The Girl and Her Religion

by Margaret Slattery

"She doesn't mean anything by it," said one girl of another whom she was trying to defend in the presence of a critic, "she is good hearted, generous and just fine, but she has been brought up in a large family where they have noisy times together." The critic accepted the explanation but strangers, new people whom she met, men and women upon the street, constantly misunderstood the girl whose unfortunate manners would lead one to believe she was a most undesirable friend. The girl was conscious that she was misjudged and misunderstood and was growing hard and beginning not to care when an older woman who loved her showed her with real tact where the trouble lay. No one could help admiring that girl as she struggled to overcome the things which had been the cause of all the misunderstandings.

I met awhile ago, a girl whom her companions described as wooden. I knew that she wanted to talk with me, that she was interested in the people whom the group were discussing. She seemed like a bright girl and I felt sure that she had thoughts of her own worth hearing if she would only express them. That was her trouble. She couldn't find words so she said "yes," and "no" with effort when a remark was addressed directly to her, otherwise she was silent. Later in the day a girl friend who really appreciated her told me how very interesting she was when one knew her well enough to dispel the awful fear that she should say the wrong thing. She read the very best things and was conversant with the history of important events all over the world. "She is a regular encyclopedia," said her ardent defender.

This wooden girl is misunderstood simply because she has not learned to express the thoughts she has. She is unhappy, and feels that people do not like her, and do not enjoy her company. In her heart she blames them. But one cannot expect everyone to penetrate the exterior and see and appreciate real worth. Most people take us for what we seem to be and if we appear cold, uninteresting and ill at ease, they seek pleasanter companions. The wooden girl can overcome her stiffness and learn to let people see that she thinks. She can cultivate a very rare art—the art of listening with appreciation. There are very few listeners in any group of people and often not one in a group of women. It is a great thing to be able to listen with that attention and interest which draws out the very best in the one who is talking.

More than that the girl who is termed wooden can learn to express herself in words. She may never become a great talker but she need not regret that. She can take part in conversation and can make it easy for people to talk with her. I know a girl who plans before spending a social evening with friends what she will talk about. Following the advice of her mother who has suffered much through inability to talk, she holds imaginary conversations which often become real when she meets people later. She makes a special effort to remember the names of those whom she meets and some of the things in which they are especially interested. She is learning to remember the names of books and their authors and publishers, she takes special pains to remember worth while magazine articles and last spring people appealed to her again and again for information regarding the Balkan situation. She is making herself an interesting companion and in a few years I believe all traces of the awkward wooden silence will disappear.

In the long line of misunderstood girls, are many whose interests and enthusiasms are altogether outside their immediate environment. There are girls at college and sometimes at boarding-school who have seen a larger world and have come to love the real things of life. They find it very hard to waste the days in superficialities. They long to have life mean more than a round of social events, and the family and friends misunderstand. Some girls of this sort have solved the problem by gaining consent to plan their own days. Some have never been able to gain that consent and have gone on for years in unhappiness. Others have learned to inject into the seemingly superficial some real things and have found an outlet for the best that is in them through work for those in need. One must feel real sympathy for the girl who, striving to be her best, to live above the round of pettiness and selfish pleasure, is met with disapproval and misunderstanding.

Many a girl is misunderstood by the one person in the world who ought to understand her best—her mother. Perhaps more bitter tears are shed by girls because their mothers do not understand than for any other reason. The misunderstanding oftentimes is the result of temperament. It is exceedingly hard for two people of diametrically opposite temperaments to live in close association without clashes. One of the most pitiful things in home life today is seen where mother and daughter have opposite interests and sympathies and lack self-control. The constant criticism and judging of one another, the quick-tempered commands and demands on the part of one and the sullen yielding on the part of the other make one heart-sick.

I am reading over a letter from a girl who says, "I honestly love my mother. I am proud of the things she can do and I admire her beauty.... I am twenty-two years old, very ordinary looking and not a social success. I am a constant disappointment to mother. Our opinions about everything differ. We cannot agree upon the most trivial things. When father was living he laughed at us and his genial spirit made things easier but the last two years have been dreadful. What can we do? Mother does not need me. When I am away on a visit everything goes smoothly at home and her letters to me are affectionate. I love them and have kept them to read when it does not seem as if she could care for me. My uncle has asked me to come to their home in D—— to be a companion for his seventeen-year-old daughter who is lame. I love her and we get on well together. Ought I leave my mother and go? She says I may do just as I wish and does not seem to mind the thought of my going...."

Here is a clear case of clash of temperaments. Both are to blame, each is misunderstood. In this particular case it seems wise that the daughter should, for a time at least, accept her uncle's offer. She may learn from a distance to understand her mother better and her mother may more fully appreciate her daughter. Often it is far better that two people who constantly clash should learn apart to respect and honor one another than to live in a quarrelsome, fretful atmosphere which is bound to banish deep affection and respect as well. Some daughters cannot be their best at home and some mothers can never reveal their best selves in their daughters' presence. That such can be the case is most unfortunate and wrong. Away back in the daughter's childhood someone was careless, in early girlhood a thin partition was raised which shut out mutual love and trust. It might then have been destroyed, but was left until it became a barrier almost impossible to break down.

But there are some girls who are misunderstood by their mothers, and who because of circumstances must accept it and learn, despite misunderstanding, to let love triumph. There is much that every girl owes to her mother even though it be true that she is unfair and unjust.

One of the sweetest home makers I have ever known, in whose family it seems to me no cross or critical word is ever spoken, whose boys and girls trust her absolutely and love her devotedly, learned her patience and forbearance, acquired her fine courtesy and graciousness in the years when she was a misunderstood girl and had to live in an atmosphere of petulance, ill-temper and selfishness.