Sometimes this is all too clearly appreciated in later life by the child himself, and the parental error is bitterly resented; or, if the sense of filial piety be sufficiently strong, is splendidly excused. As in this fragment from an autobiographical statement by an only child:
"Of the selfishness of which a frank woman accused me, my parents were, up to that time, quite as unconscious as I. She had asked my mother to drive with her to the home of a friend in a neighbouring town, where the two were invited to spend the night. My mother declined, on the ground that I, at that time about nine, could not comb my hair and pin my collar properly for school in the morning; and as we then had no maid and my father could at best only have buttoned my frock, the objection seemed insurmountable. But the family friend called me by the ugly title of naughty, selfish little girl, and chided mother for allowing me to monopolise her time, contending that she was making me selfish and dependent.
"Perhaps she was. But I protest that it could hardly have been otherwise, considering that she had in full measure the world-old desire of mothers to spend themselves for their children, and only one child to spend herself on. It had not occurred to my mother, I am confident, that her habit of ministering to me constantly was pampering; nor had I, in going to her for services that I might easily have learned to perform for myself, made demands in the manner of the arrogant spoiled child."[4]
The compelling power of mother-love and father-love must, of a truth, be recognised in extenuation of the spoiling of the only child. But the fact of the spoiling remains, and the fact also that when the spoiling is achieved the parental pride and joy will be turned to grief and bitter lamentation. The pity of it is that the only child, simply because he is the only child, ought to be able to grow up healthier, wiser, and more efficient than other children.
For, as psychologists are insisting more and more emphatically, the health, happiness, and efficiency of adult life depend preponderantly on the home influences of early childhood; and, obviously, in a home where the parental attention can be concentrated on a single child, better results should be attained than when the work of training involves a division of the attention among several children. Unhappily, when it is a question of training an only child, too many parents seem to take it for granted that training is entirely unnecessary, that their child is innately so good that he will develop of his own accord into one of the best of men.
In reality, as modern psychology has made very clear, every child at the outset of his life is much like every other child, a plastic, unmoral little creature, exceedingly impulsive and exceedingly receptive, readily impressed for good or evil by the influences that surround him. Childhood, to repeat a truism hackneyed to psychologists, but seemingly unappreciated by most people, is pre-eminently the suggestible period of life. It is then, when the critical faculty still is undeveloped, that whatever ideas are presented to the mind are most surely absorbed by it, to sink into its subconscious depths, and there form the nucleus for whole systems of thought afterward manifesting as habits. Herein lurks the special peril to the only child afflicted with over-loving, over-anxious parents.
Their perpetual solicitude for him, acting as a suggestion of irresistible force, tends to engender in him a mental attitude out of which may afterward spring, according to the subsequent circumstances of his life, a cold, heartless, calculating selfishness, or a morbid self-anxiety, perhaps eventuating in all sorts of neurotic symptoms. If, as a boy, he is too closely and constantly associated with his mother, the force of suggestion again, acting largely through the imitative instinct, may lead to a development of those feminine traits frequently characteristic of male only children, and often involving pathological conditions of dire social as well as individual significance. Further still, by restricting unduly the intercourse of only children with playmates of their own age, as is often done, one of the finest agencies in development through the power of suggestion is left unutilised. There is a world of truth in the lament of the only child from whose autobiography I have already quoted:
"All this carefulness kept me uncontaminated by the naughtiness of little street Arabs, but it also limited my opportunity to imitate where imitation is easiest—among those of my own age; it stunted the initiativeness and inventiveness that might, in normal conditions, have developed in me; and it left me lacking in adaptability. I sometimes disloyally wonder if my chances of being a tolerable citizen might not have been as good if I had been permitted to 'run wild,' and thus secure for myself the companionship I could not have at home."
Of course, association with other children means at least an occasional hard knock, and hard knocks are, above all else, what the doting mother wishes to avoid for her darling boy. She forgets that they are certain to be experienced, soon or late, and that the earlier her boy is fitted to withstand them the better they will be withstood. She forgets, too, that if the suggestions emanating from playmates are not invariably suggestions for good, they may easily be counteracted, without sacrificing the advantages to be gained from association with playmates, by proper training in the quiet of the home.
Always, let me repeat, it is the home training that counts for most. If the only child turns out well, the credit must go to the parents; if, alas! he turns out badly, if he becomes a monster of selfishness or a neurotic weakling, the blame must likewise be theirs.