Garrett anticipates unusual soccer events such as a trip to another state for a tournament, with enthusiasm. On the Wednesday night before the weekend trip, when he is in bed and under the covers and his mother is wishing him good night, Garrett says excitedly: “Two more days ‘til we go!” Similarly, Garrett is excited when he gets his new Intercounty soccer uniform emblazoned with the word “SELECT.” He begins investigating the new clothes as soon as he and his father get in the car at the end of practice.
Don and Garrett put on their seat belts. Garrett immediately opened the bag and looked at the stuff. He took a green nylon jacket that said SELECT out of the bag. Garrett said, “I think I’m going to wear this.” Don said, “That’s what it’s for.” Garrett seemed excited by the jacket. He then peered into the bag (a brown paper bag) and said there are two shirts, pants (which were actually bright green shorts) and two pairs of socks. Garrett listed aloud everything in the bag. He sounded excited.
Once home, he immediately shows the uniform to his mother and siblings. Such displays of pleasure and enthusiasm for his activities are genuine, but they are also selective. For example, although Garrett is put on the all-star team in baseball, he reports that “I wasn’t [as] excited [as] I was when I found out I made Intercounty and the Forest traveling team.” But, he also explains, “baseball’s like my fourth sport,” ranking behind his two soccer teams and basketball. The number of major events in Garrett’s life seems to dull their individual importance. For example, the spring concert at school, in which he plays saxophone in a trio, generates little interest for Garrett. In the working-class families we observed, comparable school events were the subject of extensive discussion and anticipation. Similarly, events that working-class and poor children find exciting—like having pizza, a bakery cake, or a party with extended family relatives—do not appear to matter to Garrett.
Some days, Garrett is exhausted and moody:
Garrett was in a bad mood . . . He got dropped off by Brian’s dad at 8:20 P.M. He went inside. He didn’t say hello to anyone. He didn’t say anything to me when I commented on how he got his hair chopped off. He seemed quiet, remote. He basically said nothing the whole night. Don came home at 9:30 P.M. Don came in and said [to the baby-sitter], “Hi Frankie. It’s good to see you.” Frankie stood up and he and Don shook hands. Don then said, “Hi, Garrett.” Garrett did not answer. Don said, “Hi, Garrett.” Garrett looked at Don and said, “Hi.” Don asked, “How are you, Garrett?” Garrett replied, “Okay.” Don turned and went into the kitchen.
We observed similar exhaustion among other middle-class children. Alexander Williams, a Black middle-class boy, looked worn out as he traveled from after-school care to Friday night choir; a Black middle-class girl, Stacey Marshall, fell asleep under the hair dryer on a Saturday afternoon. We did not see comparable signs of exhaustion in the working-class and poor children. If anything, adults commented on these youngsters’ boundless energy.
A CULTIVATED CHILDHOOD: SPENCER’S AND SAM’S VIEWS
The organization of middle-class family life around individual children’s activities shapes the experience of all family members, including siblings who are not themselves involved in a given activity. Both Spencer and Sam—but especially Sam—spend large portions of their leisure time traveling to and/or from the sites of Garrett’s activities and watching these events (or simply waiting for them to end). Sam’s afternoons are hostage to his brother’s schedule. He comes home briefly from day care, has a snack, and then gets back in the car with a parent and goes to one of Garrett’s activities. Once there, he usually wanders around, asks for snacks, sometimes plays with other children, asks for more snacks, and waits for the game or practice to end. Not surprisingly, his interest and patience usually run out long before the activity is over. It is common for Sam to have four or five episodes a week of crying, whining, and complaining (this behavior is especially likely when he is hungry or tired).
Sometimes, however, his unhappiness escalates to a level that causes him to “fall apart,” as his mother puts it. He whines loudly and interrupts often, if he doesn’t like what is happening and, on occasion, will kick, scream, and cry. For example, the night Garrett performs at his school’s spring music concert, Sam lasts about one half hour and then begins to unravel. He tests his mother’s patience by refusing to sit still; then, he brings his outstretched feet just inches shy of the back of a woman seated in the row ahead:
His mother grabs his upper arm (looking angry) and says, “Watch your feet—you almost hit her! Sit still!” He sits for a few seconds and then moves his feet again. Again she grabs his arm and whispers, “Sit!”
A pattern of “falling apart” seems to occur a few times each month. Mr. Tallinger takes a direct approach, telling Sam to “cut it out.” Ms. Tallinger usually responds to Sam’s outbursts with warmth and tolerance, and she encourages his brothers to be empathetic (with only limited success).
Sam, at four years old, has few activities other than going to day care. Spencer, on the other hand, has a schedule that includes piano, Cub Scouts, soccer, and baseball. Still, he too spends more time than he would like as a spectator. Spencer doesn’t “fall apart” like Sam, but he does communicate his frustration. His father is aware, for example, that “he does get angry that we always have to go to Garrett’s games.” In fact, watching Garrett perform is an integral part of Spencer’s life. At the school’s Donuts for Dad event, Spencer leads his father over to show him a picture that he had drawn. Spencer explains that the picture, which shows children on a field and figures to the side, watching, represents him and his family. The picture is titled, “Watching Soccer.” Mr. Tallinger, affectionately running his hand over the top of his son’s head, remarks, “We do that a lot.”
The flip side of watching, of course, is performing. Here, too, Spencer must adjust to standards set by Garrett. Although he plays baseball and soccer, Spencer seems less interested—and talented—in sports than his older brother. From his parents’ perspective, this is a problem. On several occasions, Mr. and Ms. Tallinger (separately) mention their concern over Spencer’s relative lack of interest in sports.
DON: We struggle with Spencer ’cause he doesn’t like sports. We decided he’s average. Louise and I decided. But when they ask, ‘What can we do?’ I say go out and play catch. I usually don’t think of going and collecting spiders or doing something that Spencer would like. He’s interested in science. I usually don’t think about that.
FIELD-WORKER: That’s hard.
DON: Sports just come naturally to us.
FIELD-WORKER: Does Spencer try to compete with Garrett?
DON: He knows he couldn’t compete with him. Garrett is so much better.
Spencer seems aware of and somewhat anxious about his parents’ concern over his relative lack of engagement with sports, as the following field note suggests:
Don says to Spencer (as if he just thought of it) in a questioning (but enthusiastic) manner, “Spencer, do you want to be on the swim team?” Spencer, looking slightly anxious and biting his lip, replies, “No.” Slight pause and then his dad says, “Okay,” in an accepting tone (although there is slight hint of disappointment). Spencer walks [into the kitchen] to find his backpack and his dad is there next to him. Spencer says, “I would—but I don’t know how to do the strokes.” His dad says, “That’s what they teach you; they teach you the strokes.”