NOBODY likes a chronically sulky child. Even his own parents are apt to lose patience with him. In common with outsiders, though in less degree, they regard his sulkiness as indicative of an unpleasant disposition, calling for stern disciplinary measures. Seldom do they see it for what it really is—the result of conditions for which the child is not to blame, and a danger-signal giving warning that unless a successful effort is made to ascertain and correct the sulk-producing conditions, the child will enter adult life under a tremendous handicap.

As I write, there comes before my mind's eye the weary face and form of an old acquaintance, with whose life history I am familiar. This man, though not yet in his forties, and with health unbroken by any serious disease, is nevertheless one of the unemployable. He is willing enough to work, he affirms, and in his time has had many positions. But he has been able to hold none of these. There has always developed friction between him and his employer or between him and fellow-employees. For a few days, perhaps a few weeks, after gaining a new position, things go smoothly with him. He is confident, even enthusiastic. Then, for no apparent reasons, he acquires a "grouch." He conceives the idea that his "job" is not sufficiently remunerative, or that he is not being treated with due respect. Sometimes he gives vent to his feelings in words that promptly effect his dismissal. More often, giving no explanation, he sullenly stops work of his own accord.

Yet he began life with seemingly excellent prospects. His parents were well to do and could give him every educational advantage. And in early childhood he was both a bright boy and a well-behaved boy. A little later, when he began to go to school, there was a noticeable change in his disposition. His parents learned that he did not associate with other boys as readily as might be desired. They noticed that he developed a tendency to keep much by himself, to be uncommunicative, to smile seldom—in fine, to sulk. But, though they noticed this, they fancied it was only a passing phase which he would in time outgrow. They failed to take his sulkiness seriously—failed, that is to say, to recognise in it a sign that something was amiss which should be seriously investigated. To-day, perhaps wholly because no investigation was made and no corrective treatment attempted, this unfortunate man is finding life a heavy burden.

With all the emphasis at my command I would say, When a child frequently sulks, it is always a sure indication of mental or nervous stress. If parents have a child who is sulky, they should neither ignore the sulkiness nor accuse him of wilful naughtiness and try to improve him by scoldings and punishments. They should recognise, in his habit of sulking, evidence of one of two things: either that they are not bringing him up as they should, or that he is suffering from some unsuspected physical disability, of which his sullen, morose, peevish disposition is symptomatic. It may be that this disability is an irremediable one, such as organic weakness of the brain. But the chances are that it is caused by functional disturbances easily discovered and easily cured. The parent is neglecting his full duty to his child if he fail to inquire into the child's physical condition.

One of the commonest causes of sulkiness is nothing more or less than indigestion. Everybody knows that if a baby's food disagrees with him the baby is pretty sure to be fretful and irritable. But parents too often forget that, in the case of older children, mental and moral eccentricities may be traced to the same cause. When food is not properly digested, there is an impoverishing and poisoning of the blood. This means that the brain is poorly nourished, and a poorly nourished brain means a general weakening of the power to think and to will. It means, too, a heightening of nervous irritability, coupled with a tendency to take a gloomy view of life. Under these circumstances, it is not at all surprising to find sulkiness becoming characteristic of a child of any age, as in a typical case reported by Doctor T. A. Williams, of Washington, a specialist in the treatment of the nervous diseases of children.

Doctor Williams' patient was a ten-year-old girl, the daughter of a clergyman. She had been lovingly reared, and until the age of nine had been easy to manage, vivacious, and happy. Then there came a marked change in her behaviour. She became easily irritated, had frequent crying spells, and frequent fits of sulkiness. Besides this, she had difficulty in studying. Thinking that she had been overworking, her parents took her out of school, although her mother noticed that she was less inclined to sulk when kept busy.

What Doctor Williams found, after a long and careful examination of the girl and questioning of her parents, was unmistakable evidence of nerve deficiency, due chiefly to faulty diet, and aggravated by "parental interference, well meant, but entirely injudicious." She had been eating oatmeal and meat to excess, had been taking her principal meal at night, and had gone to bed soon after it. Doctor Williams ordered that her allowance of meat and oatmeal be cut down, that she eat her principal meal at noon, and that she stay up for at least an hour after her evening meal. Further, he gave these directions:

"On waking in the morning, the child must make a practice of getting up at once, instead of ruminating in bed. Parents must avoid criticising her about trifles, and her behaviour must be left to take care of itself at present. Her affections should be indulged and reciprocated. She must be given plenty to do and sent back to school in a few days."

Under this treatment the girl's disposition began immediately to improve. Within two weeks her mother reported to Doctor Williams that she was as "happy and joyous" as she had formerly been. No longer was her stomach being loaded with food it could not digest; and with the removal of this source of toxic irritation, together with the suggested changes in her parents' handling of her, she had become a different child.

On the other hand, underfeeding may be, and often is, a cause of sulkiness, owing to the inadequate nourishment the underfed child's brain receives and the general weakness of his system. Sulkiness, again, may be associated with an insufficiency of physical exercise, or with failure to make sure that the child's living and sleeping quarters are properly ventilated. Fresh air is as essential as digestible food to the maintenance of nervous balance. When, as sometimes happens, children are obliged to spend their school hours in dusty, ill-ventilated classrooms, when they return to homes with few windows, and these seldom open, and when they sleep in a tainted, vitiated atmosphere, it is indeed hard for them to see life in bright colours. Besides which, to prevent or cure sulkiness in a child, it is not enough to keep school and home well ventilated, and let the child play outdoors as much as possible. It is necessary also to see to it that the child is so conditioned that he will have no difficulty in adequately breathing the fresh outdoor air.

To a physician in a Western city there was brought a boy, nine years old, with a face so flat, expressionless, and frog-like, that persons who knew him thought he was feeble-minded. His school teacher reported that his mind seemed a blank and that he was also hard of hearing. His parents complained that he was selfish and sullen. The boy seemed doomed to a life of misery.

But, making a physical examination of him, the doctor found reason to think otherwise. He discovered no real brain defect. In the cavity back of the boy's nose he found an abnormal growth of adenoid-tissue that of itself might account for the boy's stupidity and sulky disposition, as well as for his deafness. The diseased tissue acted as an irritant and a drag on his nervous energy; and, in addition, by interfering with the intake of oxygen it lowered the nutrition of the brain.

The adenoid growth was removed. Gradually the appearance of the unfortunate boy's face changed for the better. His hearing improved. He began to take an interest in school work, and studied to real advantage. Consideration for others took the place of his habitual selfishness, and he sulked no more.

Adenoids, dullness, deafness, and sullenness often are intimately associated. The parents of a sulky child will therefore do well to ascertain whether adenoid trouble is present. Its presence is usually plainly indicated by the flat, insipid appearance of the victim's face and by his habit of breathing through his mouth, particularly when asleep. If there is any reason to suspect adenoids, parents should take their children to a competent physician without delay.

Further, and on general principles, they should have their children's teeth thoroughly examined by a good dentist. A child whose teeth are decayed is a child suffering both from nerve irritation and from some degree of poisoning, due to his swallowing food that has become infected by its contact with the germs of dental caries. Such a child has abundant reason to feel uncomfortable, pessimistic, and sullen. So has a child whose teeth, if not decayed, are crowded together.

Yet another common, and often unsuspected, physical cause of sulkiness in children is eye-strain. Most of us are under the impression that when a person is afflicted with eye-strain he is certain to have painful or, at least, unpleasant sensations in his eyes. This is by no means always the case. During childhood and youth there may be no telltale eye symptoms at all. But defective eyesight may give rise to various nervous conditions; sulkiness is one manifestation.

An eight-year-old girl, previously in good health, and with no more nervousness than is displayed by the average child, began to show traits that worried her parents. She became difficult to control, querulous, and sullen to an extent that bordered on melancholia. In addition, she complained of indigestion and headache, symptoms which caused her parents to take her to a physician for treatment. His medicines and the course of diet he prescribed did her no good, and another physician was consulted. Then began for this unfortunate little girl a weary round of examinations by doctor after doctor. Every means of curing her headaches and indigestion seemed unavailing, and her nervousness and sullenness increased apace. Finally, one physician, in spite of the fact that the girl's eyesight seemed normal, suggested that she be examined by an eye specialist. Then, for the first time, it was discovered that she had a serious ocular defect. According to Doctor Percy R. Wood, who reported the case for the benefit of the medical profession in general, within six months after she first put on spectacles the girl was entirely free from digestive disturbances, her head had ceased to ache, and her melancholy moroseness had given way to normal good nature.

Occasionally sulkiness results from some special form of nervous disease. It may be an initial symptom of that strange malady of childhood, chorea. A child affected with chorea is restless, uneasy, and weak in muscular control. Muscles of the face twitch, the child has difficulty in using his hands, and, in later stages of the disease, the arms and legs make random, involuntary movements. In addition, just before or about the time the muscular weakness begins, there are sometimes signs of mental disturbance, described as follows by an authority on nervous diseases:

"These symptoms consist of a slight loss of memory and inability of the patients to apply themselves to their studies as well and continuously as formerly. Children who were previously of an obedient and mild disposition become irritable, obstinate, and perverse. They become insubordinate, lose their love of play, and are not as affectionate as was their wont. These phenomena are naturally looked upon as indubitable evidences of wilfulness, and are punished accordingly, thus frequently precipitating and aggravating the course of the disease."

Happily, sulkiness, as an early symptom of chorea, or of other grave nervous and mental disorders, is of comparatively infrequent occurrence. The things the parents of a sulky child need more particularly to inquire into are the amount and character of the food the child eats, the state of his digestion, his habits of exercise, the ventilation of the rooms in which he spends most of his time, the condition of his nose, mouth, and teeth, and his ability to see and hear distinctly. But it must be admitted that any or all of these common physical causes of sulkiness may be present, and the afflicted child nevertheless contrive to get along without sulking. And, on the opposite, when a child thus afflicted does sulk, the correction of the physical trouble is not always followed by a cessation of the sulkiness. For, precisely as in the case of the child who remains mentally backward after the correction of bodily defects responsible for his backwardness, it may be that a habit of sulking has become established. What is much worse, it may also be that the sulky child has a home environment that makes sulking almost inevitable.

Here we come to the central fact in the whole problem of sulkiness, for, nine cases out of ten, it is the home environment—the training a child receives, the parents' attitude towards him—that is primarily responsible for his sulking. The healthiest child in the world will sulk if his parents surround him with a sulk-breeding environment. He will sulk because it is child nature to react appropriately to the suggestions received from the environment. Every psychologist will bear out this statement. It also finds confirmation in the everyday experiences of all observant persons who have an opportunity to study children. It is all very well to exhort a child to be cheerful, to speak of "developing his will-power." But if the child's home surroundings are such as to fill his mind with depressing, disturbing ideas, he is bound to be influenced in his behaviour by these ideas. Parents are prone to forget this. They blame the sulky child when, in all justice, they ought to blame themselves.

Recently a veteran New England school teacher, talking with me on this question of sulkiness, said:

"There are times when I am tempted to believe that the home influence is everything, and that conditions of physical ill health have virtually nothing to do with sulkiness. Of course, I know that in reality physical conditions have to be taken into account, but my experiences with sulky children have been such that now, whenever I find a sulky child, I ask myself the question, 'What is wrong in that child's home?' If I have opportunity to investigate, I invariably find that something is wrong.

"My pupils are girls, eight and nine years old. Among them last year was one bright, attractive-looking little girl, to whom I felt drawn when she first appeared in the class. But I soon discovered that she was a difficult child. She neglected her school work, did in a careless, indifferent manner whatever she was obliged to do, and sulked at slight provocation. She had been examined by the school physician, who gave her a clean bill of health. My suspicion deepened that the child was the victim of an unfavourable home influence, and one day I suggested this to the principal of the school.

"'I am sure you are wrong,' said he. 'I happen to know the family. They are first-rate people, in good circumstances.'

"A little later, after I had again spoken to him of the girl's misconduct and sullenness, he told me:

"'You were right and I was wrong. Outwardly, everything seemed well with that family. But I now find that the parents have for some time been on the verge of seeking a divorce. They are bitter against each other and dispute over the child, giving her contrary orders. The mother will tell her to do something, the father will tell her not to do it. No wonder she is sullen and hard to deal with. She is to be taken from them and put in a good home.'

"This is an extreme instance, I have no doubt. But it is in line with what I am observing all the time. Therefore, I insist that sulkiness in children is, as a rule, a sure sign of unwise training in the home."

Many parents, though wholly unappreciative of the fact, inspire sulkiness in their children by setting them an example of sulkiness. A striking instance has lately come under my personal observation, in the experience of a mother who is continually being annoyed by the whining, sulky ways of her four-year-old daughter. She scolds the girl, she spanks her, but all to no good. Not once does it seem to occur to the mother that possibly her own habit of sulking when things do not go right may be blamed for the sulkiness of her child. She is precisely the kind of woman to whom the learned Professor Paul Dubois addresses these scathing words:

"You, madam, who complain of the irritability of your little girl, could you not suppress your own?... Remember the proverb, 'The fruit does not fall far from the tree.'"

This factor of example in the causing of sulkiness is something that parents frequently ignore. In a general way they realise that their children are likely to imitate them, but they do not appreciate the subtle force which imitation exercises in forming the mental states and moral attitudes of the young. Time and again we see parents talking and acting as though children had no eyes or ears or memories; as though, indeed, they were beings quite insensitive to the sights and sounds of their surroundings.

Yet normal children are the most sensitive and the most "suggestible" of beings. Let father snarl and mother sulk, and little Johnny or Mary may be pretty confidently counted on to snarl and sulk likewise—unless by a happy chance Johnny and Mary have playmates or relatives whose lives radiate sufficiently strong suggestions of cheerfulness to offset the parents' unhappy influence. Instruction is much, but example is more. Or, as wise Pastor Witte puts it, "Instruction begins, example accomplishes."

But, if the parental example is good, if the child's physical condition is excellent, and if he nevertheless is a sulker—what then? Again, it must be insisted that the trouble rests with some fault in his upbringing, some error in the parental policy. If there is more than one child in the family, it may be that the sulkiness is a symptom of jealousy. The parents should ask themselves in all seriousness whether they have given this particular child any reason to sulk, by showing greater favour, or seeming to show greater favour, to his brothers and sisters. Or, possibly, the sulkiness is indicative, not of jealousy, but of a feeling of inferiority due to the child's fear that he is not quite so bright as other children. In that case the parents may be sure that in some way, however unwittingly, they have failed to bring into their child's life enough happiness and joy to prevent the feeling of inferiority from becoming dominant in his mind. Perhaps, for the matter of that, they have themselves been instrumental in forcing on the child recognition of his inferior mental status.

There are parents whose behaviour when dealing with a mentally retarded child is—often quite unconsciously—that of a censorious judge upbraiding a criminal. They nag, they harass, they urge the child to greater effort, never questioning that he can of his own accord improve his ability to learn. Perhaps he is mentally deficient, perhaps he is suffering from some remediable physical cause of retardation, perhaps the method by which he is being taught is not suited to his type of mind. To all these possibilities the parents do not give a moment's thought. The child is stupid; it must be his fault; he should be forced to mend his ways. So they pester the little unfortunate. And when to retardation he gradually adds sullenness, they are more incensed than before. But, in point of cold fact, whose is the fault? Not the child's, surely. Perpetual nagging is a first-class means of producing sulkiness in any child, whether he be mentally retarded, unusually bright, or just a plain "average" child.

Another almost equally efficacious means is untruthfulness on the part of parents in their relations with the child. There are some parents who think it not at all amiss to deceive their children. They make promises to them which they do not intend to keep. They threaten them with punishments that never materialise. They make untruthful replies to questions the children put to them. The children are not imbeciles. They note these broken promises, these empty threats, these untruthful replies. They lose faith in their parents, and sometimes it happens that their loss of faith manifests itself in a gloomy brooding, a sullen resentment against the parents. The parents, on their side, regard the sulky child as maliciously naughty and evil-minded. Not an inkling do they have of their own share in the making of the condition of which they complain. They blame only the child.

Even the practice, common among parents, of telling their children "white lies" with regard to delicate matters is at times productive of sulkiness as a symptom of nervousness due to inner mental conflict. Almost every child is at an early age inquisitive about his origin and the manner of his coming into the world. If his questions on these subjects are evaded or answered in a fantastic way, the child's curiosity is likely to be increased rather than satisfied. In exceptional cases there may result an obsessional pondering of the evaded topic, intensified when the child discovers that his parents have deceived him. Extreme nervousness, accompanied with sullenness, is then a likely result. But, apart altogether from the possibility that nervousness and sulkiness may be caused by parental deception of this sort, the danger of losing control over their children is itself serious enough to warn parents to be straightforward in answering their children's queries regarding sex subjects.

Havelock Ellis, the foremost authority on the psychology of sex, does not exaggerate when he assures us:

"Even 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 forever, for not only has a child a horror of being duped, but he is extremely sensitive about a 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.'"[5]

Joy is a natural consequence of a child's affection for, and faith in, his parents. Resentfulness, bitterness, sullenness, are natural consequences of loss of affection and faith. The parents of a sullen child must always ask themselves if, through deception of any sort, they have forfeited the child's esteem for them. They must further ask themselves if, by intentional or unintentional unkindness of a persistent sort, they have embittered the child. They must also put to themselves the question: "Have I in some way erred so as to make my child sullen by the force of a bad example?" And, lastly, they must not forget to probe, through the aid of a skilled physician, for possible physical causes of mental and nervous stress.

If they do not adopt this course, if they allow the child to go on sulking, or if they increase his sulkiness by mishandling him, let me again warn them that they may be hopelessly limiting his chances for success and happiness in manhood. Character distortions of some sort are certain to result; even his bodily health itself may be affected. For, just as sulkiness often is a product of some physical disorder, so may it, in turn, become a cause of physical disorder. To sulk is essentially to be in a disturbed emotional state, and recent scientific research has established that such states, particularly if intense or long continued, have a highly unfavourable influence on the bodily organism. This has been most clearly shown in the case of anger and worry, the former of which always is, while the latter often is, basic in sulkiness.

All parents, indeed, ought to familiarise themselves with the physiology of anger and worry. Once really appreciative of the possible bodily effects of these emotional states, they would, on the one hand, be more careful to train their children early in emotional control, and, on the other, would be more chary about subjecting them to conditions involving emotional stress. Anger—and, equally, worry—is liable, for one thing, to derange profoundly the workings of the digestive organs. How profoundly it may derange them has recently been demonstrated conclusively by some remarkable scientific observations on animals and human beings.

A prime requisite to good digestion is a free flow of saliva and gastric juice when food is chewed. There must literally be a preparatory automatic "watering" of the mouth and stomach. Ordinarily, this begins as soon as food is taken into the mouth—if one is hungry, it begins at the mere sight of food. But it has been proved that, no matter how appetising the food, the digestive flow stops almost altogether under the influence of anger.

This was first demonstrated by a Russian physiologist, Pawlow, experimenting with dogs so conditioned that he could see into their throats and stomachs. When a dog was irritated—as by showing it a cat which it was prevented from attacking—the flow of saliva and gastric juice instantly stopped, and did not begin again for some time after the dog had been calmed. Even a slight degree of irritability in the animal was sufficient to stop gastric secretion.

The same result has been repeatedly recorded by other scientists experimenting with cats, rabbits, guinea pigs, children, and full-grown men and women. One observer, a medical man named Hornborg, had as a patient a small boy in whom disease had caused an external opening large enough to allow a view of the workings of the stomach. Doctor Hornborg found that if he gave this boy food, after first angering him, his eating of the food was not accompanied by a flow of the gastric juice, which ordinarily flowed promptly and freely.

And, besides stopping the secretory processes of the stomach, anger stops its muscular movements as well, and also the movements of almost all the alimentary tract. Hence, food eaten during or soon after an outburst of anger or petulance is not properly taken up by the alimentary canal for final digestion, absorption, and elimination. Which means, it need scarcely be pointed out, that every part of the body suffers in some degree through diminished nutrition. And certain specific discomforts are likely to be experienced—sour stomach, gastric pains, headache, and so forth.

Equally striking is the effect of anger on the liver. One most important function of the liver is to store glycogen, or "animal starch," which is a source of energy when liberated from the liver into the blood in the form of sugar. Under normal conditions, an exceedingly small amount of sugar—all the body requires—is liberated. The liberation of a greater amount is a waste; and, if long continued, its excessive liberation has a fatally weakening effect on the system, constituting the serious disease known as diabetes.

Now, as has lately been proved by an American investigator, Doctor W. B. Cannon, of Harvard University, anger, or strong emotional excitement of any sort, immediately causes the liver to liberate sugar in excess. Doctor Cannon found this to be true in the case of both animals and human beings. Almost always a man examined after he had been angry or excited showed clear indications in the liquids of his body of glycosuria, or excessive sugar. Here is Doctor Cannon's summary of one of his most interesting observations:

"C. H. Fiske and I examined twenty-five members of the Harvard University football squad immediately after the final and most exciting contest of 1913, and found sugar in twelve cases. Five of these positive cases were among substitutes not called upon to enter the game. The only excited spectator of the Harvard victory who was examined also had a marked glycosuria, which on the following day had disappeared."[6]

Further than this, on testing the blood of excited and angry animals and people, Doctor Cannon discovered that it held in excess another substance which, like sugar, is usually present in the circulation in exceedingly minute quantities.

This substance, called adrenin, has some extraordinary properties. It is secreted by two small glands back of the kidneys. If artificially extracted and injected into the blood of a human being in any appreciable amount, it instantly has the effect of creating a sharp rise in blood pressure, the blood vessels being constricted and the heart beat appreciably increased. It also alters the distribution of the blood, driving it from the abdomen to the head and limbs. And for the time being it enormously increases muscular power and abolishes all feeling of fatigue.

Exactly similar effects, scientific research has proved, are brought about by the quantity of adrenin set free in the blood during periods of anger or other emotional stress. That is to say, not only does anger temporarily stop stomach action and abnormally stimulate the sugar-releasing function of the liver: it also imposes an unusual strain on the heart and the blood vessels.

Likewise with worry. It affects the heart, blood vessels, liver, and digestive organs as anger does. Even in the lower animals, and when occurring in comparatively slight degree, worry puts a stop to stomach movements and digestive secretions. Thus, in discussing with me the physiology of worry, Doctor Cannon stated:

"To give a significant illustration of how worry affects animals, as well as people, I might mention the case of a young male cat, the movements of whose stomach I studied by the aid of the RÖntgen rays.

"For observation purposes, it was necessary to attach the cat to a holder. He made no resistance when this was done, but kept up a slight twitching of his tail from side to side, indicating that he was at least somewhat anxious as to what was going to happen to him.

"For more than an hour I watched his stomach by means of the rays, and during that time there was not the slightest beginning of peristaltic activity, the waves of muscular contraction being entirely absent.

"In another instance, that of a female cat with kittens, something happened to create an anxious mood while the cat was attached to the holder. Until that moment the cat had been contented, and the work of digestion was proceeding normally. But now the movements of the stomach entirely ceased, and the gastric wall became relaxed. Only after the cat had been petted and began to purr did the stomach movements start again.

"I have observed the same thing in dogs and guinea pigs. A very slight emotional disturbance is enough to affect their digestion unfavourably."

Affecting specifically the brain, heart, arteries, stomach, intestines, liver, and glands of internal secretion, worry also has a general adverse effect on the nervous system.

This adverse effect is unmistakably expressed by the haggard, drawn, gaunt aspect of the man who habitually worries, and by his persistent sensations of fatigue. What has happened is that his nerve cells are being deprived of the nutrition they need in order to energise him properly. When, on the contrary, the worrier succeeds in changing his mental state—when he contrives to look at things confidently and contentedly—then, in the words of Professor George Van Ness Dearborn, there is a resultant and most beneficial increase in "the operative enthusiasm of the nervous system and of its affectors, the muscles and the glands."

The moral to parents is obvious. Keep children as joyous and happy as possible. By instruction and example, start them early in the path of emotional control. Protect them from needless causes of fear, worry, and anger. And make special efforts to prevent the development or continuance of that curious and most injurious mental attitude—the attitude of sulkiness—grounded in anger and frequently grounded also in sentiments of worry, envy, hatred, and even despair.