9

p Each learner’s personality is unique. And the development of close relations between the teacher and each student should also be unique in some respects. In each case the teacher uses his methods in a new key, as it were. I did not know this at that time.

p A chance event and my relatives’ wishes made me the teacher of a “family” pupil, my nephew Victor, who arrived in Solenga with my mother.

10

p To this robust and quick-minded lad, who somehow managed to spend two years in each grade, I became both father and teacher, as well as police inspector. I was already aware of a short record of his transgressions: a thing pinched, a thing peddled, occasional gambling, a self-conceited gait, spitting through his teeth, and a generous use of slang.

p “Now listen, Victor,” I said to him, "we will begin a new life. Get rid of all this nonsense. We will get down to study, and go mushroom picking.

p “Me? Pick mushrooms?" My nephew was longing for a bit of adventure. The prospect of a quiet walk in the woods was absolutely out of his line.

p Which was what Victor explained to me.

p “That’s not for me.”

p I did not insist. But as for his studies and conduct in school, I put a rigorous ultimatum: complete obedience, or I would send him home.

p Solenga was very much to Victor’s liking. There were wide open spaces, untouched forests and fresh air. Its freshness was invigorating. There was a river and a raft could fly as quickly as its waters. There were mountains, and soon there would be snow. One could then ski or glide down them on a sled. Finally there was a gun and, they said, game in abundance. No, Victor definitely liked Solenga. And he accepted my terms: rising at seven in the morning, exercises, showers, studies, reading, training in the boxing club that I led, walks, more reading—and the outcome would be a most educated Victor Vasiliev, who upon returning home would dumbfound everyone with his culture, learning, and good manners.

p He would be met by his former pals: "Vic, a game of cards or perhaps of dominos?" But our new young citizen would answer with kindly condescension: "No, lads, these things are no longer for me. I have just finished reading Goethe, in the original of course, that’s grand; come visit me and I will show you some reproductions of Serov, Botticelli, and Vrubel.” Victor listened to my chatter; he was not opposed to becoming an educated person, but some time later, no hurry. But there was a glitter in his eye; the evening was warm and there was still a long time before the cursed morning, when he would have to rise at seven for the sake of this education and culture. In the meantime one could fully agree to anything and everything.

p The situation was altogether different the next morning when I went to wake him. A button flew off as poor Vic 11 struggled into his trousers. He blew his nose, cursed and grunted while stumbling about.

p “Let him sleep,” my mother intervened, breaking the supposed unanimity of our educational effort. "There is still time.”

p “Please tell him to leave me alone,” he pleaded, and then suddenly he saw the towel and pail of water in my hands. "What is this for?" he asked in. a frightened voice. "Are you crazy? What fool would wash in such a cold weather?”

p “Just give it a try! But first you must prepare yourself. So let’s begin; start running, lift your knees higher, watch your hands, try to make your shoulder-blades meet.”

p Vic was only going through the motions, he did not want to do knee-bends. He only wanted to get some more sleep while exercising, and then return home, crawl under his blanket and send everything of this new life to blazes.

p Today, of course, I see myself as a tyrant in these personal pedagogics. In past times family tutors were several social ranks below their charges. And this difference within the “rich-poor” system worked effectively; the tutor revered his pupil, and did everything to avoid insulting his dignity. He was free to omit some lessons, but he could not insult. Should the child say "I do not want to do this,” the tutor would patiently wait. Ultimately he would not, of course, concede to the child, especially in the English or German tradition, nor did he pamper him by allowing him to stay in bed or ease up on him altogether, for it was his task to find a variety of ways to make the child study and work while enjoying the pleasure of preparing to be a real gentleman.

p My charge, on the other hand, was Victor; he was my property, which fate had given me to polish, process and shape. But he was not clay. Nor did he have any previous personal tutoring. Yet I threw at him, obsessed and carried away with my own prestige. And that was my principal pedagogical error, which I did not recognize at the time.

p It was when my relationship with Victor reached a state of complete disarray that I first gave serious thought to the essence of education.

p This is how it happened. Victor had grown so strong in Solenga’s sunny air and on its healthy food (fish, potatoes, 12 cereals) that at times we wrestled as equals. He had engaged in many sports, he was an enthusiastic boxer, sailed rafts down the river in the spring, and joined the boys in winter ski expeditions to the forest and there was no place for weaklings. He was proud of his muscles (“Feel them, they are like a rock, and now stand with both feet on my stomach—I can take it".) and insisted that he could beat anyone. I would explain that strength was needed not to beat other people but in order to be healthy and work well. But he rejected such reasoning. I knew he had already joined forces with some other boys, that a fight had already taken place and that he had come home with bruises.

p He made no progress in German. He continued to confuse his “der”, “die” and “das”, neglected his German exercises, and played noughts-and-crosses during classes, until finally the teacher complained to Faik.

p Faik called Victor into his office.

p “You are disgracing your uncle.” (I was the uncle and I was twenty-one, while Victor was fifteen). "We have to take measures. We will call you before the Teachers’ Council, your uncle will be ashamed.”

p Upon learning this at home, the “uncle” in question flew into a rage. All rules were forgotten, we quarrelled "as equals”, and finding himself in his own element again Victor announced:

p “I will stop studying altogether. What do you say to that?”

p That was a move. Much later I learned to anticipate such moves in my practice with other children and to check them in the very first conversation; sometimes even turning to such a simple ultimatum as: "I would say nothing. I have no need for you whatsoever, and you may do just as you wish.”

p But at that time I did not yet know this psychological variant of "softening the situation”, and accordingly lost my temper:

p “You will study! Here is your text and you will learn the lesson.”

p “I will not!" Victor replied decisively, following me move for move.

p “Read!" I commanded, placing the textbook in front of him while grasping his shoulder with the other hand.

p “Don’t start anything,” answered Victor, ready to challenge, me.

p “What do you mean? Read at once or you will be sorry.”

p “Just try!”

p Victor greatly preferred a fight to the “der”, “die” and “das” of a German lesson and continued in the same vein. 13 That was the point at which I should have stopped, left him for a while, and displayed hurt feelings: "Well, go before the Teachers’ Council then, and stand there like a fool, while Faik will say: ’Look at your uncle.’ Next you will be called before the Students’ Committee and there Olya Krutova will look at you with revulsion. Don’t study if you prefer, throw away your textbook. Should I do it for you?" But all this was still unfamiliar to me. I became prey to strong impulses, threw myself at Victor, and pushed his head into the German text. He broke loose, grasped a kitchen knife—and then I knocked him off his feet.

p It was a disgusting scene. My downfall was horrible. I stood confused, while Victor seized his clothes and shouting "I hate you, you beasts!"—ran out of the house.

p It had not even occurred to me to compare his state of mind with my own feelings as a child when I would receive a humiliating thrashing from my mother. She was merciless with me, even though I generally studied well and behaved decently. It is true that while my teachers were pleased with me they stressed that my conduct could be better. And recommended to my mother that she "take proper measures”. And she did. She made use of a pair of slippers with smooth worn soles. Mother performed this rite professionally: she held my head between her knees (I was about eight years old at the time), and I twisted and turned and shouted, crying not so much from pain as from humiliation. On one occasion during winter I ran out into the street half dressed wanting to catch a cold and die.

p The use of physical force operates as a boomerang. It not only humiliates but also produces an accumulation of negative feelings that call for revenge. Even when a person is not aware that he wants revenge that destructive feeling is still stored somewhere in subconscious corners of his personality.

p But in the incident with Victor I did not remember my own childhood. Instead I continually stressed something quite different: "By the time I was your age I had already completed ten grades, read so many books, and was proficient in so many types of sports.” It was only many years later that I understood that such reminders represented some of the worst examples of moral upbringing.

p At the time I felt very different concerns. Naturally I was frightened; where was he? My mother returned from the store.

14

p “Nothing will happen to him. He will come back. A sound well-earned thrashing has never harmed anyone.”

p We turned off the light in the room and sat down to wait.

p Some time after eleven the door slammed. He had returned. For a long time he fussed in the kitchen. Next morning I heard my mother reprimanding him:

p “How could you, you ate almost a full three litre jar of jam.”

p “But I like raspberries”, Victor replied, as if nothing had happened.

p “Well, never mind the raspberries, sit down and study your German lesson.”

p As I left for school Victor was drilling his German exercises. In general our relations with Victor returned to normal. There was yet another conflict that year but this time not with me.

p It happened at Easter time, which that year coincided with the May holidays. I was sitting in my small room working, when there was a knock on the door. There stood a policeman and military officer, and behind them was the School Director. They had brought Victor home drunk as a fiddler. Somehow he was still able to move his feet, but the moment he saw me his eyes closed completely.

p “Take your lad,” said the officer, "he’s been kicking up a real row.”

p The Director approached me, highly excited, and stuttered as he pointed to the blood on his hand.

p “You m-m-may make a complaint about me, but I struck him.” At first I remained silent. Then I sought to calm Parfenov; I was not planning to make any complaint. They told me what had happened. When Victor began to cause trouble near the recreation centre, someone sent for the Director who was at home celebrating the holiday with his guests. That was when the unexpected occurred.

p “Go straight home,” said the Director.

p “I’d love to see all of you in your graves,” Victor replied to the general merriment of those who had gathered.

p “Vic, that’s the Director!" one of the boys warned.

p “The Director too... I am the Director here!" This is the kind of nonsense my nephew began to shout until Parfenov could stand it no longer and tried to pull him away: "Go home immediately...”

p “Hands off!" shouted Victor. "No one has the right to use force!”

p Victor lay on his bed and I did not touch him. On the next 15 day I did not speak to him, and by evening he came to plead with me:

p “I will do anything you say but do not send me away.”

p It was spring and I was in an excellent mood. I no longer had any quarrels with Victor although on several occasions there were reasons to have one.

p Olya Krutova, with whom he was in love, was one of my pupils. Incidentally, to have an attractive and intelligent girl in one’s class is a great joy to any teacher. In addition, Olya was a creative child. She was so sincere and spontaneous, her eyes were so pure, and at the same time she was so quick, energetic and impulsive that it was impossible not to fall in love with her. And I was glad to see that this had happened to Victor. This is why I told him:

p “Olya is perfection itself. Do you understand what perfection is?”

p In going to meet her one spring evening Victor put on my raincoat. When he was returning home with Olya, a stream had washed away the road. Wearing light shoes Olya expressed real fear as she stepped awkwardly from one side to another. And that was perhaps why my nephew generously threw my raincoat off his shoulders (bravo, how can one fail to applaud) and onto the stream and the feet of his beloved passed over my humble coat.

p Victor came home radiant. "I fell”, he explained, "it is so damn slippery...”

p The next day this episode with the raincoat had become known to the children at school, to the teachers and to myself. Unexpectedly I praised Victor:

p “You know, that was perfect. I would probably never have thought of doing such a thing.”

p The thermometer reading of Victor’s self-esteem rose as if it had been dipped in boiling water. And a few moments later he was drilling his irregular verbs without any reminder.

p Children like contest and competition not because they are allegedly guided by inherent destructive drive, but because this is a natural stage of their growth. If a kitten does not tussle with another kitten, jump on it, touch it with its paw, and brush against it to indicate that it wishes to compete with it, then it is not healthy or normal. The same thing is precisely true of children—their natural state consists of constant challenges to themselves, and of tests of their physical capabilities. 16 This great principle contains the secret of child development and maturation.

p Because children are part of nature their upbringing should conform to nature as much as possible.

p Somehow we always view a fight as an infraction of moral norms. And if it also leads to a bloodied nose we condemn it in even stronger terms as delinquency. But let us think retrospectively: if a competitive behaviour among children strengthens their spirit, their will and their solidarity—is this not a moral development of the personality?

To develop a child’s will, or more precisely freedom of will is a vital activity. Above all I imagine this as a freedom to grow physically, an absence of fetters, and a freedom to express one’s self. In general, this has many aspects, one of which is game.