Unequal Childhoods - Annette Lareau [91]
Children usually do what adults ask of them. We did not observe whining or protests, even when adults assign time-consuming tasks, such as the hour-long process of hair-braiding, which Lori is told to do for the four-year-old daughter of Aunt Dara’s friend Charmaine:
Someone tells Lori, “Go do [Tyneshia’s] hair for camp.” Without saying anything, Lori gets up and goes inside and takes the little girl with her. They head for the couch near the television; Lori sits on the couch and the girl sits on the floor. [Tyneshia] sits quietly for about an hour, with her head tilted, while Lori carefully does a multitude of braids.
Lori’s silent obedience is typical. Generally, children perform requests without comment. For example, at dinner one night, after Harold complains he doesn’t like spinach, his mother directs him to finish it anyway:
Mom yells (loudly) at him to eat: “EAT! FINISH THE SPINACH!” (No response. Harold is at the table, dawdling.) Guion and Runako and Alexis finish eating and leave. I finish with Harold; he eats his spinach. He leaves all his yams.
Perhaps because of the expectation that children will do as directed, adults do not routinely offer explanations for directives; periodically, though, the rationale is interwoven with the order itself:
Jane and Runako walk slightly in front of me. I’m in between the two, but Runako keeps curving in front of me. Jane scolds him: “Runako! Walk straight! Don’t get in her way!” He laughs and moves over, then says something about how his friends always get on him for walking crooked. Shortly, he moves in front of me again. This time, Jane snaps: “Runako! Cut that out!” He looks startled (his eyebrows shoot up, and he has a guilty-looking smile).
Runako is not consciously disobeying his aunt—he just lets his attention wander. Sometimes, contravening an adult’s directive is a more deliberate decision. Harold speaks up when he feels strongly about something. He voices his objections economically but clearly. Discussions that in the Williamses’ home might unfold over several minutes or more are raised and resolved very quickly, as the following example shows. Here, Harold, his father, and I are shopping for items Harold needs for Bible camp.
Harold picks up a plain blue [beach towel] in the bottom rack. He holds it up. His dad says, “You want a plain one?” Harold nods. His dad takes the towel and puts it in the basket. His dad then wanders down an aisle . . . He then picks up a peach [towel] set with an off-white, satin appliquéd duck on it and looks at it. He says, “These come [in a set] but they don’t have a big towel.” (Mr. McAllister seems to think this is a better buy.)
Harold firmly rejects the peach towel set:
Harold takes a step down the aisle and looks at the [towel set] and then firmly shakes his head. “Them girl colors,” he says. His dad picks the set up and raises it, suggesting that Harold is wrong and should get it. He looks at it and looks at Harold. His dad seems (nonverbally) to be protesting mildly but is smiling, too. Harold does not seem to think it is funny. He shakes his head again and says decisively, “Girl colors.” His dad smiles . . . [but] seems unsure of what to do next. He walks around and looks at what is in the cart and picks up the blue towel again. [He] unfolds the blue towel, and I offer to help him by extending my arm; we unfold it completely. It is about five feet long. Harold shakes his head; he says, “It big.”
Throughout the entire exchange, Harold utters less than ten words. His father says somewhat more,