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So, you want to hear about my little girl? Let me begin at the beginning. When I look back through the scattered comments about Amy in my journal, I notice that whenever I mention her, I'm always referring to her as 'poor Amy.' Why is that? She's healthy and happy--at least, she has no reason to be unhappy. Yet again and again I find entries like this:
'Amy wasn't happy with her oatmeal. She never complained, but she's looked sullen all day.'
'Henry knocked over Amy's craft basket--by accident, I'm sure, but she can't get over it. She won't speak to anyone, and she looks as if she's under a gloomy cloud.'
I don't think I need to continue. The problem is, she feels like so many injuries are heaped on her. I don't think there's any basis for her feeling that way, because she's actually very sweet when she doesn't have 'the black dog on her back,' as the other children say. It seems clear to me, and some others, too, that we've let this go on far too long without dealing with it. We need to do something about this. I pray to God about this, our little Amy must not grow up in the midst of this sullen habit, for all of our sakes, but, even more, for
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her own sake, poor kid. In this matter, I feel like I might be more able to help than Edward--he just can't comprehend a mood less cheerful and open than his own. I've thought and thought, and finally I had an idea. I could take one principle at a time, work that out thoroughly, then take the next one, and so on, until all the wellsprings of sullenness were exhausted and all its fuel from outside sources were gone. I was beginning to suspect that the law of habit might work here, as it does in other areas, and if I could just get our dear little girl to get through maybe six weeks without drooping spirits, then she might lose this disturbing flaw for good.
At first I intended to take most of the effort and inconvenience of this experiment on myself. But I think that men tend to have clearer heads than we women--I mean, they can see both sides of an issue without getting carried away by the first side they hear. So I said,
'Edward, our little Amy isn't getting over her sulky moods. In fact, they seem to be lasting longer, and it's harder and harder to get her out of them!'
'Poor thing. It's so miserable for her, and for all of us, too. But isn't it probably just a childish fault that she'll grow out of pretty soon?'
'But you've said yourself, again and again, that a childish fault, if left to itself, will only strengthen and get worse.'
'Yes, that's true. I guess I'm just slow to accept the fault myself. But you're right. Looking at it from the perspective of habit, we're obligated to deal with it. Do you have any ideas?'
'Yes, I've been trying to come up with a plan based on Professor Weissall's ideas. We need to watch for any signs of the dark, sullen cloud, and change her thoughts
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before she has time to realize that the sulky mood is coming.'
'Yes, if we can just keep that cloud from settling for a week, then the habit itself would be partially broken.'
We didn't have to wait long for an opportunity to try out our plan. The very next day at breakfast, Henry's cereal must have looked more appealing than hers, or perhaps he shouldn't have been served first, or maybe she had some kind of inner pain that she was hardly conscious of. For whatever reason, her eyes suddenly fell, her brows drooped, lip pouted, her whole face became a little more pale than before, she became listless and limp--and our gentle daughter was transformed into something completely unlovable. At this point, her feelings were still purely emotional. The injury, whatever it was, hadn't yet taken clear shape in her mind. She couldn't have told you what was bothering her because she didn't know herself. But very soon, her thinking brain would come to the aid of her quick feelings, and then she'd have a definite reason for sulking. Her father saw the warning signs and knew what was coming. He acted quickly, with his characteristic promptness that has saved us on so many occasions, and blurted out,
'Amy, come here and hold out your hands!' Amy trotted over to him with her hands held out for him to pour the morning's ration of crumbs for the birds. Soon she came back, radiant from the fun of giving the birds a nice breakfast, and we didn't have any more sulking that day. This went on for a couple of weeks fairly well, although it wasn't a perfect success. Whenever her father or I was there, we could catch the emotion before she was aware of it herself, and we were able to turn her thoughts in a more pleasant direction. But her poor baby-sitter has had some difficult hours with
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Amy. She'd sometimes sit by herself, pale and silent, for hours at a time doing things only because she had to. And, once the gloomy cloud had descended on her, as thick and persistent as a London fog, there was nothing her father or I could do to help. Her face was so unresponsive, and that cloud wouldn't budge.
Our methods were the problem. Of course, they helped to a certain extent. We managed to get some bright days that would have been cloudy when we were lucky enough to be there to head off the sulky mood before it settled. But it was impossible to prevent the cloud of gloom long enough to nullify the sullen habit. We imagined the dreary future and life of moodiness that awaited our pretty little girl. Her sweetness would be unreliable, since it could evaporate in a sudden sullen fit. This kind of mood results in isolation, and would lead to anguishing repentance. Even worse, this strong sense of injured personality often breeds mental instability and insanity.
It's not very pleasant to look evil square in the face. I don't know whether 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,' but it certainly is a trying thing. If only we could have accepted 'Oh, she'll probably outgrow it pretty soon,' then we could have put up with one of her cloudy moods even once a day. But these images of our little girl's future made us anxious to save her, no matter what it took.
'You know Helen, I think we need to try from a different angle. In general, I think it's best to deal with a child's faults without making him aware that he has those faults. It fills their immature minds with an absurd sense of importance to have anything belong to them, even when it's only a fault. But in this case, I
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think we need to strike at the heart of it and deal directly with the cause at least as much as with the effects. I think it has to be that way because the effects aren't totally under our control.'
'But what if there isn't any cure? What if this ugly flaw is hereditary--something that our child inherited from us, who should have brought her nothing but good?'
'It doesn't matter where the fault came from. The important thing is, what are we going to do to fix it? It will take both of us equally. We poor things--what kind of half-and-half marriage would it be if each of us had to pick out the particular flaws we had passed on, and deal with fixing them single-handedly? I know I'd find that kind of prospect too overwhelming! For what it's worth, though, I do believe that faults of mind, body, temperament, and what not, are things that are inherited, and that it's every parent's duty in life to free his family from whatever specific tendency has been his (or her) particular affliction, and thus improve his family line by removing that flaw.'
'Well, do whatever you think best, I trust you. Imagine living in these enlightened times and being married to a man who could use science to back him and say, 'That boy has his mother to blame' for this or that particular failure! Of course, the flaw has already been passed down, and the damage is done, but usually it's just a random guess which parent it came from.'
'Getting back to Amy, I think we'll need to show her her own flaw, to stir up the ugly mood, no matter how involuntarily, and let her see how foul it is. Yes, I know why you're so hesitant to do this. I am too. It will destroy her innocence in this matter and make her aware of her fault.'
'Oh, Edward, I hate to poke around in her little
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wounded heart, and bring up worse things that will startle and upset her!'
'I know, and I'm sorry to put you in this position, but it has to be done, and don't you agree that you're the best person to do it? As long as my children have a loving mother, I don't think I would dare to presume to pry into the secrets of their hearts.'
'I'll try, but if I make a mess of it, you'll have to help me through.'
The opportunity came soon enough. This time it was pears that brought on the sulking. Henry would never have noticed whether he had the biggest or smallest pear, but we had told the baby-sitter to be especially careful in this matter. 'Each child should have the biggest or best as often as the other, but there must be no complaining, no nuisance of taking turns, about such trivial things. You were perfectly justified in letting Henry have the biggest pear, and giving Amy the smaller one.' Amy hadn't even touched her pear. She sat still, not saying anything or crying, but gathered into herself like a snail who's been touched. The stillness, the pale face, and brooding sullen expression made me ache to take her into my arms, but I knew from experience that she wouldn't be reached that way. This went on all day. We all suffered. In the evening, when I went to hear the children say their prayers, I determined to have it out.
Both Amy and I were frozen with sadness, and the poor weary child was ready to crawl into my arms. But I couldn't let her just yet.
'So, my poor Amy has had a sad day?'
'Yes, Mommy,' she said with a sob.
'Do you realize that all of us have had a sad day, too--
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Daddy, me, your little brother Henry, the baby-sitter--every one of us has felt as if a black curtain has been hung over the sun and shut out the light?'
Amy was sympathetic, and shivered to think of the black curtain blocking out the warm sunshine.
'And do you know who put us all out in the cold darkness? It was our little Amy who put up the curtain when she wouldn't speak to any of us, or be nice to any of us, or love us all day, so that we couldn't have any sunshine. We've been shivering and sad in the cold.'
'Mommy, Mommy!' she cried with gasping sobs, 'not you and Daddy, too!'
'Ah, I thought that would make my little girl sorry. Now, let's see if we can figure out how it all happened. Is it possible that Amy noticed that her brother's pear was bigger than hers?'
'Oh, Mommy, how could I?' Her poor little face was hidden on my chest, and the outbreak of sobs that followed was very painful. I was afraid it might even bring on actual illness, since she's so sensitive. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I didn't know if I'd have the courage to leave the rest of it in Hands more loving than my own.
'Never mind, don't cry any more, dear, and we'll ask Jesus to forgive and forget all about it. I know that my dear little Amy will try not to love herself best any more. And then the black curtain will never come between us again, and we'll never spend another day standing out sadly in the cold. Here's a good-night kiss from Mommy, and another one from Daddy.'
The treatment seemed to work. When we see the slightest
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return of the old sullen symptoms, we show Amy what they mean. The grief that follows is so painful that I doubt we could go on with it if it wasn't for her own good. But the good news is, we hardly ever see a sulky face any more, and when we do, we only have to turn and look at her, and our look melts her into gentleness and remorse.