UNREASONABLENESS IN THE FAMILY GOVERNMENT by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stittle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 27, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 30.

UNREASONABLENESS IN THE FAMILY GOVERNMENT.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stittle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STITTLE.

Did you ever see a piece of sackcloth? Perhaps not. It is not used as much now-a-days as formerly. People used to wear it next the skin as a sort of self-inflicted punishment or a sign of deep sorrow and dejection. Lay a piece of it against your cheek. What an uncomfortable sensation! Indeed, what absolute misery it gives to the sensitive skin. It hardly looks as if it could produce so much discomfort,—there are no large, sharp points woven into the cloth, no heavy spikes, nor cruel thorns,—it is only the tiny, rough strands, which enter into the texture of the cloth, that work the mischief.

“Well, but what has this to do with family government?”

Were you ever unfortunate enough to spend an afternoon or a day in the house where the father or mother had formed a habit of “nagging”? How uncomfortable you felt! Then, how much the inmates of such a home are to be pitied! Nothing is ever done quite right. Nothing ever quite suits. If Johnny builds the fire, he makes dirt. If he neglects to build the fire, he is shirking. If Mary sweeps the room, thinking to save her mother, it matters not how carefully she tries to work, she is sure to hear the peevish tones: “Dear me, Mary; what a smudge you do make! Didn’t I tell you to moisten your broom?”

“I did, mama; see, there is the pail of water.”

“Well, I should think so; mercy on us! See how muddy you are making the carpet! Do be more careful.”

Johnny comes home from school at night, full of enthusiasm and eagerness to show mama his latest drawing:—

“Do see, mama, teacher says if I work hard, I may be a great artist some day. Wouldn’t you be proud of me, mother?”

“I’d be prouder of you if you’d clean the mud off your boots before you came into the parlor,—and another thing: I’d like to know where you learned to speak in that horrid, high tone,—there—get off my lap! I’m too tired to hold a great boy like you; when will you learn to be a man?”

“I’m only ten,” trembles the little voice.

“That’s plenty old enough to have some sense of propriety,—now let me see your picture.”

A very pretty drawing was unrolled, which the really fond mother was surprised to see; but instead of a wise and loving word of approval, the only reply was, “That’s good enough for all I know,—now do go, and bring in the night’s wood.”

Is it any wonder that Johnny is discouraged and fretful and saucy? However, determined not to be defrauded of the commendation which the sensitive child believes his honest due, he approaches his father at supper time, and timidly holds up the picture which he has worked so hard to complete:—

“Aha; but of course your teacher helped you.”

“No, truly, papa, I did the picture all alone.”

“Don’t tell me that, young man; I don’t believe a word of it. But I think your cousin Willie can beat you yet, if he is a year younger.”

Neither parent noticed the tears in the young artist’s eyes as he turned sadly away, and neither knew the feeling of hatred and jealousy which burned deep in his young heart toward the little cousin, always till then loved so dearly.

That very evening those fond parents congratulated each other in the solitude of their own room over the fact that their Johnny was certainly a talented child,—and could beat his cousin Willie entirely,—in spite of brother Frank’s bragging over his boy’s drawings.

We have all seen strange things in life, I suppose. I once knew a mother, who certainly did not ordinarily seem to be lacking in mother love, yet, in a fit of sudden anger, I have seen that mother strike her child—a loving, blue-eyed little girl—such a blow that she fell to the floor on her face like a log. Why can we not use as much reason in the management of the little ones as in the care of the farm or the store or the dumb cattle? I have heard a mother rebuke her child with words of anger for committing some slight breach of etiquette, and the very next day smile upon him for doing the same thing,—simply because her digestion was better. On the other hand, I have seen parents who were apparently blind to the grossest acts of indecorum in their children. I have seen a nervous, weakly woman sit as tho deaf as an adder, while her little boy made racket enough to disturb the nerves of a Comanchee,—not out-doors in the streets, but in the room, where people were trying to hold conversation.

Then, did you ever notice that a child will be exactly what his mother represents him to be, that is, if he possibly can? and that he will do those things that his mother says he will do—be they good or bad—to the extent of his youthful ability?

“My little girl screams the moment I am out of her sight,” remarked an unwise mother in presence of her child one day. “I wanted to run over to the grocery yesterday,” she continued, glancing fondly in the direction of the little one, who was eagerly listening to every word, “and I undertook to leave her a moment with Mrs. Green,—she’s such a nice, kind woman; I told her that I was certain Jennie would scream the moment I left her, and sure enough she did,—and I had to run every step of the way to the grocery and back. I declare, I don’t know what to do with the child, I don’t suppose I can break her, her father says he was just like her when he was little”—with another fond glance at the child, who was certainly a good listener. Now, I ask in reason’s name, what could the child do to keep up its mother’s reputation as a truthful woman, but scream?

The same mother said to me at another time: “I don’t see what ails Jennie. She does dislike her grandma so! why, I can’t get the child to kiss her, and I feel so sorry over it; but I can’t do anything with her at all!” All this time Jennie was playing in the room, and, as usual, listening, so that I was not surprised at all when the little head shook its brown curls solemnly: “No, no; baby don’t like grandma; baby won’t kiss grandma.”

“Don’t you see?” asked the mother, with a worried look. Certainly I saw; but she did not.

Is the picture overdrawn?—I think not. Why, if the king of Great Britain should be one-half as unreasonable in the government of his kingdom as many of us are in the management of our children, what a hue and cry would be raised by the whole civilized world!

“Well, but WHAT can we do?”

What? Read James 1:5-7.