In the wake of the Vancouver riots following the Canucks loss in the Stanley Cup finals, many are struggling to make sense of this senselessness (see also Dr. Deborah McNamara’s editorial on this website). Ironically I was – and still am upon writing this – in Europe, preparing to give a keynote address at a Congress on Delinquency in Berlin, Germany. Unfortunately this is a world problem that our beloved Vancouver (my home town) has not escaped.
There are many theories of delinquency and much research going on. We find differences in brain structure and functioning, in early experience, in socialization processes, and even in parenting styles. Sociologists speak to factors such as poverty, societal expectations, mob mentality and family breakdown. None of these factors hold true across the phenomenon, however, and none can truly explain this behaviour.
After years of both working with delinquents and studying delinquency, what stands out to me more than any other factor is their surprising immaturity. On the three most significant measures of maturation – viability as a separate being, tempered experience and expression, and the ability to learn from mistakes and failure – most delinquents come up short. And their brains reflect this remarkable fact. The prefrontal cortex – the civilizing mixing bowl of the brain – is no more developed than the average 4 year old’s, and the corpus callosum – that bridge that allows us to use both sides of our brain to solve problems – is also smaller than it should be. Their physical size and sophisticated demeanor blind us to the reality that they have failed to grow up as human beings. There are many contributing issues involved in delinquency but these only have effect in the truly immature.
The other factor that stands out is that their alarm systems do not work. Much of our brain serves as an alarm system and when it works, we end up being careful, cautious, concerned and conscientious. When it doesn’t work, we end up being reckless and careless. And when the alarm system is significantly dysfunctional, we are even attracted to what should alarm. Once again, research on the delinquent brain confirms that the alarm systems are on the blink.
It is true that we can turn off our alarm system temporarily through alcohol, and I assume that many did just that in the Vancouver riots. When this is the case, this kind of behaviour only results when under the influence of alcohol. This would have explained some of what we saw in the Vancouver riots but it certainly does not tell the whole story. The delinquents I worked with would have all made it their top priority to be in Vancouver that night and would have fantasized exactly what ultimately happened, even without the alarm-numbing effect of alcohol.
So then, what could possibly cause both developmental arrest and alarm dysfunction. The answer is so profoundly simple that it usually escapes our notice. Both psychological maturation and a working alarm system depend upon a healthy limbic system (ie, emotional brain). Most simply put, we need to feel our feelings, even the most tender and vulnerable ones, in order for the brain to be able to move us to caution when appropriate and to enable us to grow up over time. Emotion is both the engine of maturation and the motor of the alarm system.
But tender feelings are also a luxury that many brains cannot afford. When our wounds are too much to bear, we become emotionally desensitized, thus losing the very feelings that are required to realize our human potential as civilized and considerate beings. The root of the problem is emotional desensitization, or in intuitive language, hardened hearts. Delinquents of any age are in a flight from vulnerability that is crippling both their alarm systems and their maturation. I found the delinquent youth I worked with to be devoid of many of the vulnerable feelings that are essential to becoming fully human. We are so blinded by their delinquent behaviour that we often cannot see the heart of the matter.
Such a flight from vulnerability begs for an explanation. We are not living in a time of war, at least not in Vancouver. We do not have significant poverty, in fact, many engaging in this behaviour come from affluent homes. What possibly could be the problem?
The answer again is right under our noses. The major finding of a large study of adolescents was that what preserved their emotional health was strong emotional relationships with caring adults. The only way we can shield our children and youth from wounds too much to bear, is through the strength of their attachments to us. As soon as their peers matter more than we do, natural human vulnerability becomes too much to bear. In short, we are losing our children to their peers; delinquency – both in youth and continuing into adulthood – is one of the many negative results. My book – Hold on To Your Kids – spells this out in detail if you wish to pursue this line of thought further. The answer to prevention, in short, is to reclaim our youth, or preferably, to not let them go in the first place. We have a lesson to be learned in this, and hopefully we can learn it fast enough to make a difference in our world and in our beloved Vancouver.
In the aftermath of the Vancouver riot following the Stanley Cup finals there has been an unleashing of emotion from anger to despair – but at the heart of it there is profound confusion as to how to make sense of the senseless. As we gather ourselves and repair our broken city, we are left wondering how to make headway in solving a problem that seems to defy logic and understanding.
The question I ask myself is: what can possibly explain the acts of so many rioters – what is the root of this heartache? We can give these people many labels – anarchists – criminals – the spoiled – but the word I am drawn to over and over again is “immature.” It is as if hundreds of enraged preschoolers in adult-size bodies ran around the city unsupervised with matches and hammers. I am drawn to all that was missing within the rioters: they presented a blatant lack of care about the impact of their actions on others, and lack of consideration about the economic loss they caused and the fear they incited. I am drawn to their lack of concern about, and absence of fear of the consequences of their actions, even in the light of the number of cameras witnessing their acts. I am drawn to the lack of shame among those boasting of their destructive acts on social media sites. What I see is a degree of impulsivity that can only be explained as immaturity, and a striking lack of care that is deeply disturbing.
To be fully human means to care deeply and vulnerably about the things and people we are attached to, such as the Stanley Cup and our Vancouver Canucks. Maturity means we are able to control our impulses even when our frustration overwhelms us – such as when we lose something we wanted so badly. What a dichotomy and juxtaposition the acts of the rioters presented when compared to the Canucks, who demonstrated incredible maturity and sportsmanship in shaking hands and embracing their opponents even while aching for all they had lost. With grace, dignity, and maturity they accepted their defeat – these are the symbols and images that should not be forgotten, and are indeed the balm for this destruction to our city. We were also buoyed by the caring acts of citizens cleaning up, providing the counterbalance to all that was missing the night before.
Some parents have asked me what we should tell our kids in light of the images of broken buildings and cars on fire? I tell my kids about the Canucks, the maturity I saw and how I respect what they have achieved. I tell them that it is human to care and to strive for what is meaningful to you and to set goals like the Stanley Cup. I tell them that in having our hearts so invested we risk being frustrated and hurt when it doesn’t come to pass; this is what life is like, and we were meant to survive this too. In caring, we are human, and in being human we can be hurt – such is the fate of those that choose to live life to the fullest. The way through is to find our tears and sadness about all that is lost, and set chart for another day and new goals. Perhaps the most significant thing I take away from this day is the importance of my role in raising my children to become socially responsible, caring individuals who contribute to their community. In the wake of this destruction I am reminded of what an important gift maturity is – I cannot buy it for my children, I cannot give them a pill to get there, and no amount of telling them to simply ‘grow up’ will make it so. My role as a parent is to nurture the roots and provide the conditions that will give rise to the fruits of maturity beautifully exemplified by the Canucks. For the sake of our communities and for your children – be your children’s best bet today.
There is a growing problem among children that does not have a name. It is insidious and far-reaching, serving to make parenting and sometimes teaching challenging, if not a nightmare. The problem is that of dominance, when the natural attachment hierarchy is inverted and instead of children resting in the care of adults, they instead see themselves as the ones who should call the shots and tell us how to take care of them. Children who have risen to this alpha position can be consistently full of resistance to those who try to lead them. They are typically very frustrated, lashing out often, and can be filled with anxiety. They steadfastly see themselves as the boss of the house and don’t understand when others try to take charge. The issue at hand for children in the dominant or Alpha position is not one of strength as it is often misperceived, but one of desperation. For some reason these children have lost faith in the providers in their life to take care and lead the way and their only recourse is to do it themselves.
There are obvious and not so obvious reasons why children lose faith in their providers. It is easy to appreciate how children whose parents are neglectful or consumed with their own pursuits and addictions can convey the message that the child is better left to their own devices. If these were the only conditions under which we were seeing an increase in children in the Alpha position then the problem would seem clear cut and obvious enough. Dominance issues in children can be found in loving and caring homes with parents who are dedicated to helping their children grow up to be socially and emotionally responsible individuals. What is giving rise to the increasing numbers of children in the dominant position and how can we start to make sense out of this?
In order to make headway we need to go back to the beginning and ask – what does a child need most in life? The answer is attachment, the invitation to exist in another’s presence, to be seen and loved for who one is, and to feel a sense of belonging, loyalty, and similarity to those to whom one is connected. The critical piece that often gets missed in understanding attachment is that its role is to render a child dependent on those around them. This means being dependent on someone for their care and well-being, an incredibly vulnerable place to be! As an adult it is easy to lose sight of the vulnerability involved in depending on another but I am reminded of it every time I get into a taxi or an airplane. I find myself questioning whether I can trust this person to safely deliver me to my destination and take good care of me. It gives a whole new appreciation to the understanding of the “back seat driver.”
When we are dependent on another we scan and look for signs that our trust and care are well placed. Is there something solid in this person that we can lean against? We might feel we convey this as parents but the more important question is whether our children see us this way? Some reasons why children might find it difficult to depend on their parents include being born too sensitive for this world. They see and feel too much, making it harder to convince them that someone can take care of all of them. They are described as intense children and parents often remark that taking care of them feels like double the work. Other potential reasons why children seek the dominant position in their relationships with adults stems from too much separation-based discipline (such as 123 ‘magic’ and time-outs) or egalitarian parenting where we can inadvertently lose our Alpha position.
The biggest mistake we could make is to confuse their display of strength with maturity or a show of independence. It simply is not so – their dominance is an act of desperation. The critical issue when children are in the lead is that they cannot take care of their attachment needs and also attend to the business of growing up – there is a sacrifice play to be had. Attachment trumps maturation any day and the need to survive and take care of oneself rises to the forefront at the expense of rest, play, and further growth.
The good news is much can be done to restore our rightful place in our children’s lives. Parenting was never meant to be a nightmare and there is much hope to turn it around when it has become so. Underneath dominant behaviour is a child who is desperate to depend on and be vulnerable with someone who is responsible for them. Our task is to convincingly demonstrate through our behaviour that we are their best bet and are indeed the answer they seek. Our challenge is to regain our Alpha dance so that they can be freed from theirs.
My younger son Thomas has just become 12, but his childhood innocence ended a few days earlier because he experienced the biggest sorrow of his life – our tom-cat “Schnurr” had been killed by a car. Schnurr had been Thomas’s very best friend for seven years. My boys are home-schooled (or, to be precise, unschooled) and our cat had been around him every day, all day, sitting near Thomas or even on his lap when he read, watched TV – and he was involved in a lot of games Thomas played. More than once, when I had watched Thomas playing and cuddling with his cat, filming Schnurr’s behavior, I had thought by myself: “May this cat have a long life!”
When he disappeared, we did not worry for the first 2 days, because it was springtime, and Schnurr was usually very adventuresome during this season. I was on a business trip, and when I called home, Thomas said in a small and frightened voice: “Schnurr hasn’t come back yet!” My heart sunk, but the first thing I thought was: I want to be at home when Thomas finds out that Schnurr might be dead, so I said in my most confident voice: “Oh honey, I truly don’t feel that this means anything bad! I will be back tomorrow night, and when he is not back Saturday night, I will go and search for him with you on Sunday!”
Our common search on Sunday gave us opportunity to talk. I tried to slowly narrow down our conversation to the long time our cat was away now, how much we all missed him, how Thomas longed to stroke his fur, how sad it would be if Schnurr really would not return, and tried to lead Thomas from his agitation softly into the direction of sadness and sorrow. A neighbor told us she had seen his corpse, and after we had talked to the people who had found him, Thomas cried in my arms non-stop for hours, continuously giving words to his deep grieve grief like in a Greek tragedy. When he started doubting again that this “red tomcat killed by a car” had been our Schnurr, I insisted on visiting the woman who had found him, showing her a photo – she recognized Schnurr without any doubt, so Thomas could not escape the futility of hope and continued crying in my arms.
I invited him to sleep in my bed that night – and three weeks later he is still my guest. We have a lot of quiet conversations at bedtime – not exclusively about Schnurr anymore – and he has started to write down his dreams in the morning, longing for the day when he will meet Schnurr in a dream. Thomas’ elder brother has produced a wonderful video with hundreds of photographs and many video clips with our cat. We have watched it together, laughed and cried, and created some loving farewell rituals for Schnurr. Thomas still misses his cat a lot, but this loss has become part of his life. He can talk about his memories of Schnurr now and slowly starts looking forward to fall, when we will look for a new cat. I am very grateful that my knowing about the Neufeld approach helped me to lead Thomas softly but clearly through the maze of his angst, agitation, shock, desperation, wrath (“I hate all cars! Who could invent something so cruel!”), sorrow, grieving, to the adaptation to something he could not change.
I was recently asked to give the keynote address for a Behaviour Summit organized by the Eastern Townships School Board in Quebec. They called together all of their stakeholders: directors, principals, teachers, consultants, aides, lunch monitors, bus drivers, secretaries, trustees, and parents to brainstorm ideas for how to help students to better handle the behavioral requirements of attending school.
I had 45 minutes in which to provide them with a coherent framework. This may seem to be a daunting task, but because of the Neufeld paradigm, I knew that I would be able to present guiding principles that would make it easier for them to choose amongst the myriad of behaviour interventions and programs that abound.
When working with children, Dr. Neufeld reminds us that there are key factors that must be kept in mind: maturation, vulnerability, and attachment. The first factor, maturation, is a process and it is an inherent part of our make up as human beings. If all goes well, we are impelled to venture forth to become viable beings. It starts with “I’ll do it myself” and continues as children are moved to test the waters and develop their own ways of navigating life’s challenges. However, as we now know from the newest brain research, this process takes a long time, well into the mid-twenties or even longer for many of us.
The second factor we must consider is vulnerability. In order for growth to happen, every organism must stay soft. (For a human being this implies having a soft heart and being able to feel vulnerable feelings such as guilt, embarrassment, anger, sadness, etc.). However, softness is a state that opens us up to being hurt. In the best interest of their development, our children must be able to tolerate this state of vulnerability.
How is this possible? The answer is the third factor we must consider, and that is attachment. Our children can only stay soft in the context of safe and secure adult relationships.
Any intervention or program that is implemented in our schools needs to respect these three key factors. So we need to ask, “Does this intervention:
– respect maturation? Is it geared to an understanding of the need for human beings to “venture forth” (and make mistakes)? Is it appropriate for the current developmental level of a child (not necessarily his/her chronological age)? Does it respect the natural immaturity of a growing being or does it promise to “grow” children up so they can instantly act like “little” adults?
– protect the vulnerability of our children? Or, does it use shame or try to alarm the child in order to manage the child’s behaviour?
– respect and protect the adult-child relationship and ensure the strong, caring attachments that are so necessary for a child’s development?”
I then took a critical look at some common interventions.
1. Using “consequences” to change behaviour: Many children who have trouble learning from consequences are delayed in their ability to consider two points of view at a time. In the moment, they act on what seems most urgent and cannot hold on to the possible negative or positive outcome of acting in another way. These children are having maturation issues, and unfortunately, we can’t force them to mature. For these children, consequences only end up frustrating them even more. As a result, these children no longer see us a being “along side them” but rather see us as being against them. Instead, if we determine that a child does not have the necessary maturity to handle a certain situation (e.g. playing with others at recess), we need to take charge and rearrange the environment so that the child can participate without getting into trouble.
2. “Time out” uses the relationship to alarm the child into behaving, especially if we give the message, “You may return to my presence when you decide to behave appropriately.” The implication here is that the adult-child relationship depends on the child’s ability to behave “appropriately.” Of course, some children do need to be removed from a situation for the safety of others. However, instead of sending the child “away,” one could rather send the child “to” another caring adult in the school.
3. Reinforcement programs, which urge adults to take notice of a child’s “good” behaviour, often make our naturally “good” children very anxious because being “good” is clearly the way to ensure adult attachments. But being good all the time leaves little room for the maturation of the emergent self. And children should never be given the impression that adult attachment is dependent on how well they behave. Our children do need recognition for their efforts. A smile, a nod, and a “thank you” are well appreciated and can be given to all children at any time of the day.
I could go on, but my time is up! I encourage you to continue to explore Dr. Neufeld’s paradigm, especially his newly released DVD on “Making Sense of Discipline: the INs and OUTs of imposing order on children’s behaviour.” http://www.gordonneufeld.com/products/dvds
My daughter was having a hard day. As the youngest of three she was trying to keep up with her older siblings and the neighbour kids – attempting hold her own in a series of rousing outdoor games. It didn’t go well. Nobody was being mean to her, or excluding her, or teasing her, but the reality was that she was neither the fastest, nor the strongest, nor the smartest, nor the most important of the bunch.
I could hear from her voice that her frustration level was getting rather high, and intended to call her inside for a little reprieve, but was trying, as mothers do, first to finish preparing lunch before I made myself wholly available. Well, I waited just a little too long. In she came, looking fit to kill, and ready to blow, so I took a deep breath to steady myself for the storm.
She looked up at me, and then holding up a pigeon feather she had found in the yard, said “look at my feather, Mama”, and without any warning, aggressively roughed it up. Growling and grumbling, she bent it and ruffled it and twisted it and scrunched it until it was but a poor crumpled shadow of its former self. I stayed with her, fascinated, as she created for herself a safe outlet for all that foul frustration.
Then something changed; leaning into me with a shudder she held up the feather while all her fierce demeanor melted. “Oh Mama”, she cried, “my poor feather! look at it! It’s ruined! It’s ruined! It’s wrecked forever! And it was sooo beautiful!” and she burst into deep and desperate sobs.
I held her, making murmuring noises about how sad it was to lose such a beautiful feather, (with some effort I resisted pointing out the obvious fact that she, herself had wantonly caused the destruction, and refrained from enlightening her about the true source of her frustration). She wailed on, in complete abandon, “I loved it! I loved it! Oh Mama! I loved it! Now it’s ugly! It’s ruined! I will never ever ever get it back! Ever!” Her tears flowed fast and strong for five or ten minutes, until, as quickly as it had come, the storm cleared, and smiling up at me from there in my arms, she hugged me hard, wiped her eyes, and asked “is lunch ready?” And it was so beautiful.
Once again I was awed by the miracle of adaptation. It is only through sadness that we can let go of the the things that go wrong in our lives; when frustration builds over things that we cannot change it is sadness that drains that frustration, keeping us soft and enabling us to recover from hurt and stress. Sometimes we are far from our tears, and the frustration bursts out in aggression whether to another, to ourselves, or in this case, to a feather. When we understand aggression’s roots in frustration we see our children through different eyes, and can more easily understand their outbursts and make room for the tears that wash away the storm clouds.
I was sitting in my office with Jake helping him with his math when I heard crying coming down the hall. It was dismissal time for the Kindergarten students, and the hall was full of parents getting their little ones ready to transition back to home. We looked at each other, shrugged, and kept on working. I figured that there were lots of other adults in the building that could take care of this, and that if they needed me someone would come to get me.
Minutes later someone did come to get me. The Kindergarten teacher peered into my room and asked me to come and help. Jake and I looked at each other, I asked him if he could get himself back to his class, and rushed down the hall to see what was happening.
There is a certain fear that lives with me every day as a school counselor. When all else fails, and all has been attempted, there is this strange conception that the school counselor will know what to do. I suppose that after all those years of schooling and reading I do know what to do, but only to a certain point. Life has a way of being unpredictable, and no matter how well we understand things intellectually, there is no telling how we will react once we are really in the moment of the crisis. As I ran down the hall wondering what was expecting me, and silently praying that I would be able to know what I needed to do, I could hear the teacher talking about ‘that parent.’ ‘That parent doesn’t know what to do,’ ‘If she only stopped indulging that child and set some boundaries we wouldn’t have this problem,’ ‘You have to teach her to manage this child.’ And as we entered the room, I heard her say, ‘I can’t stay, I have another appointment.’
There, in the middle of the room, was a young mom on her knees, gently rubbing the back of her daughter who looked clearly distressed. Mom looked up at me, her face full of shame. I stepped forward, slowly, but not slow enough. The little girl looked at me, panicked, took her shoe off and threw it at me. I had overstepped her boundary, now I knew what to do!
I found a little chair, sat far away enough so that mom and child would feel safe, yet close enough to establish a connection. Quietly, I started to chat with mom about her child, nodding and listening, and affirming as much as I possibly could that this mother was in fact taking the lead for this child and following her heart. As we chatted, we realized that this child was extremely sensitive, so much so that she often became overwhelmed by her environment, experiencing a vulnerability that was too much to bear. I didn’t need to give advice, I didn’t need to talk to this mom about setting boundaries and managing her child. All I needed to do was to affirm this mother as she followed her parental instincts and moved to care for her child.
One day my 10-year-old son came home shaken by an incident he experienced in the woods. He had gone biking with some neighbourhood boys and an older brother of one of his friends. In the forest, they came upon a group of angry teenagers who were arguing, and on the verge of a fight. As my son described the scene, I could sense that the violence in the air must have been palpable. Luckily, the brave 15-year-old accompanying my son stepped up and said, “Hey you guys, take it somewhere else. There are kids here!” Fortunately, the group actually listened. One of them mumbled, “Sorry dude” and they left.
After we talked a bit about the incident that evening, my son fell asleep and I thought that was the end of the story. But over the next few days, he started asking me if I had locked the car and house and he’d go back to check even after I assured him I did. Also new was that he seemed over-focused on his sister’s safety, worrying that she might get run over by a car. One day while out in the backyard gardening, we saw an older teenager in our alley. My son reached over for a sharp gardening tool and handed it to me, saying, “Here Mom, take this.” Confused, I asked him why? His eyes glanced at the teen and he said, “Just in case…” Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. He was alarmed because of the danger he sensed in the forest. “Honey,” I said, “I think I know why you have worrying about the family’s safety so much lately! It’s because of the teenagers you saw fighting!” He nodded with a haunted look.
We both became aware of the connection once I said it. His alarm was high and he had become hyper-vigilant about safety, much the same way we all had to be thousands of years ago in case we were attacked by a saber-toothed tiger. But children were never meant to be the ones to keep the village safe; that has always been reserved for adults. A child’s brain needs all its energy for growing and therefore it must be freed from daily alarm. As adults we need to provide rest for the child so that growth can occur.
I needed to help my son find psychological rest. After learning from Dr. Neufeld for a number of years, I knew I had to convince my son that he was safe with me; he could rest in me being in charge. Right there in the garden I told him that it was his dad’s and my job to keep him and the family safe. I told him very firmly that his job as a child was to play and grow. He nodded and relaxed visibly. That night once again we talked about what happened in the forest. He asked me if he could do something to erase the images in his brain. I told him that it was wonderful he could talk to his dad and me about it, that his feelings were natural, and I shared a time I had witnessed something similar and had felt the same way. “You too?” he asked. He was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one. I assured him that the more he gave us his problems, the more his brain would come to rest; that when we share scary things with others whom we trust, it helps us heal. He got teary and hugged me as he remembered more of the details. All the while I held him and told him I was there for him. We talked a bit more the next night with more tears. The following week I checked in with him and he said he could remember everything but he didn’t feel scared or sick when he thought about it. Now, he only had the memory. All his hyper-vigilance around safety disappeared and he became playful and carefree again.
I was grateful for what I’ve learned from Dr. Neufeld regarding anxiety. We don’t always know what spooks our kids. We cannot always control the scary or upsetting experiences they have. But the answer is the same no matter how traumatic the experience; we keep working at the attachment so they trust us, we normalize their feelings, we take the lead and show how strong we are, we let them know that they are safe in our presence and we convey unequivocally that we will take care of them.
Before I had my own children, I remember being invited many years ago to a traditional Passover Seder at the home of our rabbi and his family. I expected to hear deep insights into the Haggadah, the ancient text that relates the story of the exodus of the Jewish People from Egypt to become a nation in their own homeland. To my surprise, the rabbi directed all of the discussion to the young children who sat at the table. He told them stories, listened to their ideas, and encouraged them to ask questions. And there was a lot of joyful singing, adults and children together. The fulfillment of the commandment “thou shall teach thy children…” unfolded before my eyes, and brought back my own wonderful childhood memories of the Passover Seder, when the story of Passover became part of who I am.
What causes a child to accept the teachings and values of his parents so they become his way of life? Children learn best from those with whom they have a close, safe and loving relationship. Children must always feel the warm invitation to exist in the presence of their parents and other adults in their lives who care for them. This kind of relationship, called an attachment relationship, must be nurtured and protected so that it can deepen over the years. This is the context within which parents can instruct, direct and correct their children, and children can remain open to their parents’ influence.
Dr. Gordon Neufeld explains that when children are not in right relationship with their parents, their levels of stress chemicals such as cortisol and glutamate increase. Parents who put pressure on children to perform, or who are themselves under chronic stress, trigger these stress chemicals in their children’s brains, and create a state of alarm in their children, which interferes with the ability to learn. When a child is being cared for by a calm and loving adult, his brain releases opioids, oxytocin and prolactin, which diminish feelings of anxiety, fear and stress.
When the relationship feels safe to a child, he can remain in the vulnerable position of being dependent on those who are responsible for him, and his natural curiosity, inclination to ask questions and eagerness to learn will remain vibrant.
The Passover Seder creates an atmosphere that is warm and inviting. Parents, children, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins come together to remember and tell the Passover story in great detail. The story is recounted as if all present had actually participated in the ancient events. The head of the household, who conducts the Seder, prepares questions, games and even dresses in Biblical costume to stimulate the children’s sense of play and curiosity. The table is set festively with special dishes and glassware; the matzoth, unleavened bread baked especially for the holiday, and the traditional platter called the Seder plate, occupy a central place on the table. The Seder plate is laden with symbolic foods that include fresh leaves of romaine lettuce, celery, parsley, eggs, roasted shank bones and haroset – a mixture of fresh chopped apples, dates, walnuts, sweet wine and spices. Each food tells its own story, and the children experience the ancient customs that have been passed down from generation to generation with all their senses.
In the weeks before the holiday, parents include the children in all the preparations, so that by the time the Seder takes place, the children are bubbling over with excitement. They anticipate sitting at the table until past midnight with all the adults, reading the Haggadah, talking, singing, and eating. When the hour gets late, the head of the household must find the afikoman – the last matza that is eaten before completing the Seder – which the children, whispering and giggling, have hidden.
The customs and traditions of Passover, passed from generation to generation, have kept children oriented to their parents, grandparents, and ancestors for centuries. It’s no wonder that it has become one of my favorite holidays!
Some time ago friends of ours were hosting a cultural exchange program participant in their home. “Esther” was a preschool teacher from Zaire working in a public daycare here in Winnipeg for the year she was in Canada. One day over dinner I asked her which cultural differences were most striking for her in adjusting to life in Canada. Esther was quite hesitant to address my question: it was apparent that she was worried about offending. After some reassurances she shyly began.
“Well,” she said, softly, “the biggest difference I see is how you treat your children. I do not know how to say this to you, but you see, in Zaire, we believe that what children need is love. They are little, and they are just learning, what they need is love.”
As you can imagine, my interest was engaged at this point! Esther did not know about my involvement in this work, so her comment was all the more compelling. I don’t think many Canadian parents would disagree with the idea that what a child needs most is love, but it was obvious that Esther’s understanding of what this means was different than our cultural norm. When I asked her to explain, she told me the following story:
One day in my first week of working at the Canadian daycare, it was time for snack, and all the children were told to wash their hands. Three-and-a-half-year-old Matthew was standing at the sink seeming a bit lost, wiggling around and looking everywhere but at the tap. The head caretaker told him, “Mathew, it’s time to wash your hands.” Mathew leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. I could see that he wasn’t really able to pay attention right then, so I went over behind him, put my arms around him, took his hands in mine, leaned over to look in his face, and told him a little story while I washed and dried his hands and he laughed and chatted with me. Then I took him by the hand and led him over to the snack table where I sat down with him for snack.
A moment later I was called aside by my boss who told me that what I had done was completely unacceptable: Mathew was perfectly capable of washing his own hands, and I was not to do for him what he could already do for himself. Mathew needed to learn to listen, to follow directions, and to be independent. So now I have to stand by and watch while Mathew hears this: “Mathew, it’s time to wash your hands. Mathew, if you can’t wash your hands, then you can’t have a snack. Mathew if you can’t listen, then you’ll have to go sit in the thinking chair,” and Mathew is put in the thinking chair while all the other children eat their snack. All this sitting is not helping: Matthew is in more trouble each day than he was the day before.
I don’t understand this. In Zaire we believe that what a child needs is love. He is little, he is still learning; more than anything he needs love! In Zaire, I think that if a teacher took a child away from everyone and made them sit alone on the chair, the parents would be very angry. I think they would not allow the child to go back to that school. They would never allow their child to be treated like this. I think if a child in Zaire was treated this way, he might be afraid of school, and teachers, and learning for a long time. It would hurt him so much, but these children don’t even cry. I can’t understand it.
So that’s the biggest difference I see: in Zaire we believe that what a child needs most is love.