that you don't speak of,' or words to that effect.
Before
everything it is important that your child should
have a good
working name for these parts of his body, and for
their
functions, and that he should be taught to use and
to hear the
names, and that as naturally and openly as though he
or you were
speaking of his head or his foot. Convention has,
for various
reasons, made it impossible to speak in this way in
public. But
you can, at any rate, break through this in the
nursery. There
this rule of convention has no advantage, and many a
serious
disadvantage. It is easy to say to a child, the
first time he
makes an 'awkward' remark in public: 'Look here,
laddie, you may
say what you like to me or to daddy, but, for some
reason or
other, one does not talk about these' (only say
_what_ things)
'in public.' Only let your child make the remark in
public
_before_ you speak (never mind the shock to your
caller's
feelings), don't warn him against doing so" (Ennis Richmond,
_Boyhood_, p. 60). Sex must always be a mystery,
but, as Mrs.
Richmond rightly says, "the real and true mysteries of generation
and birth are very different from the vulgar
secretiveness with
which custom surrounds them."
The question as to the precise names to be given to
the more
private bodily parts and functions is sometimes a
little
difficult to solve. Every mother will naturally
follow her own
instincts, and probably her own traditions, in this
matter. I
have elsewhere pointed out (in the study of "The
Evolution of
Modesty") how widespread and instinctive is the
tendency to adopt
constantly new euphemisms in this field. The ancient
and simple
words, which in England a great poet like Chaucer
could still use
rightly and naturally, are so often dropped in the
mud by the
vulgar that there is an instinctive hesitation
nowadays in
applying them to beautiful uses. They are, however,
unquestionably the best, and, in their origin, the
most dignified
and expressive words. Many persons are of opinion
that on this
account they should be rescued from the mud, and
their sacredness
taught to children. A medical friend writes that he
always taught
his son that the vulgar sex names are really
beautiful words of
ancient origin, and that when we understand them
aright we cannot
possibly see in them any motive for low jesting.
They are simple,
serious and solemn words, connoting the most central
facts of
life, and only to ignorant and plebeian vulgarity
can they cause
obscene mirth. An American man of science, who has
privately and
anonymously printed some pamphlets on sex questions,
also takes
this view, and consistently and methodically uses
the ancient
and simple words. I am of opinion that this is the
ideal to be
sought, but that there are obvious difficulties at
present in the
way of attaining it. In any case, however, the
mother should be
in possession of a very precise vocabulary for all
the bodily
parts and acts which it concerns her children to
know.
It is sometimes said that at this early age children
should not be told,
even in a simple and elementary form, the real facts of their origin but
should, instead, hear a fairy-tale having in it perhaps some kind of
symbolic truth. This contention may be absolutely
rejected, without
thereby, in any degree, denying the important place
which fairy-tales hold
in the imagination of young children. Fairy-tales have a real value to the
child; they are a mental food he needs, if he is not to be spiritually
starved; to deprive him of fairy-tales at this age is to do him a wrong
which can never be made up at any subsequent age. But
not only are sex
matters too vital even in childhood to be safely made
matter for a
fairy-tale, but the real facts are themselves as
wonderful as any
fairy-tale, and appeal to the child's imagination with as much force as a
fairy-tale.
Even, however, if there were no other reasons against
telling children
fairy-tales of sex instead of the real facts, there is one reason which
ought to be decisive with every mother who values her
influence over her
child. He will very quickly discover, either by
information from others or
by his own natural intelligence, that the fairy-tale,
that was told him in
reply to a question about a simple matter of fact, was a lie. With that
discovery his mother's influence over him in all such
matters vanishes for
ever, for not only has a child a horror of being duped, but he is
extremely sensitive about any rebuff of this kind, and never repeats what
he has been made to feel was a mistake to be ashamed of.
He will not
trouble his mother with any more questions on this
matter; he will not
confide in her; he will himself learn the art of telling
"fairy-tales"
about sex matters. He had turned to his mother in trust; she had not
responded with equal trust, and she must suffer the
punishment, as
Henriette Fürth puts it, of seeing "the love and trust of her son stolen
from her by the first boy he makes friends with in the street." When, as
sometimes happens (Moll mentions a case), a mother goes on repeating these
silly stories to a girl or boy of seven who is secretly well-informed, she
only degrades herself in her child's eyes. It is this
fatal mistake, so
often made by mothers, which at first leads them to
imagine that their
children are so innocent, and in later years causes them many hours of
bitterness because they realize they do not possess
their children's
trust. In the matter of trust it is for the mother to
take the first step;
the children who do not trust their mothers are, for the most part, merely
remembering the lesson they learned at their mother's
knee.
The number of little books and pamphlets dealing
with the
question of the sexual enlightenment of the young--
whether
intended to be read by the young or offering
guidance to mothers
and teachers in the task of imparting knowledge--has
become very
large indeed during recent years in America,
England, and
especially Germany, where there has been of late an
enormous
production of such literature. The late Ben Elmy,
writing under
the pseudonym of "Ellis Ethelmer," published two booklets, _Baby
Buds_, and _The Human Flower_ (issued by Mrs.
Wolstenholme Elmy,
Buxton House, Congleton), which state the facts in a
simple and
delicate manner, though the author was not a notably
reliable
guide on the scientific aspects of these questions.
A charming
conversation between a mother and child, from a
French source, is
reprinted by Edward Carpenter at the end of his
_Love's Coming of
Age. How We Are Born_, by Mrs. N.J. (apparently a
Russian lady
writing in English), prefaced by J.H. Badley, is
satisfactory.
Mention may also be made of _The Wonder of Life_, by
Mary Tudor
Pole. Margaret Morley's _Song of Life_, an American
book, which I
have not seen, has been highly praised. Most of
these books are
intended for quite young children, and while they
explain more or
less clearly the origin of babies, nearly always
starting with
the facts of plant life, they touch very slightly,
if at all, on
the relations of the sexes.
Mrs. Ennis Richmond's books, largely addressed to
mothers, deal
with these questions in a very sane, direct, and
admirable
manner, and Canon Lyttelton's books, discussing such
questions
generally, are also excellent. Most of the books now
to be
mentioned are intended to be read by boys and girls
who have
reached the age of puberty. They refer more or less
precisely to
sexual relationships, and they usually touch on
masturbation.
_The Story of Life_, written by a very accomplished
woman, the
late Ellice Hopkins, is somewhat vague, and
introduces too many
exalted religious ideas. Arthur Trewby's _Healthy
Boyhood_ is a
little book of wholesome tendency; it deals
specially with
masturbation. _A Talk with Boys About Themselves_
and _A Talk
with Girls About Themselves_, both by Edward Bruce
Kirk (the
latter book written in conjunction with a lady) deal
with general
as well as sexual hygiene. There could be no better