That Normal Problem Child

For the boys of the fourth grade in a private New England day school, the big question was: Should they bother to invite the girls in the class to go along on their picnic? Finally, one boy produced the ultimate argument for the opposition. "All I know," said he, "is that Dr. Gesell says that the interest of boys at our age in the opposite sex is purely negative."

By invoking the name of Arnold Gesell, the boy was indulging in a practice that has become something of a national habit.

As senior biographer of the "normal" child, the white-haired, 75-year-old research consultant of the Gesell Institute of Child Development in New Haven, Conn, has now become so thoroughly entrenched as the parents' guide and counselor that some may well wonder how they ever managed to raise their children without him.

Gesell's books (800,000 copies in the U.S. alone) have thrown a bright light on what a child goes through when growing up. For those baffled by a baby's crying, Gesell is on hand to say that the baby is only acting his age. For parents disturbed by a child's fidgets or moroseness, he is ready with the assurance that the youngster may only be passing through a standard phase of development. Until now, such guidance has been reserved only for parents' with children under ten. This week, with the publication of Youth: the Years from Ten to Sixteen (Harper; $5.95), Dr. Gesell and his chief collaborators, Frances L. Ilg and Louise Bates Ames, bring the young American through adolescence to the brink of adulthood.

Wiggles & Patterns. What goes on inside the U.S. teenager, whose manners and morals seem to arouse such agonized comments? To find out, Gesell and his 13-man staff studied the boys and girls of 200 families living in or around New Haven. The youngsters, no delinquents, came from average middle-class or professional homes, were subject to no extraordinary pressures or handicaps beyond those involved in just growing up. In the institute's two rambling buildings, the Gesell staff gave them a battery of IQ, aptitude, physical and psychological tests. But Gesell relied mostly on interviews, not only with the children but with their parents, probed into everything--from the way a child might wriggle to his attitude towards God. The result: a readable and useful chronicle of the normal growing pains of what is too often considered America's problem child.

Gesell's studies of the adolescent have only strengthened his belief that the stages of growing up fall into a pattern. Though each child is an individual and goes through different experiences, he will share with other children certain ways of thinking and acting. He may not reach the same stage at the same age. but he will eventually fall heir to an array of characteristics typical of a particular age. Thus, "the relative equilibrium of Five-year-oldness gives way to the impulsiveness of Five-and-a-half and the creative thrusts of Six. and these in their turn lead to the inwardness of Seven, the expansiveness of Eight, the self-motivation of Nine." But the pattern runs in a series of cycles. "An underlying theme repeats itself . . . Three-and-a-half and Seven bring inward-izing thrusts, sometimes moodiness. even anxieties; Four and Eight reverse these thrusts . . . Four-and-a-half and Nine try to bring inner and outer thrusts into unity.'' At ten. as at five, the forces at work within the child seem to come into temporary harmony.

The Clubman. To a large extent, says Gesell, ten is a ''golden age." Ten is fond of his home and takes pleasure in cataloguing the characteristics of his friends. As a matter of fact, the ten-year-old boy likes just about everyone--except girls. Though the girls reciprocate the indifference, they sense that the future will change all that ("We are not interested in boys yet"). The girls are more curious about sex. The boy "questions very little, and when he does, it is apt to be an offhand question--often asked at an inopportune time."

Though he has little trouble with food, "there is something about soap and water and being a Ten-year-old that does not mix." Otherwise pleasant and cooperative. Ten "stands his ground when it comes to taking a bath ... As for self-care in other ways--the combing of hair, brushing of teeth and care of nails--all these are in the hinterland as far as Ten is concerned . . . The care of clothes is now at a dismal low."

Ten loves his mother and admits that "a home isn't really a home without a father . . . though at some earlier ages he could have gotten on quite well without | one." Outside the house he becomes a clubman, is intrigued by all sorts of secret societies with such high-sounding mottoes as "Have will power" or "Share hardships together." His humor runs to pranks and secondhand puns ("Virginia," he will say to a girl of that name, "you must be a state"). His reading tastes run to books with the words secret, mystery or horse in the title. Though not bothered by competition, he dislikes to excel. Says he: "It makes me feel funny if I'm the best."

In school, Ten likes firmness and objects to any upheaval in routine. He already has a fairly well developed sense of what is fair. "He is concerned when little children are pushed around (unless it is a sibling and he is doing it)," and he is apt to refuse an honor if he feels himself unworthy of it. He is truthful on the whole, "judges cheating and swearing as awful." But basically he is tolerant ("The shoulder shrugs are characteristic"), and believes that ten is the best of all possible ages. He is a child of the here and now: death and deity do not interest him very much. Says Ten of God: "I know He is whether I think about it or not."

The Menace. At eleven, the golden age comes to a shattering end. "There may well be," says Gesell & Co., "an odd, vague, uncomfortable feeling in the minds of the parents of Eleven-year-olds. It is as though some force of nature were grabbing hold of their offspring . . . When parents ... understand the laws of growth, they will come to know that a stage of turmoil inevitably follows a stage of calm."

Eleven seeths. He tends to "burst, to bounce, to throw himself around." He wriggles interminably, yells, "swoops through a room uttering threats." Even his temperature is wild: Eleven is forever too hot or too cold, is constantly opening and shutting windows. He argues, but cannot stand being argued with. To the bewilderment of his parents, he is devastatingly critical, now refers to "Mummy" as "She." He is impossible at bedtime ("He can be surrounded by clocks and watches but he never sees them"), and he not only hates work, but actively resists it.

He is beset by fears, will often peer under the bed before turning in. He hates to be alone, and when he is, he might pretend to be two people and even play a game of chess with himself. Unlike Ten, whose bursts of anger are quickly over, Eleven has learned to hold a grudge and to pout. He is jealous of his friends, and fiercely competitive: "Elevens are out to win."

In spite of his obstreperousness, he can sometimes be charming. His gaiety comes in waves; he can burst into raucous laughter over almost nothing. Otherwise--especially in school--"his ways and actions are a little reminiscent of those of the jungle." He fears being called "chicken" or "yellow," and if he has done something wrong, he is apt to deny it, though he might cross his fingers when he does. Indignant at cheating or stealing, he is nonetheless sorely tempted to cheat on an exam or if losing a game. The girls may go in for wholesale shoplifting. Why is Eleven at such odds with the world?

"Growth phenomena," answers Gesell. "There is something poignant about [Eleven's] bewildered, exclamatory question: 'What do you mean, "my rude outbuilt?" ' He is unaware of his rudeness."

The Enthusiast. Twelve is an age of enthusiasm. Twelve rushes headlong into debates without really knowing what he is going to say; he may be so anxious to join a certain activity that he may knock things over on the way. Unlike Eleven, who tended to hoard his money, Twelve is sometimes such a spendthrift that he is often flat broke. As one mother put it, "He can't stand prosperity." He is far more concerned about his appearance but only up to a point. A girl might spend hours primping in front of a mirror, yet go off to a party with a dirty neck. Boys will proudly wear ties they consider sharp, "but that does not mean that they do not wish to wear their sneakers--even to church."

This is an age for fads and for a new acceptance of the opposite sex. "No twelve-year-old party can be guaranteed immune from some form of kissing game--a most natural expression for Twelve." But while some of the girls are already thinking about marriage, some boys are determined to remain bachelors forever. The boys develop an apparently irresistible desire to tease a girl. "Soon they are snatching a girl's wallet or pencil box and are off to hide it."

Twelve is kinder to his parents. Instead of openly telling a father he is too fat, a boy will simply exclaim: "What a physique!" He is also kinder to his teacher, but if a teacher is obviously unsure of herself, Twelves will begin hurling spitballs or coughing in unison. They are not much concerned about the afterlife: "They give the problem willingly over to the philosophers." But they are altruists and even sensitive to the feelings of others. "If he must step on adult toes," says Gesell, "he does so lightly, and may even deliberately choose the most pyschological moment for a diplomatic approach."

The Worrier. If Twelve is blithe, Thirteen is reflective, abstracted. He may join the family to watch TV for a while, but he will abruptly rise and leave the room for no reason at all. He often likes to be alone, begins locking up his possessions to keep them from younger brothers and sisters. He makes detailed criticisms of his parents' faults, and his parents are often hurt by his constant withdrawal or by his tendency to lavish his affection on a friend.

Though his emotions are under firmer control, he is painfully sensitive and can feel an intense sadness. If he is hard on others, he is even harder on himself. He spends more time than ever in front of the mirror, and there can be "agonizing concern if the reflected image proves too disappointing." Thirteen is a worrier. "He says himself that he 'worries about most everything,' or that he worries that he is going to worry."

Should he dislike a teacher--and he frequently does--he may put a thumbtack on her chair. "However, when he is resisting some task such as learning the complications of English grammar and strenuously feels that he 'won't need to know these in life,' he is only further upset by a teacher who agrees with him. At that very moment he is almost begging for authority, an authority that says . . . that there are certain things you have to do in life whether you like it or not." Thirteen is a man of conscience, and though there are many doubters in that year, there are apt to be even more believers. "Thirteen is an age when many children are confirmed in the church by their own choice."

The Social Animal. For all of Thirteen's good points, Fourteen comes along as a relief. "There is more laughter and more noise and singing in the house. There is less withdrawal. The household senses a hew contentment and relaxation." It is true that Fourteens may think of their parents, i.e., "They," as "old-fashioned," "antiquated," or even "living in the 19403." It is also true, as one teacher complained, that noise is such a natural part of their lives that "they don't actually hear it." But all in all, Fourteen is easy to have around.

There is a truce between the sexes. Un like 13-year-olds, the boys no longer automatically go off together at a party, leaving the girls to fend for themselves. Basically, Fourteen is a social animal. He is intrigued by the notion of "personality." When asked about her best friend, a girl will say: "I have a whole bunch of best friends." For the girls especially, this is the age of communication. School is a place to gossip in; home is a place to telephone from.

While more than ever socially inclined, Fourteen is also more aware of himself.

"Growing in his interest is the study of man--his biology, physiology, psychology." He is so aware of his own personality that he frequently identifies with the characters in books and movies ("That's me. That's me all over!"). But most of all, Fourteen is an age of reason and searching. "Albert Schweitzer relates how in his fourteenth year the joys of seeking for what was true and good came upon him 'like a kind of intoxication' ... As a philosopher he holds the 14-year-old youth in high regard, and pays him a compliment: 'If all of us could become what we were at fourteen, what a different place the world would be!' "

The Rebel. No such comment could be made about Fifteen. Fifteen is the eternal sophomore, both wise and foolish at once. He digs at his scalp, gouges pimples, toys maddeningly with the silverware at meals. His voice is often inaudible, and he seems | so frugal with his energies that parents and teachers come to the conclusion that he is lazy. He is secretive and hates anyone to intrude into his life too much. He has fantasies of violence and revenge. As much as at any time in his life, he needs patience and understanding.

He is at war with his home, often wishes he were at school in a far-off town.

But if "family unity seems to be at an all-time low," school life can be just as bad. This is the time of the "i 5-year-old slump." Fifteen still roams in gangs, but "communication with others, the very thing he desires most, is all too often taken away from him by himself . . . Independence and liberty are his constant cry. You would think he had never had either."

The Pre-Adult. As the months pass, what seemed like rebelliousness changes into a sense of responsible independence. Sixteen wants to go his way and let his family go theirs, but he causes no friction. "Wholesome self-assurance," says Gesell, "is the cardinal trait [of Sixteen]. 'Don't worry about me,' he says reassuringly."

Sixteen has a way of approaching any new situation with ease and naturalness.

"Why be sad?" he will say. "Why not make the most of what you have here in life?" He is concerned about himself and with success, but he will take his time about settling on a career. Ethically, he is almost grown up. He even "seems a little surprised to realize that his ideas are about like his parents'. As one boy sums it up: 'I haven't found anything yet that was adverse to my parents' teaching.' " Thus, the cycle that began at ten has come to a full circle. "The 16-year-old youth, if he rises to tiptoe, can almost see the horizon of adulthood. He is him self a pre-adult."

Within Limits. Having brought his biography thus far, Arnold Gesell refuses to go beyond the somewhat limited boundaries he has imposed upon himself. Some doctors and psychologists claim that his case histories are too narrow, his probing too restricted, his findings too pat and superficial. In describing the progress of the normal child, he ignores the darker forces that would concern the psychiatrist, places the delinquent and neurotic outside his province, refuses to turn sociologist at the last minute and make generalizations and judgments about young America. He admits that "our present knowledge of the child's mind is like a 15th century map of the world--a mixture of truth and error. There are scat tered islands of dependable fact, but there are still unknown continents."

Nonetheless, the map performs a service. As much as any man, Gesell has illuminated the many mysterious forces at work in growing up, has shown that if the adolescent at times seems all fouled up, the situation can still be normal. The 16-year-old, says he, "was born with certain inalienable traits which are inherent in the very patterns of his development. At about the age of ten he ceased to be a child. Increasingly he has become an individual personality in his own right. He will continue to grow in obedience to the same deep-seated laws of development wh'ch have fashioned him thus far in a culture committed to respect the dignity and worth of the individual."

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