To Be a Rare Thing in the World

The oldest sister had always responded to dogs with fear. As far as anyone could tell, she hadn't been nurtured into this fear, but rather came by it naturally. Her younger sisters didn't have this fear at first, delighting in dogs the way babies can, but before long, they began to respond to them in imitation of, or perhaps sympathy for, their older sister, running to their mother whenever a dog came near, even squeezing out some crocodile tears. The older sister, one could tell by the intensity of her behavior, continued to be genuinely terrified well into adolescence, but the younger two were clearly doing what they had learned to do. 

When we are very young, when we are babies, we respond to the world according to our own, unique inner light. We suck, we cry, we startle, we coo. Babies have no idea what is appropriate or inappropriate. Soon, however, we begin to mimic the people we see around us, mirroring their emotional responses, their behaviors, their preferences, and their choices. This is why, as adults, if we want the young children in our lives to behave in certain ways, we must role model that behavior. If we want courteous children, it starts with us being courteous to them. If we want children to be readers, we ourselves must read. This doesn't mean they will automatically and forever do what we wish, but if we are consistent, if we understand that we are playing a long game, the odds go way up that they will adopt the value, if not the exact habit, we intend for them.

James Baldwin wrote, "Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them." This is true for good and for bad. If we keep a tidy home, they are likely to, one day, keep one themselves. By the same token, we may believe that we've hidden our hypocrisies from them, or justified them, but we are mistaken. Our children notice, and mimic, both our vices and our virtues.

It's not just us they imitate. As children become teens they are notorious for imitating their peers, conforming to whatever trending "non-conformity." We see them dress the same, laugh at the same jokes, reject the same "traditional" values. Whereas we once heard our own phrases and tropes in their conversation, for better or worse, we now hear those of their friends. We tell them to "be yourself," to resist the pressure, but they must "try on" the costumes they find in their world, just as they tried on those princess dresses and capes in preschool.

When they looked up to us, and only us, their urge to imitate seemed somewhat in our control (even if we didn't always control ourselves), but now it's the world that is shaping them. Most of us understand that this must happen, but we never lose our memory of that baby, that natural child who came into our lives with its own, complete personality, untainted even by us. As they become more and more a part of the world, we hope that their "real self" is still in there somewhere, even as they seem committed to obliterating it.

The French author André Gide wrote, "If there is one thing each of them claims not to resemble it's . . . himself. Instead he sets up a model, then imitates it; he doesn't even choose the model -- he accepts it ready-made . . . The laws of mimicry -- I call them the laws of fear. People are afraid to find themselves alone, and don't find themselves at all. I hate all this moral agoraphobia . . . What seems different in yourself: that's the one rare thing you possess, the one thing which gives each of us his worth; and that's just what we try to suppress. We imitate."

We've all felt this as we watch the young people we love, as they deny essential things about themselves in order not find themselves alone. We've done it ourselves. Every species learns through imitating others of their species, and we all, throughout our lives, at least from time to time, submit to the laws of mimicry, even when doing so means suppressing exactly that thing that makes us different, that gives us our worth.

It is the yin-yang problem of course. When others are running, we join them, and by doing so, we escape the flood. When others are jumping off the bridge, we think for ourselves, and by doing so, avoid injury or death. The later is the more difficult. Too many of us still jump off those metaphorical bridges.

When we are babies, we have no fear, no shame, no doubts, about that thing that gives us our worth. All too often, sadly, this is what we adults find ourselves trying to suppress. We can't let them climb so high or be so loud. We worry that they move too much, talk too little, cry too often, or show scant interest in this or that developmental stage. We strive, often despite ourselves, to bring them up to standards.

Then, often before we've realized it, we find that we need have only waited: mimicry and imitation are the defaults for neurotypical children. Suddenly, we're urging them to not worry so much about what other people think, to be themselves, to remember what it is that makes them unique, special, different. School doesn't help with its emphasis on standards, on obedience, on toeing the line. The children who thrive in school are those who mimic the approved role models, while every eccentricity becomes a "challenging behavior." 

Now we are faced with the most difficult thing of all: helping our children to not lose that "one rare thing" they possess, the one thing "which gives each of us his worth."

That has always been my greatest concern as a parent. That is my highest value as an educator. No one should have to fear what makes them different. Indeed, it should be celebrated, brought forward and cultivated. It's only by allowing that one rare thing to emerge that we can ever hope to find our unique purpose in life. And this should be the goal of any education worthy of its name.

The "laws of mimicry" will never go away, of course. They allow us to try out alternatives, to experience new perspectives. But imitation ought not ever be an end in itself, the way it too often is in our schools. As educators, as parents, if we want our children to flourish, to live lives of meaning and purpose, then we must, every day, in every moment, stand against fear, and give them our full-throated permission to be a rare thing in the world.

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