Get the feedTantrum Lit
Wednesday, Dec 02nd 2009
Ian Falconer’s “Olivia” series:
The protagonist is a stylish pig who terrorizes her brothers, lies —breezily telling her teacher her vacation story is “pretty all true”— and throw dozens of outfits on the floor in preparation for school. Once, she paints her bedroom walls after being inspired by a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Punished by a brief timeout, she’s soon served a delicious dinner before an elaborate bedtime routine. Zalewski describes what happens next:
“Of course, Olivia’s not at all sleepy. ‘Only five books tonight, Mommy,’ she says. ‘No, Olivia, just one.’ ‘How about four?’ ‘Two.’ ‘Three.’ ‘Oh, all right, three.’ ” Upon reading the last one, Olivia’s mother tells her daughter, “You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway.” Olivia, ever cheeky, replies, “I love you anyway too.”
The protagonist is a stylish pig who terrorizes her brothers, lies —breezily telling her teacher her vacation story is “pretty all true”— and throw dozens of outfits on the floor in preparation for school. Once, she paints her bedroom walls after being inspired by a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Punished by a brief timeout, she’s soon served a delicious dinner before an elaborate bedtime routine. Zalewski describes what happens next:
“Of course, Olivia’s not at all sleepy. ‘Only five books tonight, Mommy,’ she says. ‘No, Olivia, just one.’ ‘How about four?’ ‘Two.’ ‘Three.’ ‘Oh, all right, three.’ ” Upon reading the last one, Olivia’s mother tells her daughter, “You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway.” Olivia, ever cheeky, replies, “I love you anyway too.”
Pierre Le Gall’s “Constance” series:
Zalewski calls Constance “a manipulator of demonic proportions.” In “Constance and the Great Escape,” her hapless parents send her to boarding school after she blasts a fire extinguisher directly into the principal’s office. There, the headmistress informs her that – though her parents can’t control her -- “You will learn respect and discipline.” Of course, Constance outwits her:
“At midnight, I came up with the perfect plan. I would pretend to be the ideal inmate.”
After a false but dramatic show of repentance, she’s sent back home where she tyrannizes her family once again.
Zalewski calls Constance “a manipulator of demonic proportions.” In “Constance and the Great Escape,” her hapless parents send her to boarding school after she blasts a fire extinguisher directly into the principal’s office. There, the headmistress informs her that – though her parents can’t control her -- “You will learn respect and discipline.” Of course, Constance outwits her:
“At midnight, I came up with the perfect plan. I would pretend to be the ideal inmate.”
After a false but dramatic show of repentance, she’s sent back home where she tyrannizes her family once again.
Victoria Kann and Elizabeth Kann’s “Pinkalicious:"
A little girl and her mother spend a rainy day baking bright-pink cupcakes; the girl eats one after another, demanding “more, more, more!” while swinging upside down on a chandelier and sticking out her tongue. The mother says no (in a way) and the girl throws a tantrum – after which she is given even more cupcakes. Eventually, all the cupcakes turn her pink, a condition she can control by eating veggies. Zalewski writes, “By the final page, the girl has learned a lesson about healthy eating, and her parents have been thoroughly steamrolled.”
A little girl and her mother spend a rainy day baking bright-pink cupcakes; the girl eats one after another, demanding “more, more, more!” while swinging upside down on a chandelier and sticking out her tongue. The mother says no (in a way) and the girl throws a tantrum – after which she is given even more cupcakes. Eventually, all the cupcakes turn her pink, a condition she can control by eating veggies. Zalewski writes, “By the final page, the girl has learned a lesson about healthy eating, and her parents have been thoroughly steamrolled.”
David Shannon’s “No, David!”
Classic stories showed bad behavior as a part of a larger story. (Curious George visits the zoo, for example.) But in the “No, David” series, the bad behavior is the only plot. Each page shows the little boy breaking rules in spite of his mother’s admonitions. After pages and pages of misbehavior, David is made to sit in the corner and a tear rolls down his face.
“Davey, come here. Yes, David . . . I love you!”
Zalewski writes, “David is the kiddie version of the protagonist in a Showtime series: his flaws are the source of his allure… Crying, it seems, is a fantastic way to get out of trouble.”
Classic stories showed bad behavior as a part of a larger story. (Curious George visits the zoo, for example.) But in the “No, David” series, the bad behavior is the only plot. Each page shows the little boy breaking rules in spite of his mother’s admonitions. After pages and pages of misbehavior, David is made to sit in the corner and a tear rolls down his face.
“Davey, come here. Yes, David . . . I love you!”
Zalewski writes, “David is the kiddie version of the protagonist in a Showtime series: his flaws are the source of his allure… Crying, it seems, is a fantastic way to get out of trouble.”
Jane Yolen’s “How Do Dinosaurs Say I Love You?”
This popular series depicts human parents whose child has turned into a giant lizard.
Out in the sandbox you threw lots of sand.
You ran from the slide, after slapping my hand.
But you suddenly turned with a smile I adore.
Oh, I’ll always love you, my dinosaur.”
Does this represent unconditional love, or does it teach -- as Zalewski contends – that the slightest display of sweetness trumps a day’s worth of antics?
Of course, a subsequent scene shows a dinosaur who throws his pasta all over the kitchen. The dad merely raises an eybrow.
Dinner disaster! You made such a mess!
Would you stay up past bedtime? The answer was YES!”
This popular series depicts human parents whose child has turned into a giant lizard.
Out in the sandbox you threw lots of sand.
You ran from the slide, after slapping my hand.
But you suddenly turned with a smile I adore.
Oh, I’ll always love you, my dinosaur.”
Does this represent unconditional love, or does it teach -- as Zalewski contends – that the slightest display of sweetness trumps a day’s worth of antics?
Of course, a subsequent scene shows a dinosaur who throws his pasta all over the kitchen. The dad merely raises an eybrow.
Dinner disaster! You made such a mess!
Would you stay up past bedtime? The answer was YES!”
Mo Willems’s “Knuffle Bunny” series:
Trixie, a young girl, loves her plush bunny, which accidentally gets traded with another girl who has the exact same toy. Neither girl realizes the dolls were switched until the middle of the night.
“Trixie’s daddy tried to explain what ‘2:30 A.M.’ means. He asked, ‘Can we deal with this in the morning?’ ”
Trixie, naturally, wants the bunny now!
Zalewski explains that salvation comes when the phone rings. “The other girl’s father, equally cowed, has called to propose a handoff in Prospect Park. There’s an element of satire here, but the idea that children have executive authority is now so entrenched that many readers, old and young, are likely to consider a moonlit stuffed-animal exchange an ordinary turn of events.”
Trixie, a young girl, loves her plush bunny, which accidentally gets traded with another girl who has the exact same toy. Neither girl realizes the dolls were switched until the middle of the night.
“Trixie’s daddy tried to explain what ‘2:30 A.M.’ means. He asked, ‘Can we deal with this in the morning?’ ”
Trixie, naturally, wants the bunny now!
Zalewski explains that salvation comes when the phone rings. “The other girl’s father, equally cowed, has called to propose a handoff in Prospect Park. There’s an element of satire here, but the idea that children have executive authority is now so entrenched that many readers, old and young, are likely to consider a moonlit stuffed-animal exchange an ordinary turn of events.”
Norton Juster’s “Sourpuss and Sweetie Pie:”
The main character in this book – or should I say characters – is “Sweetiepie” when she’s nice (when she makes presents and compliments grandma’s wrinkles) and “Sourpuss” when she’s not -- Zalewski describes it as a downright Sybil-like condition.
He writes, “The story is ultimately depressing, though, its attitude about misbehavior defeated and fatalistic. The girl, explaining her lurches into nastiness, says, ‘It just happens.’ And the book ends with a creepy tableau, in which we see two girls lying on a bed: one asleep, the other wild-eyed and screaming. ‘Pleasant dreams, girls,’ the grandparents say, closing the door. ‘I wonder who’ll be there in the morning.’ Such gibes are clearly meant for the adult reader. After a day of failing to control your child, it’s nice to take comfort in a wisecrack.”
The main character in this book – or should I say characters – is “Sweetiepie” when she’s nice (when she makes presents and compliments grandma’s wrinkles) and “Sourpuss” when she’s not -- Zalewski describes it as a downright Sybil-like condition.
He writes, “The story is ultimately depressing, though, its attitude about misbehavior defeated and fatalistic. The girl, explaining her lurches into nastiness, says, ‘It just happens.’ And the book ends with a creepy tableau, in which we see two girls lying on a bed: one asleep, the other wild-eyed and screaming. ‘Pleasant dreams, girls,’ the grandparents say, closing the door. ‘I wonder who’ll be there in the morning.’ Such gibes are clearly meant for the adult reader. After a day of failing to control your child, it’s nice to take comfort in a wisecrack.”
Judy Schachner’s Skippyjon Jones, Lost in Spice:
Skippy is a cat with enormous ears and a gigantic head, who borrows his mother’s red spice, but promises not to sprinkle it.
“May I please borrow you red bottle of spice, Momma?” he asked politely.
“Yes, you may,” replied Momma, pleased with her boy’s manners. “But you better not be thinking of doing any sprinkling!”
“Nuh-uh,” replies the boy, blinking.
The mom though easily charmed by manners, is no pushover. She makes her warning more emphatic by adding, “If you know what’s good for you.”
The very next page shows the boy dumping the spice onto his bed, which makes it look like Mars. In fact, his own “Mars Adventure” ends when his mother comes into the room to see his chili pepper-doused bed. So, what does she do? Does she punish him for lying to her and make him clean up the mess? No, the boy explains that he didn’t “do anything on Earth,” he did it on Mars.
The mother – obviously proud of her kid’s imagination -- responds by saying it was “terrific.” Then she straightens the boy’s ears and replies with much affection, “You must be starving” and tucks him happily into bed.
Skippy is a cat with enormous ears and a gigantic head, who borrows his mother’s red spice, but promises not to sprinkle it.
“May I please borrow you red bottle of spice, Momma?” he asked politely.
“Yes, you may,” replied Momma, pleased with her boy’s manners. “But you better not be thinking of doing any sprinkling!”
“Nuh-uh,” replies the boy, blinking.
The mom though easily charmed by manners, is no pushover. She makes her warning more emphatic by adding, “If you know what’s good for you.”
The very next page shows the boy dumping the spice onto his bed, which makes it look like Mars. In fact, his own “Mars Adventure” ends when his mother comes into the room to see his chili pepper-doused bed. So, what does she do? Does she punish him for lying to her and make him clean up the mess? No, the boy explains that he didn’t “do anything on Earth,” he did it on Mars.
The mother – obviously proud of her kid’s imagination -- responds by saying it was “terrific.” Then she straightens the boy’s ears and replies with much affection, “You must be starving” and tucks him happily into bed.
Does that story line sound familiar? In Where the Wild Things Are, Max is punished for chasing his dog down the stairs while brandishing a fork by being sent to bed without supper. When he goes to his room, it changes into a magical place of adventure and intrigue. Does he have a change of heart before returning and having his hot meal? Or is he, as Zalewski posits, an ancestor to today’s picture book characters?)
Jennifer Larue Huget’s “Thanks a LOT, Emily Post!”
When Mother brings home a book about minding one’s manners, the kids are supremely unhappy about all the new rules. Suddenly, they weren’t allowed to slump in chairs, lean on elbows at the table, shout at the top of their lungs, or treat people poorly during playtime. After being punished for misbehaving, the daughter devises a clever scheme. She begins to read Emily Post’s book from cover to cover to find etiquette tips her mother is not following. Suddenly, the daughter is criticizing her mother’s drab dress (the family is not rich, but her mother wants her children to act like they were raised well), her centerpiece, and her tarnished silverware. After cowtowing to their demands, the mother finally conjures a little parental discipline by ordering them to polish the silver themselves.
Not to be outdone, they don’t polish the silver at all. They make an enormous mess – dramatizing Emily Post’s ideas like learning good posture. The sand bags they used to balance on their heads for good posture ends up dumped on the floor. Eventually, the livid mom goes to her room and the kids wondered if she’d ever come back.
Does she finally return with a renewed resolve to teach her kids the skills that will help them achieve in life?
No, when she returns, she has Emily Post’s book in her hands and tosses it out the door. But peace, as you imagine, does not follow. The final words are written on the wall with crayon, by the daughter, as her mother sits in a chair, head thrown back in desperate surrender. “And everything was dandy again, once that Emily Post book went away.”
When Mother brings home a book about minding one’s manners, the kids are supremely unhappy about all the new rules. Suddenly, they weren’t allowed to slump in chairs, lean on elbows at the table, shout at the top of their lungs, or treat people poorly during playtime. After being punished for misbehaving, the daughter devises a clever scheme. She begins to read Emily Post’s book from cover to cover to find etiquette tips her mother is not following. Suddenly, the daughter is criticizing her mother’s drab dress (the family is not rich, but her mother wants her children to act like they were raised well), her centerpiece, and her tarnished silverware. After cowtowing to their demands, the mother finally conjures a little parental discipline by ordering them to polish the silver themselves.
Not to be outdone, they don’t polish the silver at all. They make an enormous mess – dramatizing Emily Post’s ideas like learning good posture. The sand bags they used to balance on their heads for good posture ends up dumped on the floor. Eventually, the livid mom goes to her room and the kids wondered if she’d ever come back.
Does she finally return with a renewed resolve to teach her kids the skills that will help them achieve in life?
No, when she returns, she has Emily Post’s book in her hands and tosses it out the door. But peace, as you imagine, does not follow. The final words are written on the wall with crayon, by the daughter, as her mother sits in a chair, head thrown back in desperate surrender. “And everything was dandy again, once that Emily Post book went away.”
Books from the past have always included children behaving poorly. For example, in Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat, the chaos begins only when the parents go away for the day. The kids, in fact, try to clean up their mess for fear they’d get in trouble when their parents arrived.
Today’s books, in contrast, frequently show misbehavior happening right in front of the parents’ eyes, as they throw their hands up in despair.
Today’s books, in contrast, frequently show misbehavior happening right in front of the parents’ eyes, as they throw their hands up in despair.
In Russell Hoban’s “Bedtime for Frances” (1960), a little badger devises various schemes for staying up late. (“I forgot to brush my teeth”; “There is a tiger in my room.”) It’s clear from the beginning that the little badger is not going to win this battle with his father, who only accommodates his son’s mischief to a point. He finally, calmly, tells him to expect discipline – a spanking – which makes Frances fall quickly asleep.
But let's not end on a bad note. One day, I took my ten year old to the bookstore and stacked a pile of books in front of us... in search of some books that don't encourage bad behavior. Laurie Keller’s Do Unto Otters: A Book About Manners:
This clever little book introduces Mr. Rabbit, who is nervous that he won’t get along with his new neighbors, the Otters. A wise old owl tells them to “do unto otters as you would have them do unto you.” Each page teaches the value of being friendly, honest, and even apologetic. (That page has the otter apologizing to the rabbit, “I’m sorry I used your ear to blow my nose.”) It’s a book full of gags, but one that really gets to the heart of the matter. Of course, there are no parents in the book, but it does deal very well with bad behavior -- the Golden Rule!
This clever little book introduces Mr. Rabbit, who is nervous that he won’t get along with his new neighbors, the Otters. A wise old owl tells them to “do unto otters as you would have them do unto you.” Each page teaches the value of being friendly, honest, and even apologetic. (That page has the otter apologizing to the rabbit, “I’m sorry I used your ear to blow my nose.”) It’s a book full of gags, but one that really gets to the heart of the matter. Of course, there are no parents in the book, but it does deal very well with bad behavior -- the Golden Rule!
Kevin Henkes’s “Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse:”
This story is about rudeness and interrupting:
Lilly, a teacher’s darling, comes to school with a new purse, and is frustrated by the long wait until show-and-tell. During a reading lesson, Lilly bursts out, “Look, everyone. Look what I’ve got!” Her teacher, Mr. Slinger—another competent adult—takes away the purse: “I’ll just keep your things at my desk until the end of the day.” Lilly’s anger festers all afternoon, until, in retaliation, she draws a mean picture of Mr. Slinger—giving it the title “Big Fat Mean Mr. Stealing Teacher”—and slips it into his briefcase. Lilly, unlike her fictional peers, doesn’t revel in her clever misdeed. Instead, she spends the evening feeling “simply awful” about the bad thing that she’s done. Lilly skips cartoons and puts herself in the uncoöperative chair. She then confesses to her parents, who help her focus on what she can do to make amends.
This story is about rudeness and interrupting:
Lilly, a teacher’s darling, comes to school with a new purse, and is frustrated by the long wait until show-and-tell. During a reading lesson, Lilly bursts out, “Look, everyone. Look what I’ve got!” Her teacher, Mr. Slinger—another competent adult—takes away the purse: “I’ll just keep your things at my desk until the end of the day.” Lilly’s anger festers all afternoon, until, in retaliation, she draws a mean picture of Mr. Slinger—giving it the title “Big Fat Mean Mr. Stealing Teacher”—and slips it into his briefcase. Lilly, unlike her fictional peers, doesn’t revel in her clever misdeed. Instead, she spends the evening feeling “simply awful” about the bad thing that she’s done. Lilly skips cartoons and puts herself in the uncoöperative chair. She then confesses to her parents, who help her focus on what she can do to make amends.
“You watch the kids, okay?”
It sounded easy-enough. It was a crisp autumn afternoon in Philadelphia, and my friend Rene left me at the park with the kids to go to Whole Foods for lunch.
Within minutes, however, the peaceful bliss evaportated. Specifically, it disappeared when her son threw a Hot Wheels and hit another kid -- perched precariously on top of a slide -- in the face. As I was about to correct him, he ran away – far away in this city park – making it impossible for me to simultaneously see the other three kids and him.
“Ethan,” I said cautiously, while eyeing the man sleeping with a garbage bag under the slide. “Please come here.”
The other three kids – all in different locations – were oblivious to Ethan’s disappearance, but I couldn’t see all four of them. I tried to remain calm, but finally – after cajoling didn’t work – I blurted out, “Just obey me!”
Those were not the magic words.
When Rene returned, arms full of brown paper bags full of organic goodness, her son was cowed under a park bench on the other side of the park... and I felt like joining him.
“You told him to obey?” she asked. “That's your problem. We don’t use that kind of language.”
Rene was a dear friend who dragged me to synagogue, tried to teach me Yiddish, and made me eat lox.
“What language?” I asked.
“The word obey,” she explained. “It sounds too… Biblical.”
I tried to hide my astonishment, as I ate my veggie quiche. “What do you do to the speed limit?”
“What I mean is that I don’t use it with my kids or in my parenting.”
After dozens of conversations with parents similar to this, I realized very few of us have a handle on discipline. We’d watch our kids play, hoping against hope no conflict would occur. We all knew that the first time little Jacob punched Sarah over the jump rope, parents went into full-out “therapeutic voice.”
“Use your words, not your fists.”
Or, “talk to me about what is making you react so strongly.”
Most parents were adamantly opposed to spanking, describing it as “violence” toward children. However, their alternative forms of punishment weren’t incredibly appealing either. One parent said she washed her kids’ mouth out with soap, a throw back to the way her mom disciplined her as a child.
“That’s old school,” I said.
“No kidding,” she said, before lamenting, “but we had bars of soap back then.”
“Wait – you wash your kids’ mouth out with soft soap?” I asked.
We all sat in silence, imagining the future therapy that kids would need.
“I do time out,” said another, proudly. She thought she'd chosen the most palatable form of punishment, but was immediately reproached by the others.
“You shouldn’t isolate your kids when they misbehave,” they explained, “because it makes the child feel love is conditional on behavior.” (In fact, educator Alfie Kohn has described it as “forcing isolation.”)
“Sometimes my son gets so carried away, I put him in the shower,” one of our friends said. It was a surprising revelation. “And I turn it on.”
This woman was – to put it delicately – a self-described arbiter of manners. In fact, she later got an etiquette column in a major newspaper, in which she used us as her material. Because showing vulnerability was uncommon for her, we tried to understand.
“You put him in the shower and turn the water on?”
We looked at her blankly, expecting her to say she misspoke.
“Is that better than a swat on the behind?”
The problem with 24 hour television promoting self-help, pop psychology fix-its for parents, is now all discipline is hazardous to your kids’ emotional health. Ever since the “positive parenting” idea took hold, parents are “attaboying” their way through repeated strike-outs at ball-games. That, however, was replaced by the idea that too-frequent praise makes children doubt parental honesty and creates an unhealthy emotional dependency for the child on the parents. (They know striking out is not just as good as getting a two base hit. No matter what they’ve been told, they know winning is better than trying hard.) So, now the “don’t praise too much” phase is taking hold, only to be repealed when the pendulum swings once again.
My afternoons in the park showed me what most struggling parents already know. Disciplining your kids is neither easy nor obvious, especially if you look to so-called experts and other parents for advice. It leaves parents subject to the whims of their children, who sense that no one is really driving the bus.
Daniel Zalewski poignantly writes about this new parental befuddlement in The New Yorker, arguing that this impotence is manifesting itself in the most unusual of places:
Today’s picture books for kids.
He writes:
Like the novel or the sitcom, the picture book records shifts in domestic life: newspaper-burrowing fathers have been replaced by eager, if bumbling, diaper-changers. Similarly, the stern disciplinarians of the past—in Robert McCloskey books, parents instruct children not to cry—have largely vanished. The parents in today’s stories suffer the same diminution in authority felt by the parents reading them aloud (an hour past bedtime). The typical adult in a contemporary picture book is harried and befuddled, scurrying to fulfill a child’s wishes and then hesitantly drawing the line. And the default temperament of the child is bratty, though often in a way so zesty and creative that the behavioral transgressions take on the quality of art.
Please see the photos on the top right hand side of this article for examples of picture books -- both new and old -- and the kinds of messages they send to our children. Of course, books vary greatly in their quality and messaging, and we need to be aware of the subtle themes that jump off the page and creep into our kids’ hearts.
“You watch the kids, okay?”
Such a simple request, yet so complicated these days.
by NANCY FRENCH, an author (not of "tantrum lit, hopefully), commentator, activist, and mother. Her next book, about the year her husband spent in Iraq, is due out Fall 2010.
What do you think?
Do we own and love these kids-ruling-the-roost tales because it resonates with our own experience more than we care to admit?
If an illustrator lived with you for a week, what kind of story would his pictures tell?
Nancy French
Nancy French is an author, commentator, and mother. Her next book, about the year her husband spent in Iraq is due out July 4, 2011. Connect with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/NancyAndersonFrench and follow her on Twitter at https://twitter.com/nancyafrench.
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Ian Falconer’s “Olivia” series:
The protagonist is a stylish pig who terrorizes her brothers, lies —breezily telling her teacher her vacation story is “pretty all true”— and throw dozens of outfits on the floor in preparation for school. Once, she paints her bedroom walls after being inspired by a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Punished by a brief timeout, she’s soon served a delicious dinner before an elaborate bedtime routine. Zalewski describes what happens next:
“Of course, Olivia’s not at all sleepy. ‘Only five books tonight, Mommy,’ she says. ‘No, Olivia, just one.’ ‘How about four?’ ‘Two.’ ‘Three.’ ‘Oh, all right, three.’ ” Upon reading the last one, Olivia’s mother tells her daughter, “You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway.” Olivia, ever cheeky, replies, “I love you anyway too.”
The protagonist is a stylish pig who terrorizes her brothers, lies —breezily telling her teacher her vacation story is “pretty all true”— and throw dozens of outfits on the floor in preparation for school. Once, she paints her bedroom walls after being inspired by a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Punished by a brief timeout, she’s soon served a delicious dinner before an elaborate bedtime routine. Zalewski describes what happens next:
“Of course, Olivia’s not at all sleepy. ‘Only five books tonight, Mommy,’ she says. ‘No, Olivia, just one.’ ‘How about four?’ ‘Two.’ ‘Three.’ ‘Oh, all right, three.’ ” Upon reading the last one, Olivia’s mother tells her daughter, “You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway.” Olivia, ever cheeky, replies, “I love you anyway too.”
Pierre Le Gall’s “Constance” series:
Zalewski calls Constance “a manipulator of demonic proportions.” In “Constance and the Great Escape,” her hapless parents send her to boarding school after she blasts a fire extinguisher directly into the principal’s office. There, the headmistress informs her that – though her parents can’t control her -- “You will learn respect and discipline.” Of course, Constance outwits her:
“At midnight, I came up with the perfect plan. I would pretend to be the ideal inmate.”
After a false but dramatic show of repentance, she’s sent back home where she tyrannizes her family once again.
Zalewski calls Constance “a manipulator of demonic proportions.” In “Constance and the Great Escape,” her hapless parents send her to boarding school after she blasts a fire extinguisher directly into the principal’s office. There, the headmistress informs her that – though her parents can’t control her -- “You will learn respect and discipline.” Of course, Constance outwits her:
“At midnight, I came up with the perfect plan. I would pretend to be the ideal inmate.”
After a false but dramatic show of repentance, she’s sent back home where she tyrannizes her family once again.
Victoria Kann and Elizabeth Kann’s “Pinkalicious:"
A little girl and her mother spend a rainy day baking bright-pink cupcakes; the girl eats one after another, demanding “more, more, more!” while swinging upside down on a chandelier and sticking out her tongue. The mother says no (in a way) and the girl throws a tantrum – after which she is given even more cupcakes. Eventually, all the cupcakes turn her pink, a condition she can control by eating veggies. Zalewski writes, “By the final page, the girl has learned a lesson about healthy eating, and her parents have been thoroughly steamrolled.”
A little girl and her mother spend a rainy day baking bright-pink cupcakes; the girl eats one after another, demanding “more, more, more!” while swinging upside down on a chandelier and sticking out her tongue. The mother says no (in a way) and the girl throws a tantrum – after which she is given even more cupcakes. Eventually, all the cupcakes turn her pink, a condition she can control by eating veggies. Zalewski writes, “By the final page, the girl has learned a lesson about healthy eating, and her parents have been thoroughly steamrolled.”
David Shannon’s “No, David!”
Classic stories showed bad behavior as a part of a larger story. (Curious George visits the zoo, for example.) But in the “No, David” series, the bad behavior is the only plot. Each page shows the little boy breaking rules in spite of his mother’s admonitions. After pages and pages of misbehavior, David is made to sit in the corner and a tear rolls down his face.
“Davey, come here. Yes, David . . . I love you!”
Zalewski writes, “David is the kiddie version of the protagonist in a Showtime series: his flaws are the source of his allure… Crying, it seems, is a fantastic way to get out of trouble.”
Classic stories showed bad behavior as a part of a larger story. (Curious George visits the zoo, for example.) But in the “No, David” series, the bad behavior is the only plot. Each page shows the little boy breaking rules in spite of his mother’s admonitions. After pages and pages of misbehavior, David is made to sit in the corner and a tear rolls down his face.
“Davey, come here. Yes, David . . . I love you!”
Zalewski writes, “David is the kiddie version of the protagonist in a Showtime series: his flaws are the source of his allure… Crying, it seems, is a fantastic way to get out of trouble.”
Jane Yolen’s “How Do Dinosaurs Say I Love You?”
This popular series depicts human parents whose child has turned into a giant lizard.
Out in the sandbox you threw lots of sand.
You ran from the slide, after slapping my hand.
But you suddenly turned with a smile I adore.
Oh, I’ll always love you, my dinosaur.”
Does this represent unconditional love, or does it teach -- as Zalewski contends – that the slightest display of sweetness trumps a day’s worth of antics?
Of course, a subsequent scene shows a dinosaur who throws his pasta all over the kitchen. The dad merely raises an eybrow.
Dinner disaster! You made such a mess!
Would you stay up past bedtime? The answer was YES!”
This popular series depicts human parents whose child has turned into a giant lizard.
Out in the sandbox you threw lots of sand.
You ran from the slide, after slapping my hand.
But you suddenly turned with a smile I adore.
Oh, I’ll always love you, my dinosaur.”
Does this represent unconditional love, or does it teach -- as Zalewski contends – that the slightest display of sweetness trumps a day’s worth of antics?
Of course, a subsequent scene shows a dinosaur who throws his pasta all over the kitchen. The dad merely raises an eybrow.
Dinner disaster! You made such a mess!
Would you stay up past bedtime? The answer was YES!”
Mo Willems’s “Knuffle Bunny” series:
Trixie, a young girl, loves her plush bunny, which accidentally gets traded with another girl who has the exact same toy. Neither girl realizes the dolls were switched until the middle of the night.
“Trixie’s daddy tried to explain what ‘2:30 A.M.’ means. He asked, ‘Can we deal with this in the morning?’ ”
Trixie, naturally, wants the bunny now!
Zalewski explains that salvation comes when the phone rings. “The other girl’s father, equally cowed, has called to propose a handoff in Prospect Park. There’s an element of satire here, but the idea that children have executive authority is now so entrenched that many readers, old and young, are likely to consider a moonlit stuffed-animal exchange an ordinary turn of events.”
Trixie, a young girl, loves her plush bunny, which accidentally gets traded with another girl who has the exact same toy. Neither girl realizes the dolls were switched until the middle of the night.
“Trixie’s daddy tried to explain what ‘2:30 A.M.’ means. He asked, ‘Can we deal with this in the morning?’ ”
Trixie, naturally, wants the bunny now!
Zalewski explains that salvation comes when the phone rings. “The other girl’s father, equally cowed, has called to propose a handoff in Prospect Park. There’s an element of satire here, but the idea that children have executive authority is now so entrenched that many readers, old and young, are likely to consider a moonlit stuffed-animal exchange an ordinary turn of events.”
Norton Juster’s “Sourpuss and Sweetie Pie:”
The main character in this book – or should I say characters – is “Sweetiepie” when she’s nice (when she makes presents and compliments grandma’s wrinkles) and “Sourpuss” when she’s not -- Zalewski describes it as a downright Sybil-like condition.
He writes, “The story is ultimately depressing, though, its attitude about misbehavior defeated and fatalistic. The girl, explaining her lurches into nastiness, says, ‘It just happens.’ And the book ends with a creepy tableau, in which we see two girls lying on a bed: one asleep, the other wild-eyed and screaming. ‘Pleasant dreams, girls,’ the grandparents say, closing the door. ‘I wonder who’ll be there in the morning.’ Such gibes are clearly meant for the adult reader. After a day of failing to control your child, it’s nice to take comfort in a wisecrack.”
The main character in this book – or should I say characters – is “Sweetiepie” when she’s nice (when she makes presents and compliments grandma’s wrinkles) and “Sourpuss” when she’s not -- Zalewski describes it as a downright Sybil-like condition.
He writes, “The story is ultimately depressing, though, its attitude about misbehavior defeated and fatalistic. The girl, explaining her lurches into nastiness, says, ‘It just happens.’ And the book ends with a creepy tableau, in which we see two girls lying on a bed: one asleep, the other wild-eyed and screaming. ‘Pleasant dreams, girls,’ the grandparents say, closing the door. ‘I wonder who’ll be there in the morning.’ Such gibes are clearly meant for the adult reader. After a day of failing to control your child, it’s nice to take comfort in a wisecrack.”
Judy Schachner’s Skippyjon Jones, Lost in Spice:
Skippy is a cat with enormous ears and a gigantic head, who borrows his mother’s red spice, but promises not to sprinkle it.
“May I please borrow you red bottle of spice, Momma?” he asked politely.
“Yes, you may,” replied Momma, pleased with her boy’s manners. “But you better not be thinking of doing any sprinkling!”
“Nuh-uh,” replies the boy, blinking.
The mom though easily charmed by manners, is no pushover. She makes her warning more emphatic by adding, “If you know what’s good for you.”
The very next page shows the boy dumping the spice onto his bed, which makes it look like Mars. In fact, his own “Mars Adventure” ends when his mother comes into the room to see his chili pepper-doused bed. So, what does she do? Does she punish him for lying to her and make him clean up the mess? No, the boy explains that he didn’t “do anything on Earth,” he did it on Mars.
The mother – obviously proud of her kid’s imagination -- responds by saying it was “terrific.” Then she straightens the boy’s ears and replies with much affection, “You must be starving” and tucks him happily into bed.
Skippy is a cat with enormous ears and a gigantic head, who borrows his mother’s red spice, but promises not to sprinkle it.
“May I please borrow you red bottle of spice, Momma?” he asked politely.
“Yes, you may,” replied Momma, pleased with her boy’s manners. “But you better not be thinking of doing any sprinkling!”
“Nuh-uh,” replies the boy, blinking.
The mom though easily charmed by manners, is no pushover. She makes her warning more emphatic by adding, “If you know what’s good for you.”
The very next page shows the boy dumping the spice onto his bed, which makes it look like Mars. In fact, his own “Mars Adventure” ends when his mother comes into the room to see his chili pepper-doused bed. So, what does she do? Does she punish him for lying to her and make him clean up the mess? No, the boy explains that he didn’t “do anything on Earth,” he did it on Mars.
The mother – obviously proud of her kid’s imagination -- responds by saying it was “terrific.” Then she straightens the boy’s ears and replies with much affection, “You must be starving” and tucks him happily into bed.
Does that story line sound familiar? In Where the Wild Things Are, Max is punished for chasing his dog down the stairs while brandishing a fork by being sent to bed without supper. When he goes to his room, it changes into a magical place of adventure and intrigue. Does he have a change of heart before returning and having his hot meal? Or is he, as Zalewski posits, an ancestor to today’s picture book characters?)
Jennifer Larue Huget’s “Thanks a LOT, Emily Post!”
When Mother brings home a book about minding one’s manners, the kids are supremely unhappy about all the new rules. Suddenly, they weren’t allowed to slump in chairs, lean on elbows at the table, shout at the top of their lungs, or treat people poorly during playtime. After being punished for misbehaving, the daughter devises a clever scheme. She begins to read Emily Post’s book from cover to cover to find etiquette tips her mother is not following. Suddenly, the daughter is criticizing her mother’s drab dress (the family is not rich, but her mother wants her children to act like they were raised well), her centerpiece, and her tarnished silverware. After cowtowing to their demands, the mother finally conjures a little parental discipline by ordering them to polish the silver themselves.
Not to be outdone, they don’t polish the silver at all. They make an enormous mess – dramatizing Emily Post’s ideas like learning good posture. The sand bags they used to balance on their heads for good posture ends up dumped on the floor. Eventually, the livid mom goes to her room and the kids wondered if she’d ever come back.
Does she finally return with a renewed resolve to teach her kids the skills that will help them achieve in life?
No, when she returns, she has Emily Post’s book in her hands and tosses it out the door. But peace, as you imagine, does not follow. The final words are written on the wall with crayon, by the daughter, as her mother sits in a chair, head thrown back in desperate surrender. “And everything was dandy again, once that Emily Post book went away.”
When Mother brings home a book about minding one’s manners, the kids are supremely unhappy about all the new rules. Suddenly, they weren’t allowed to slump in chairs, lean on elbows at the table, shout at the top of their lungs, or treat people poorly during playtime. After being punished for misbehaving, the daughter devises a clever scheme. She begins to read Emily Post’s book from cover to cover to find etiquette tips her mother is not following. Suddenly, the daughter is criticizing her mother’s drab dress (the family is not rich, but her mother wants her children to act like they were raised well), her centerpiece, and her tarnished silverware. After cowtowing to their demands, the mother finally conjures a little parental discipline by ordering them to polish the silver themselves.
Not to be outdone, they don’t polish the silver at all. They make an enormous mess – dramatizing Emily Post’s ideas like learning good posture. The sand bags they used to balance on their heads for good posture ends up dumped on the floor. Eventually, the livid mom goes to her room and the kids wondered if she’d ever come back.
Does she finally return with a renewed resolve to teach her kids the skills that will help them achieve in life?
No, when she returns, she has Emily Post’s book in her hands and tosses it out the door. But peace, as you imagine, does not follow. The final words are written on the wall with crayon, by the daughter, as her mother sits in a chair, head thrown back in desperate surrender. “And everything was dandy again, once that Emily Post book went away.”
Books from the past have always included children behaving poorly. For example, in Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat, the chaos begins only when the parents go away for the day. The kids, in fact, try to clean up their mess for fear they’d get in trouble when their parents arrived.
Today’s books, in contrast, frequently show misbehavior happening right in front of the parents’ eyes, as they throw their hands up in despair.
Today’s books, in contrast, frequently show misbehavior happening right in front of the parents’ eyes, as they throw their hands up in despair.
In Russell Hoban’s “Bedtime for Frances” (1960), a little badger devises various schemes for staying up late. (“I forgot to brush my teeth”; “There is a tiger in my room.”) It’s clear from the beginning that the little badger is not going to win this battle with his father, who only accommodates his son’s mischief to a point. He finally, calmly, tells him to expect discipline – a spanking – which makes Frances fall quickly asleep.
But let's not end on a bad note. One day, I took my ten year old to the bookstore and stacked a pile of books in front of us... in search of some books that don't encourage bad behavior. Laurie Keller’s Do Unto Otters: A Book About Manners:
This clever little book introduces Mr. Rabbit, who is nervous that he won’t get along with his new neighbors, the Otters. A wise old owl tells them to “do unto otters as you would have them do unto you.” Each page teaches the value of being friendly, honest, and even apologetic. (That page has the otter apologizing to the rabbit, “I’m sorry I used your ear to blow my nose.”) It’s a book full of gags, but one that really gets to the heart of the matter. Of course, there are no parents in the book, but it does deal very well with bad behavior -- the Golden Rule!
This clever little book introduces Mr. Rabbit, who is nervous that he won’t get along with his new neighbors, the Otters. A wise old owl tells them to “do unto otters as you would have them do unto you.” Each page teaches the value of being friendly, honest, and even apologetic. (That page has the otter apologizing to the rabbit, “I’m sorry I used your ear to blow my nose.”) It’s a book full of gags, but one that really gets to the heart of the matter. Of course, there are no parents in the book, but it does deal very well with bad behavior -- the Golden Rule!
Kevin Henkes’s “Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse:”
This story is about rudeness and interrupting:
Lilly, a teacher’s darling, comes to school with a new purse, and is frustrated by the long wait until show-and-tell. During a reading lesson, Lilly bursts out, “Look, everyone. Look what I’ve got!” Her teacher, Mr. Slinger—another competent adult—takes away the purse: “I’ll just keep your things at my desk until the end of the day.” Lilly’s anger festers all afternoon, until, in retaliation, she draws a mean picture of Mr. Slinger—giving it the title “Big Fat Mean Mr. Stealing Teacher”—and slips it into his briefcase. Lilly, unlike her fictional peers, doesn’t revel in her clever misdeed. Instead, she spends the evening feeling “simply awful” about the bad thing that she’s done. Lilly skips cartoons and puts herself in the uncoöperative chair. She then confesses to her parents, who help her focus on what she can do to make amends.
This story is about rudeness and interrupting:
Lilly, a teacher’s darling, comes to school with a new purse, and is frustrated by the long wait until show-and-tell. During a reading lesson, Lilly bursts out, “Look, everyone. Look what I’ve got!” Her teacher, Mr. Slinger—another competent adult—takes away the purse: “I’ll just keep your things at my desk until the end of the day.” Lilly’s anger festers all afternoon, until, in retaliation, she draws a mean picture of Mr. Slinger—giving it the title “Big Fat Mean Mr. Stealing Teacher”—and slips it into his briefcase. Lilly, unlike her fictional peers, doesn’t revel in her clever misdeed. Instead, she spends the evening feeling “simply awful” about the bad thing that she’s done. Lilly skips cartoons and puts herself in the uncoöperative chair. She then confesses to her parents, who help her focus on what she can do to make amends.
by MarcomMom #