For Father’s Amusement
By Elizabeth Harrison
(Author of “A Study in Child-Nature,” “Two Children of the Foot-Hills,” “Some Silent Teachers,” “In Storyland,” etc. From “Misunderstood Children.”[8])
I was strolling through a neighboring park one breezy September day when it occurred. It took less than ten minutes from beginning to end—but did it end then?
There had been a shower the night before, and the city’s dust had been washed from the leaves on trees and shrubbery. All nature seemed in fine mood and had filled me, along with the rest of the town-imprisoned mortals, with some of her exuberance and life.
This keen enjoyment of mere existence, which nature alone can give, was particularly noticeable in the buoyant movements of a little three-year-old child, who was dancing in and out of the shadows of the tall trees, now running, now skipping, now jumping in the joyous exhilaration of mere animal life. Ever and anon he looked back at his father and his father’s friend, who were strolling along in a more sedate enjoyment of the fresh air and glittering sunshine. The fact that each of them carried a tennis racket showed that they, too, were out for a holiday.
The child’s delight in all the freshness and freedom about him quickened his senses, as it always will quicken a healthy child. In a few moments his attention was attracted by the bending, swaying branches of a nearby clump of willow trees. The fascination of the lithe, graceful movement of the boughs was so strong that he stooped and stood with upturned face, gazing at them until the two men approached him. Then catching hold of his father’s hand he exclaimed, “See! See!” pointing to the nodding tree branches. His face was full of happiness, and his eyes were looking into his father’s eyes expecting sympathy in this new-found wonder of nature. But the father gave no heed to what was interesting the boy. Instead, he began playfully slapping him on his skirts with the tennis racket, at the same time saying, “Will you be good?” “No,” answered the child in high glee. It was evidently a familiar pastime between them. “Will you be good?” repeated the father, in mock threat lifting the tennis racket as if to strike the child over the head. “No, I won’t! No, I won’t!” shouted the boy as he scampered off over the grass. This created a chase in which the father playfully spanked the captured boy as with make-believe wrath he dragged him back to the side-walk. Having returned to the starting point of the chase he released the boy with the words, “There now, I’ll spank you hard if you are not a good boy!” He had scarcely let go his hold on the youngster’s arm before the latter again ran off, shouting in high glee, “No, I won’t! No, I won’t be good!” Again came the chase and again the playful spanking and dragging back and the release with an admonition that he would get a beating this time if he was not a good boy. The tone in which the words were said were an invitation to the child to renew the game.
The third time he started off, however, the other man decided that he, too, would take part in the sport. So he quickly put his tennis racket in front of the boy, thus obstructing his path. The child manfully struggled to push it aside, but could not. Soon his “No, I won’t,” in answer to his father’s “Will you be good?” had in it a note of fretfulness or, rather, resentment. He was contending now with two grown men and his strength was not equal to the strain. He pushed angrily against the racket in front while trying at the same time to avoid the light blows from the one in the rear. With cat-like agility the man in front would withdraw his obstructing tennis racket until the boy started forward and then check—would come the racket just in front of him. The very movement of his arm was like that of a cat regaining his hold on an escaping mouse. A peal of laughter from him each time he caught the exasperated child showed how much he was enjoying the sport. The father seemed equally amused and joined heartily in thwarting the efforts of the boy to escape. The little fellow’s face grew red, and he was soon short of breath from his struggles, and there was the angry sob of defeat in his voice. The scene ended by the child’s getting into a towering rage.
When they passed out of sight the father had seized him by the arm and was forcing him along, the boy kicking and struggling, but powerless to help himself. The two men were laughing heartily.
The child’s blood had been poisoned by the heat of anger, he had exhausted his physical vitality and his nervous system had been disarranged, not to speak of his moral standards—but then, the father and his friend had been amused.
[8] Central Publishing Company.