Does Parental Permissiveness Affect Children's Development？

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Who Is to Blame, Mimi, or Her Parents？

I always thought Xiao Hong a sl；oilt and wilful child, but today I met a girl a hundred times worse. Compared to her, Xiao Hong is an angel！

Uncle and Aunt Liu came for a visit and brought their darling girl Mimi with them, a girl of five and their only child. The first sight of her disgusted me. She was dressed and made up like nothing on earth. I always hated the sight of Xiao Hong when she got all painted up on C：hildren's Day or on other festive occasions. But this Mimi was painted up for no reasons at all……

And even worse, she had her hair permed too. It' s bad enough to see grown-up women perm thei.r hair into all sorts of shapes and styles - haysacks, loosewires, bird-nests, cock-tails, name what you will,but it's their own funeral. If they want to abuse and spoil their own hair, they are welcome to it, but to do it to their chilren is really awful. As though that' s not enough, the Lius had Mimi's ears pricked too in order that she may wear ear-rings …… What next？ They？woulci have her feet bound too if footbinding should suddenly become fashionable.

The way she was made up, bad as it was, was nothing compared with the way she behaved. When Mum offered her some sweets, she grabbed two handfuls, and refused to say a “Thank you！ ” when gently reminded by her mother. “Dear girl！ She is always shy before strangers and forgets her manners！ ” What a bare-faced lie！ By no stretch of imagination could Mimi be described as a shy girl . Anyway I don' t think she has had any manners to forget.

When she played with Xiao Hong's things, her only pleasure seemed to lie in destruction. When she started to tear up Xiao Hong's picture books, it was really too much and Xiao Hong tried to rescue what remained by snatching them away. Obviously Mimi had never been crossed by anyone like this before and she started to howl like a pig being killed. Her parents rushed up to her, as, though their darling daughter was in mortal danger.

“Horrid Xiao Hong！ Spank her！ Spank heri ” Mimi kept screaming. Without finding out what it was all about, and without a single word of reprimand, the Lius were all out to mollify her. “There, there, don' t cry my precious！ Auntie will spank her later！ ” But Mimi was not so easily mollified. “No, no！ Mammy spank her now！” Her mother really went up to Xiao Hong and clapped her hands behind Xiao Hong's back, pretending to be spanking： “See if you dare to make Mimi cry again！ ” This sort of farce went on and on.

Lunch was an even more hectic affair, either because she had too much sweets in her or she was over-nourished anyway, she just refused to eat anything. All the same she insisted on having all the best dishes in front of her and dipped her spoon into every one of them at will, while all the time her parents, one on each side of her, tried their best to spoonfeed her. They coaxed and cajoled, and for every occasional mouthful Mimi took, they cheered and praised as though it was a remarkable feat by their darling daughter. They expected cheers and praises from us too. More often than not, Mimi would spit out what she had just taken, and the table was littered with her spilt and spat out food. She spoiled the whole meal for everybody.

At last we had a moment of peace and quiet when Mimi dozed off after the meal. But it was only a lull before another storm. When the Lius tried gently to wake her in order to leave, she got into a tantrum because they had disturbed her sleep, and she kept raining blows ori her father all the way he carried her downstairs. Serves him damn well right, I said to myself in secret delight. At last Mimi was doing something with my full approval. I would love her even more if she did the same to her mother. When the door finally closed on them, Mum and Dad looked at each other and burst out laughing. Soon we were all laughing.

II. Read Read the following passages. Underline the important viewpoints while reading. l. The Growing up of a Black Boy One evening my mother told me that thereafter I would have to do the shopping for food. She took me to the corner store to show me the way. I was proud. I felt like a grown-up. The next afternoon I looped the basket over my arm arid went down the pavement toward the store. When I reached the corner, a gang of boys grabbed me, knocked me down, snatched the basket, took the money and sent me running home in pamc.

That evening I told my mother what had happened, but she made no comment. She sat down at once, wrote another note, gave me more money and sent me out to the grocery again. I crept down the street and saw the same gang of boys playing down the street. I ran back into t.he house.“What's the matter？” my mother asked.“It's those same boys,” I said. “They'll beat me. ”“You've got to get over that,” she said. “Now, go on.”“I'm scared,” I said.“Go on. Anct don't pay any attention to them,” she said；I went out of the door and walked briskly down the sidewalk, praying that the gang would not molest me.

But when I came abreast of them, someone shouted, “here he is.”They came toward me and I broke into a wild run toward home. Thev overtook me and flung me to the pavement. I yelled, pleaded, kicked, but they rinsed the money out of my hand. They yanked me to my feet, gave me a few slaps and sent me home sobbing. My mother met me at the door.“They bea…… hea…… beat me, ” I gasped. “They too…… too…… took the mo…… money . ” I stamed up the steps, seeking the shelter of the hcuse.“Don't you come in here！ ” my mother warned me.

I froze in my tracks and stared at her. “But they are coming after me, ” I said.“You just stay right where you are,” she said in a deadly tone. “I'm going to teach you this night to stand up and fight for yourself.” She went into the house and I waited, terrified, wondering what she was about. Presently she returned with more money and another note. She also had a long heavy stick. “Take this money, this note and this stick,” she said. “（Go to the store and buy those groceries. If those boys bother you, then fight.” I was baffled. My mother was telling me to fight - a thing that she had never done before.“But I'm scared, ”I said.

“Don't you come into this house until you've gotten those groceries,” she said.“'rhey'll beat me. They'll beat me,” I said.“Then stay in the streets. Don't come back here.”I ran up the steps and tried to force my？way past her into the house. A stinging slap came on my jaw. I stood on the sidewalk, crying. “Please, let me wait until tomorrow！” I begged.

“No, ” she said. “Go now！ If you come back into this house without those groceries, I'll whip you. ？She slammed the door and I heard the key turn in the lock. I shook with fright. I was alone upon the dark, hostile streets and gangs were after me. I Have the choice of being beaten at home or away from home. I clutched the stick, crying, trying to reason. If I were beaten at home, there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it. But if I were beaten in the streets, I had a chance to fight and defend myself.

I walked slowly down the sidewalk, coming closer to the gang of boys, holding the stick tightly. I was so full of fear that I could scarely breathe. I was almost upon them now.“There he is again,” the cry went up. They surrounded me quickly and began to grab for my hand.“I'll kill you.” I threatened. They closed in and, in blind fear, I let the stick fly, feeling it crack against a boy' s skull. I swung again, landing another skull, then another. Realizing that they would retaliate, if I let up for but a second, I fought to lay them low, to knock them cold, to kill them so that they could not strike back at me. I flayed with tears in my eyes, teeth clenched, stock fear making me throw every ounce of my strength behind each blow. I hit again and again, dropping the money and the grocery list. The boys scattered, yelling, nursing their heads, staring at me in utter disbelief. They had never seen such frenzy. I stood panting, egging them on, taunting them to come on and fight. Wben they refused, I ran after them and t.hey tore out for their homes, screaming.

The parents of the boys rushed into the streets and thieatened me. And for the first time in my life, I shouted at grown-ups, telling them that I would give them the same if they bothered me. I finally found my grocery list and the money, and went to the store. On my way back, I kept my stick poised for instant use, but there was not a single boy in sight. That night, I won the right to the streets of Memphis.

2. Parents Are Too Permissive with Their Children Nowadays Few people would defend the Victorian attitude to children, but if you were a parent in those days, at least you knew where you stood： children were to be seen and not heard. Freud and Company did away with all that and parents have been bewildered ever since. The child's happiness is all-important, the psychologists say, but what about' the parents' happiness？ Parents suffer constantly from fear and guilt while their children gaily romp about pulling the place apart. A good old-fashioned spanking is out of the question： no modern childrearing manual would permit such barbarity.

The trouble is you are not allowed even to shout. Who knows what deep psychological wounds you might inflict？ The poor child may never recover from the dreadful traumatic experience. So it is that parents bend over backwards to avoid giving their children complexes which a hundred years ago hadn't even been heard of. Certainly a child needs love, and a lot of it. But the excessive permissiveness of modern parents is surely doing more harm than good.

Psychologists have succeeded in undermining parents' confidence in their own authority. And it hasn't taken children long to get wind of the fact. In addition to the great modern classics on child care, there are countless articles in magazines and newspapers. With so much unsolicited advice flying about, mum and dad just don't know what to do ariy more. In the end, they do nothing at all. So, from early childhood, the kids are in charge and parent.s, lives are regulated according to the needs of their offspring. When the little dears develop into teenagers, they take complete control. Lax authority over the years makes adolescent rebellion against parents all the more violent. If the young people are going to have a party, for instance, parents are asked to leave the house. Their presence merely spoils the fun. What else can the poor parents do but obey？

Children are hardy creatures （far hardier than the psychologists would have us believe） and most of them survive the harmful influence of extreme permissiveness, which is the normal condition in the modern household. But a great many do not. The spread of juvenile delinquency in our own age is largely due to.parental laxity. Mother, believing that little Johnny can look after himself, is not at home when he returns from school, so little Johnny roams the streets. The dividing-line between permissiveness and sheer negligence is very fine indeed.

The psychologists have much to answer for. They should keep their mouths shut and let parents get on with the job. And if children are knocked about a little bit in the process, it may not really matter too much. At least this wilt help them to develop vigorous views of their own and give them something positive to react against. Perhaps there's some truth in the idea that children who've had a surfeit of happiness in their childhood emerge like stodgy puddings and fail to make a success of life.