what. You run upstairs and finish your oatmeal, and come down as soon as you're done. I'll be quick with my breakfast, too, and we should be able to get a half hour of work in before I leave for work.'
And Gavin ran back upstairs with quick, willing feet. 'Miss Hilary,' (breathless, hurried and very importantly), 'I need to eat my oatmeal quickly, Daddy needs me right away to help him in the garden.'
Hilary couldn't believe how he gobbled his oatmeal. Then the happy little boy trotted off to enjoy one of his favorite treats, and the rest of that day passed with no further trouble.
'I think this is going to work. Life will be very different without Gavin's tantrums. But, Edward, do you really think it's a good idea to give him pleasures when he's being naughty--or, in fact, to reward bad behavior? That's what it amounts to.'
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'Don't think of it like that. Gavin doesn't know he's doing anything naughty. The naughty emotions are there and there's a physical reaction, but willful rebellion hasn't set in. At this point, he doesn't mean to be naughty. We have everything to gain if we can avert his will from deliberately doing wrong. He hasn't recognized that his behavior is naughty yet. His train of thought is changed so suddenly that he isn't the least bit aware of what had been going on inside him just before. The new train of thought comes as naturally and congenially as all the little joys do in a child's day. The issue of reward for naughtiness doesn't even come up.'
For a week, all went well. Hilary was on the alert, quick to note the darkening storm-signal on the bright little face. When she spotted it, she faithfully sent Gavin instantly, and in a gentle, non-obvious way, to Mommy or Daddy for some errand. In fact, she went a step further. When it was inconvenient for Mommy or Daddy, she thought of some pleasant errand herself--perhaps to the kitchen to ask the cook about the pudding for dinner, or to get some fresh water for the bird, or see if Rover had had his breakfast. Hilary really was clever at creating little diversions--she could hit instantly on something interesting and amusing that Gavin would like. Experience told her that a mistake in this would be fatal. If she suggested something dull, Gavin would never give up the immediate gratification of a violent outburst (and it is a gratification), but he would start to get suspicious about the 'something else' that kept coming in the way of his gratification.
Security has its own risks. A morning came when Hilary wasn't on the alert. The baby was teething and
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irritable. Hilary was stressed and the atmosphere wasn't very cheerful. Gavin was very sensitive to the mood in the atmosphere around him, and he got out of sorts. He worked off some energy by drumming on the table with a couple of bowling pins just when Hilary was settling the baby down for a nap after a wakeful night.
'Shhh! Stop that racket this minute! Can't you see that your little brother is finally almost asleep?' in a loud whisper. The drumming was resumed, only louder than before, and joined by kicking on the table legs and the rung of the chair. The noise startled the baby, and he started crying. This was too much. Hilary put the baby down, seized the young culprit, chair and all, carried him to the farthest corner. She set him down roughly, and, with a good shaking, told him not to move until she gave him permission. There were some days when Gavin would tolerate this kind of treatment cheerfully. This wasn't one of them. Before Hilary noticed the warning signs, the violent tantrum had erupted. For a half hour the room was in a frantic uproar, with the baby adding his crying, and even little Fiona joining in. Half an hour is hardly any time at all when you're in the middle of a pleasant chat or an interesting book, it can fly by and seem like five minutes. But half an hour struggling with a raging child feels like a full day and night. Mr. Belmont was at work and Mrs. Belmont had gone out, so Hilary had to deal with the situation by herself. She had been instructed not to place Gavin in solitary confinement, because solitude behind locked doors could be risky, and the Belmonts didn't want to him put in such a risky situation unless they were there to supervise. Finally the tempest subsided, apparently spent by its own force.
No child can bear coolness and disapproval. He needs to live in the light of approving smiles. When his tantrum was over, Gavin worked extra hard
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to be good, and kept peeking out of the corner of his eye to see if Miss Hilary approved. She was too irritated to respond in any way, even with a smile, but her heart was touched. When Mrs. Belmont came back, Hilary said, 'Gavin had one of his worst tantrums ever. He screamed for over a half hour.' But she didn't emphasize the experience with enough force to truly express what an ordeal that half hour had been. His mother gave Gavin a disapproving look, but she couldn't resist his charm, and her disapproval didn't last long.
After dinner she commented to her husband, 'I'm sorry to say that Gavin had one of his worst bouts of temper today. Hilary said that he screamed for more than a half hour.'
'What did you do?'
'I was out shopping at the time. But when I came back, I let him know how grieved I was, and then I did what you said--changed his thoughts, and did my best to give him a happy day.'
'How did you let him know you were grieved?'
'I gave him a look that he understood quite clearly. You should have seen the adorable pleading, half-ashamed look he gave me. He has such eyes!'
'Yes, that little monkey! And I'm sure he used those eyes to his full advantage, knowing the effect they'd have with his mother. I need to make it clear, though--my theory doesn't include giving him a happy day after the kind of outburst he had today.'
'What? But I thought that your whole plan was to change his thoughts, to keep him so occupied with pleasant things that he wouldn't have time to dwell on whatever was agitating him.'
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'Yes, but didn't you say that his tantrum was over by the time you found him?'
'Yes, completely over. He was as good as gold.'
'Well, the thing we had agreed to do was to avert a threatened outburst by diverting him with a pleasant change of thought, and to do that so that eventually, the habit of reacting with these kinds of outbursts will be broken. Don't you see how that's a very different thing from spoiling him with a pleasant day when he's already spoiled himself by allowing himself the indulgence of fully venting his passion?'
'Spoiling himself? Surely you can't think that these terrible tantrums give the poor boy any pleasure. I always thought he was even more to be pitied than we were.'
'Yes, he is. Maybe pleasure is the wrong word, but that display of temper is certainly self-indulgence, there's no doubt about that. You, my dear, are too good-hearted to have experienced the kind of relief it is for us irritable people to have a good storm and clear the air.'
'Really, Edward? But, what should I have done? What's the best thing to do after the child has vented his rage?'
'I think we need to do what you once suggested, and consider the way that people are governed. Coolness, estrangement and isolation are two immediate consequences of sin, even for a sin like harshness or selfishness that seems minor.'
'But don't you think that estrangement is only a delusion? God is loving all the time, and it's only we who estrange ourselves.'
'Yes, undoubtedly. And we're aware of God's love all the time, yet we can still sometimes sense a cloud between His love and ourselves when we know we're out of favor.
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We also know that there's only one way back--and that's to go through the fire. We commonly speak of repentance as if it's a light thing, more pleasant than not, but in reality, it's searching and bitter--so much so that the Christian soul dreads to sin, even if it's a minor sin like the sin of coldness, because we have an almost cowardly dread of going through the anguish of repentance, even though it's a purging fire that does us good.'
Mrs. Belmont felt something in her throat, but, for a minute, she couldn't clear her throat to answer. She had never had a glimpse into her husband's very soul before. There were deeper things in his spiritual life than she had ever experienced.
'Well then, dear--what about Gavin? Does he need to feel that estrangement, and go through the fire?'
'I think so, to a small degree. But he must never doubt that we love him. He needs to see and feel that our love is always here, even if it's under a cloud of sorrow that only he can break through.'
Gavin's lapse was just the beginning of more lapses. It wasn't even two days later when he had another tantrum. Then, once his outburst was over, he was ready to emerge back into the sunshine. But his mother wasn't. Even his most charming smiles and chatter were met with sad looks and silence.
He told about little things that had happened in the play room, hoping for the usual smile and cheerful words in response--but his hopes were in vain. He sidled up against his mother and stroked her cheek, but that didn't work, either. So he tried stroking her hand, then her dress. But there was no answering touch in response, no smile, not a word. Nothing but sorrowful eyes when he dared meet his mother's glance. Poor guy! He was beginning to understand. He moved a step or two away from his mother, and looked at her with
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pitiful doubt and pleading in his eyes. He saw her love for him, but it couldn't reach him. And he saw her sorrow, which he was just beginning to understand. But his mother couldn't bear it any longer. She rose quickly and left the room! Then the little boy edged himself along the wall, as if that wall was something solid between him and this new sense of desolation. He edged to the farthest corner of the room, sank to the floor with a sad, new quietness, and sobbed in his loneliness. Hilary had learned her lesson, and even though her heart cried for her little boy, she wouldn't go to him. Only Fiona came up to him. She put her little arm around his neck, and pressed her warm cheek against his curls.
'Don't cry, Gavin!' she begged two or three times. But when he just sobbed harder, all she could do was to join him. Poor little crying outcasts!
Finally it was bedtime, time for his mother to tuck him in. She came, but her face still had that sad faraway look, and Gavin could tell that she had been crying. He longed to jump up and hug her and kiss her, like he would have done yesterday. But somehow, he didn't dare. She never smiled or said a word, yet Gavin had never before known how much his mother loved him.
She sat in her usual chair by his little white bed and beckoned for the little boy in his pajamas to come and say his prayers. He knelt at his mother's knee as usual, and she laid her hands on top of his.
'Our Father--' he began, and then, 'Oh, Mommy, Mo-o-mmy!! Mommy!' A flood of tears drowned the rest of his words, and Gavin was once again in his mother's arms. She was covering him with kisses and crying with him.
The next morning his father welcomed him with open arms.
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'So, I hear my little boy had a bad day yesterday.'
Gavin hung his head and didn't say anything.
'Would you like me to tell you what you can do to avoid ever having another bad day like that again?'
'Oh, yes, please, Daddy! I didn't know there was anything I could do.'
'Can you tell when the 'Anger-Man' is coming?'
Gavin hesitated. 'Sometimes, I think. I get all hot.'
'Well, the minute you realize that he's coming, even if you've already started to cry, just say, 'Excuse me, Miss Hilary,' and run downstairs and around the garden four times as fast as you can without even stopping to take a breath.'
'That sounds like a good way! Can I try it now?'
'Well, the 'Anger-Man' isn't here now. But I'll tell you a secret: he always goes away if you start doing something else as hard as you can. If you can remember to run around the garden to get away from him, you'll discover that he won't run after you. Or, at least, he won't chase you more than once around!'
'Okay, Daddy, I'll try. It sounds fun! Watch how I'll beat him! I'll give that 'Anger-Man' a race! He'll be out of breath before we get around the fourth time!'
The little boy's vivid imagination personified his foe, and his father jumped in to humor him. Gavin was eager to give it a shot and try to conquer his anger. His parents discovered that their son could be an ally. Final victory seemed within sight.
'That's brilliant, Edward! It's as interesting as painting a picture or writing a book! What a great idea that 'Anger-Man' is! It's just like 'Sintram.' He'll be so busy being on guard for
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'Anger-Man' that he'll forget to be angry! The only downside I see is that he could have many false alarms. He might try to race the foe in good faith when there's no foe chasing him.'
'Yes, that's quite likely, but it won't do any harm. He's developing the habit of running away from evil, and might possibly be more prepared to do that when real evil is right at his heels. This principle of running from temptation is accurate, and it might be useful to him in hundreds of ways.'
'That's true, it could be a safeguard to him for his whole life. How did you ever get the idea?'
'Do you remember how Rover was cured of barking after cars? The cure had two stages: first, the habit of barking was stopped and replaced with a different habit. I used the association of ideas, which is a recognized law. I got Rover to associate the hum of car wheels with the feeling of having a newspaper in his mouth. At the time, I tried to explain how it was possible to act on the 'mind' of a dog that way.'
'I remember that very clearly. You said that the stuff--you called it nervous tissue--that the brain is made of is shaped by the thoughts that are in it, in the same way that the cover of a pie is shaped by the plums that are under it. At least, that's how I understood it. And then, after the brain creates the perfect shape for that thought, that same sort of thought keeps coming in to fill that shaped gap.'
'That's not quite how I said it,' said Mr. Belmont, laughing, 'especially the part about the plums. But it will do. Let's take your metaphor a step further. Let's pretend that science finds that plums are unhealthy. You put in your thumb and pull out a plum. That leaves an empty plum-shaped space. You want to fill it, so you replace it with a--a--I'm not good at coming up with these examples--a peach!'
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'Oh! I get it! Gavin's tantrums are like the unhealthy plum that we're pulling out. His running away from 'Anger-Man' is the peach that we're replacing the empty space with. (I don't see why it has to be a peach, though--you're so impractical!) His brain tissue will grow to accommodate the shape of the peach, and the result is that the empty space is filled. Thus, there's no room for the plum anymore.' [To clarify what's happening--habitually thinking certain thoughts creates a path in the brain tissue that establishes certain cellular connections. But it's very risky to overstate or localize mental processes, so perhaps it would be safer to communicate the result of this area of research in a figurative way, such as comparing it to wearing a path through a field, or building a bridge, or a railroad track, etc.]
'Yes, that's it. You've expressed a very interesting principle in a light-hearted way, and now I blame myself because it never occurred to me to apply that principle to Gavin's tantrums. But now I think we're making some progress. We've provided an opportunity for a new habit to replace the old one.'
'So, do you think Gavin will be rather a minor kind of hero when he makes himself run away from his temper?'
'Not a minor kind of hero--he'll be a real hero. But even the best of us can't be heroic all of the time. I hope God grants him the grace to be heroic in the face of sudden gusts of temptation, even if his only heroic act is to run away. But in the kind of faults that are often called 'besetting sins,' there's nothing safe except developing the opposite good habit to replace the bad habit. And this is where parents have a great opportunity to influence their child's future.'
'I don't mean to sound superstitious or ignorant, but somehow this scientific training, although I realize that's a good thing, seems to devalue the divine help that we get from God when we're facing difficulties or temptations.'
'No, I think it's you who undervalue
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the virtue of divine action, and limit its scope. All of those laws that Science is working so hard to reveal belong to God. And these laws act on the works, body and mind that God created.'
'Yes, of course! How foolish of me! It's so easy to get into the attitude of thinking that God only cares about spiritual things. One more question--I understand that all this watchful training is necessary, and I don't want to be lazy or cowardly about it. But don't you think that Gavin will grow out of these violent tantrums naturally when he's older, without all these steps?
'Well, of course, when he's a young man he won't fling himself on the floor and yell and kick and scream. But I have no doubt that he'd grow up to be a touchy man, volatile, ready to go off into a storm of rage any moment. A man who has too much self-respect to express his anger publicly might indulge in continual irritability and be upset all the time about trivial matters, as you know only too well, my dear. No, the only hope is to view the bad habit of temper as something to be replaced with a better habit. And who knows what cheerful days might be in our future, or whether I might cure myself as I cure Gavin? Curing oneself can be done, but we're so lazy about changing our own habits! Maybe if you held me accountable?'
'Oh, I couldn't! And yet, it's really the only fault you have.'
'Only fault! I'm not so sure about that. Anyway, there's something else I wish we could do for Gavin. I wish we could stop him when he's in the middle of one of his outbursts. Do you remember the morning we found him studying his reflection in the mirror?'
'Yes, he was comparing it with a photo of himself.'
'Yes, that's the time. Maybe the 'Angry-Man' distraction can work even in the middle of a tantrum. If it doesn't, we'll have to try something else.'
'It can't work.'
'Why not?'
'Because Gavin isn't going to have any more tantrums, so he can't stop himself in the middle of them.'
'That's certainly optimistic! But don't deceive yourself. Our job is only just begun. But let's hope that a task that's 'well begun is already half done.''
Gavin's father was correct. Opportunities to stop himself in mid-tantrum did occur, but Gavin rose to the occasion. 'Angry Man' worked wonders. His parents kept track of his tantrums. At first it was a whole month before he had another tantrum. Then it was two months, then a year, and then two years. Finally his parents forgot the problem they used to have with their sweet-tempered, sincere son.