An Optimistic Mother Ponders Her Pessimistic Child
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There’s this great story being forwarded among parents about an optimistic child and a pessimistic child.
The two children are taken to different rooms. The pessimistic child is taken into a glittering hall of brand-new toys. There are magnificent old-fashioned toys, as well as the latest Nintendo Wii and Sony PlayStation. There’s a sleek computer, a gorgeous dollhouse, and a jumping castle.
The optimistic child is taken to another room. In this room is only horse dung. Mountains and mountains of horse dung.
Two hours later, the children leave the rooms. The pessimistic child is in a foul mood. He hasn’t touched any of the toys. “They’re not mine. Something might get broken and then I’d get in trouble. I don’t want to get attached to them, anyway, ” he says.
The optimistic child is happy as a clam — covered in horse dung. “I’ve been digging and digging. With all that horse poop, there’s bound to be a pony in there somewhere,” he says.
This e-mail struck a chord. Clearly I am not the only mother of a child who sees the glass half empty.
“Let’s have a special treat and order in food tonight,” I might say. “How about Chinese?”
“You know I don’t like Chinese food,” he says curtly.
Or I might say, “Let’s go for a bike ride.” His response: “It’s too hot.”
“Anyone want to help me make pancakes?”
“Why would anyone want to make pancakes?” he says.
“How was school today?” I ask on a day when he seems happy at pickup.
“It stinks,” he says.
What bothers me isn’t that this child’s pessimistic view of life influences my other children — although it does have a slight effect. One day in June, I asked one of my daughters how her day at school had been. Despite the fact that she was literally bouncing with happiness when I saw her at 3:15, she said, in front of her brothers, “It was bad.”
Later, when I asked why school had been bad, she said, “Oh, school was great. I love school. I just didn’t want anyone to think I was a weirdo.”
What I find most troubling is my hunch that this outlook on life isn’t changing anytime soon.
For a month or two I tried to point out, lightly, times when my son was being unnecessarily pessimistic. Whenever he made a doomsday comment, I teased him with a “waah, waah” in response. I tried to sound like the pinball machine when your ball goes down the drain. He laughed and thought it was funny. But nothing changed.
How could I, an eternal optimist, have produced someone so pessimistic? I wondered.
I did a little research and came across an interesting study published in the 2002 International Journal of Behavioral Development, “Optimism and Pessimism in Children: A Study of Parenting Correlates.”
The results of the study are so darn gloomy — it’s as if my pessimistic son made them up himself. It turns out that maternal pessimism does correlate with child pessimism. Sure it does.
But in the study’s discussion, the authors, professors Naheed Hasan, of Rock Valley College in Illinois, and Thomas Power, of Washington State University, write: “Maternal optimism, however, was not associated with the child’s level of optimism.” So pessimism correlates, but optimism doesn’t. How’s that for a pessimistic result?
What is associated with a child’s high level of optimism, though, is a moderately controlling mother. Am I too controlling? Not controlling enough?
“Mothers who allowed their children to choose and try new things, who imposed rules and restrictions at a moderate level, and who exercised a moderate amount of control in the choice of friends and extracurricular activities, had children with the highest levels of optimism,” the authors conclude.
Yet another reason to beat myself up at night. Is my son’s pessimism somehow linked to his inability to choose his friends? Am I forcing him to engage in unwanted after-school activities? Do I limit his sense of freedom?
Last week I explained to him that this year, I thought he was old enough to travel to and from school by himself.
“You could go with a friend. Maybe that’s more fun?” I said. “But you’re old enough to go by yourself, too.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he asked. “You’re there at school picking everyone else up anyway.”
Waah, waah.
sarasberman@aol.com