RED NIGHTS
669
They awoke
in
the early afternoon and stayed in bed. Although
the small stove was working it was still the warmest place. Freed from
the necessity of keeping quiet, I walked around the room aimlessly,
getting a drink of water, rubbing the haze off the windows to look
outside. My mother raised her voice and I realized she was talking
to me.
"Take some money from my purse and go down to the Greens'
and get a dozen eggs."
The trip to the Greens's would take an hour each way. Outside
the temperature was five or ten degrees above zero and it was windy.
I didn't want to go. My heart sank because I knew I had to.
Children are in the curious position of having to do what people
tell them, whether they want to or not. A child knows that he must
do what he's told. It makes little difference whether a command
is just or unjust since the child has no confidence in his ability to
distinguish between them. Justice for children is not the same as jus–
tice for adults. In effect all commands are morally neutral to a child.
Yet because almost every child is consistently bullied by older people
he quickly learns that
if
in some higher frame of reference all com–
mands are equally just, they are not equally easy to carry out. Some
fill him with joy, others, so obviously unfair that he must paralyze
himself to keep from recognizing their quality, strike him instantly
deaf, blind and dumb. Faced with an order they sense is unfair
children simply stall. They wait for more information, for some elab–
oration that
will
take away the seeming unfairness. It's a stupid way
of defending one's self, but children are stupid compared to adults,
who know how to get what they want.
"Couldn't we wait until they come up with the wagon?"
"No. The walk
will
do you good. You can't sit around all day,
it's unhealthy."
"Oh Mother, it'll take hours."
Suddenly Guy sat up, his voice trembling with anger. "Look,
this time just go. No arguments
this
time."
I looked at him in amazement. He'd never even raised his voice
to me before. It was against the unwritten rules ... my mother was
the disciplinarian. I could see he was tremendously angry and I had
no idea why. Even my mother was surprised. "Take it easy," she
said to him softly, "he's going."
