Little Non-orphaned Annie

Do children serve any purpose in life besides the obvious propagation of the species?   Obviously, we need children in order to make adults.  But, do these societal leeches serve any purpose before weaning themselves of the bloodstream of the community and becoming productive members of it?  Hawthorne’s story (using the word  "story” loosely) “Little Annie’s Ramble” argues they do.  After a pointless ramble with a kid in tow, Hawthorne concludes with the following reflection:

Sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit, throughout my ramble with little Annie! Say not that it has been a waste of precious moments, an idle matter, a babble of childish talk, and a reverie of childish imaginations, about topics unworthy of a grown man's notice. Has it been merely this? Not so; not so. They are not truly wise who would affirm it. As the pure breath of children revives the life of aged men, so is our moral nature revived by their free and simple thoughts, their native feeling, their airy mirth, for little cause or none, their grief, soon roused and soon allayed. Their influence on us is at least reciprocal with ours on them. When our infancy is almost forgotten, and our boyhood long departed, though it seems but as yesterday; when life settles darkly down upon us, and we doubt whether to call ourselves young any more, then it is good to steal away from the society of bearded men, and even of gentler woman, and spend an hour or two with children. After drinking from those fountains of still fresh existence, we shall return into the crowd, as I do now, to struggle onward and do our part in life, perhaps as fervently as ever, but, for a time, with a kinder and purer heart, and a spirit more lightly wise. All this by thy sweet magic, dear little Annie!

That passage first of all raises an interesting question about whether reading the story of the ramble, not the ramble itself, but the time spent by the Reader, was a waste of time.  At first glance, it was unambiguously a waste of time.  It’s a really pointless story.  But, then if that final paragraph teaches us something, then maybe it isn’t so pointless after all.

Second, is our moral nature revived by children?  If we think of children as complete beings, not really.  Children can be, if you will recall, every bit as mean and cruel and lazy as adults; they can also be every bit as nice and sweet and kind and helpful as adults.  Our moral nature isn’t revived by children but rather, at best, by our romantic idea of children.  (Thanks to Mallory for first pointing out to me the idea of the Romanticizing of Childhood—someday there will be a magnificent doctoral dissertation on this subject, which will surely generate a book which will undoubtedly be reviewed (presumably favorably) in this space.)  We think of them as these sweet innocent little things, we imagine they are always like that.  We imagine that “airy mirth” and presume it is the permanent state of children.  Every parent knows better, but oddly even parents forget the hard times with kids and remember the good times.  When I think back on my own children’s youthful years, I do immediately recall all the amusing and charming and loving moments.  Yet none of my children were perfect angels.

Why do we romanticize children?  I have no doubt that many people do feel reinvigorated after spending an hour with children; grandparents seem to love having their grandkids around.  And don’t get me wrong—I like spending time talking to children too.  They amuse me.  But, I do not emerge from contact with children “with a kinder and purer heart, and a spirit more lightly wise.”  Does anyone really get that?  Does anyone on whom life has settled down darkly truly find a renewed sense of purpose from spending an hour actually wandering around a town with a real, not imaginary, little kid?  Note, the question is not whether an afternoon so spent can be enjoyable—it can—the question is whether such an afternoon can be anywhere near as life-changing as Hawthorne indicates.  On that I am skeptical.

It’s not that children serve no purpose in our lives.  Christ, after all, used them as a rather interesting example of the nature of faith; children are, in fact, ridiculously credulous.  And the experience of being a parent certainly has a deep effect on one’s outlook on life, both good and ill.  But, it seems to me the real advantage of spending time with children is not about what they do for us, but what we can do for them.  And if that that is right, then this fantasy of children is turning children into some sort of commodity in which we evaluate them based on their use value.  I can watch football, read a book, or spend an hour with a kid—which will bring me the greatest temporary release from the trials of life?  Thought about like that, kids are a very poor entertainment good—they are not always entertaining in the way a football game is.  The comparison is illustrative—imagine watching a football game that at the drop of a hat turned into a soccer game.  The horror.  Now you have a picture of spending time with a child—when good, they are very, very good, but when bad, they are naughty.

Oh, and I know this rambling discourse on the “Ramble with Annie” is going to earn me some severe excoriation (I’m looking at you, Aimee), but really: I like kids!  Honest!  Think of this as a corrective to some bizarre infantilization of our idea of our duty toward the next generation.  And, to do penance for the ire I have incurred, I will watch this seven times.