classic	bully,	starting	fights	with	the	least	provocation,	or	none	at	all.
We	all	stood	in	awe	of	Jimmy—and	we	all	stood	at	a	distance.
Everyone	hated	and	feared	Jimmy;	no	one	would	play	with	him.	It
was	as	though	everywhere	he	went	on	the	playground	an	invisible
bodyguard	cleared	kids	out	of	his	way.
Kids	like	Jimmy	are	clearly	troubled.	But	what	may	be	less	obvious
is	that	being	so	flagrantly	aggressive	in	childhood	is	a	mark	of
emotional	and	other	troubles	to	come.	Jimmy	was	in	jail	for	assault
by	the	time	he	reached	sixteen.
The	lifelong	legacy	of	childhood	aggressiveness	in	kids	like	Jimmy
has
emerged	from	many	studies.
11
	As	we	have	seen,	the	family	life	of
such	aggressive	children	typically	includes	parents	who	alternate
neglect	with	harsh	and	capricious	punishments,	a	pattern	that,
perhaps	understandably,	makes	the	children	a	bit	paranoid	or
combative.
Not	all	angry	children	are	bullies;	some	are	withdrawn	social
outcasts	who	overreact	to	being	teased	or	to	what	they	perceive	as
slights	or	unfairness.	But	the	one	perceptual	flaw	that	unites	such
children	is	that	they	perceive	slights	where	none	were	intended,


children	is	that	they	perceive	slights	where	none	were	intended,
imagining	their	peers	to	be	more	hostile	toward	them	than	they
actually	are.	This	leads	them	to	misperceive	neutral	acts	as
threatening	ones—an	innocent	bump	is	seen	as	a	vendetta—and	to
attack	in	return.	That,	of	course,	leads	other	children	to	shun	them,
isolating	them	further.	Such	angry,	isolated	children	are	highly
sensitive	to	injustices	and	being	treated	unfairly.	They	typically	see
themselves	as	victims	and	can	recite	a	list	of	instances	when,	say,
teachers	blamed	them	for	doing	something	when	in	fact	they	were
innocent.	Another	trait	of	such	children	is	that	once	they	are	in	the
heat	of	anger	they	can	think	of	only	one	way	to	react:	by	lashing	out.
These	perceptual	biases	can	be	seen	at	work	in	an	experiment	in
which	bullies	are	paired	with	a	more	peaceable	child	to	watch	videos.
In	one	video,	a	boy	drops	his	books	when	another	knocks	into	him,
and	children	standing	nearby	laugh;	the	boy	who	dropped	the	books
gets	angry	and	tries	to	hit	one	of	those	who	laughed.	When	the	boys
who	watched	the	video	talk	about	it	afterward,	the	bully	always	sees


the	boy	who	struck	out	as	justified.	Even	more	telling,	when	they
have	to	rate	how	aggressive	the	boys	were	during	their	discussion	of
the	video,	the	bullies	see	the	boy	who	knocked	into	the	other	as	more
combative,	and	the	anger	of	the	boy	who	struck	out	as	justified.
12
This	jump	to	judgment	testifies	to	a	deep	perceptual	bias	in	people


who	are	unusually	aggressive:	they	act	on	the	basis	of	the	assumption
of	hostility	or	threat,	paying	too	little	attention	to	what	is	actually
going	on.	Once	they	assume	threat,	they	leapfrog	to	action.	For
instance,	if	an	aggressive	boy	is	playing	checkers	with	another	who
moves	a	piece	out	of	turn,	he’ll	interpret	the	move	as	“cheating”
without	pausing	to	find	out	if	it	had	been	an	innocent	mistake.	His
presumption	is	of	malevolence	rather	than	innocence;	his	reaction	is
automatic	hostility.	Along	with	the	knee-jerk	perception	of	a	hostile
act	is	entwined	an	equally	automatic	aggression;	instead	of,	say,
pointing	out	to	the	other	boy	that	he	made	a	mistake,	he	will	jump	to
accusation,	yelling,	hitting.	And	the	more	such	children	do	this,	the
more	automatic	aggression	becomes	for	them,	and	the	more	the
repertoire	of	alternatives—politeness,	joking—shrinks.
Such	children	are	emotionally	vulnerable	in	the	sense	that	they
have	a	low
threshold	for	upset,	getting	peeved	more	often	by	more
things;	once	upset,	their	thinking	is	muddled,	so	that	they	see	benign
acts	as	hostile	and	fall	back	on	their	overlearned	habit	of	striking
out.
13


out.
13
These	perceptual	biases	toward	hostility	are	already	in	place	by	the
early	grades.	While	most	children,	and	especially	boys,	are
rambunctious	in	kindergarten	and	first	grade,	the	more	aggressive
children	fail	to	learn	a	modicum	of	self-control	by	second	grade.
Where	other	children	have	started	to	learn	negotiation	and
compromise	for	playground	disagreements,	the	bullies	rely	more	and
more	on	force	and	bluster.	They	pay	a	social	price:	within	two	or
three	hours	of	a	first	playground	contact	with	a	bully,	other	children
already	say	they	dislike	him.
14
But	studies	that	have	followed	children	from	the	preschool	years
into	the	teenage	ones	find	that	up	to	half	of	first	graders	who	are
disruptive,	unable	to	get	along	with	other	kids,	disobedient	with	their
parents,	and	resistant	with	teachers	will	become	delinquents	in	their
teen	years.
15
	Of	course,	not	all	such	aggressive	children	are	on	the
trajectory	that	leads	to	violence	and	criminality	in	later	life.	But	of	all
children,	these	are	the	ones	most	at	risk	for	eventually	committing
violent	crimes.
The	drift	toward	crime	shows	up	surprisingly	early	in	these
children’s	lives.	When	children	in	a	Montreal	kindergarten	were	rated
for	hostility	and	troublemaking,	those	highest	at	age	five	already	had


far	greater	evidence	of	delinquency	just	five	to	eight	years	later,	in
their	early	teens.	They	were	about	three	times	as	likely	as	other


children	to	admit	they	had	beaten	up	someone	who	had	not	done
anything	to	them,	to	have	shoplifted,	to	have	used	a	weapon	in	a
fight,	to	have	broken	into	or	stolen	parts	from	a	car,	and	to	have	been
drunk—and	all	this	before	they	reached	fourteen	years	of	age.
16
The	prototypical	pathway	to	violence	and	criminality	starts	with
children	who	are	aggressive	and	hard	to	handle	in	first	and	second
grade.
17
	Typically,	from	the	earliest	school	years	their	poor	impulse
control	also	contributes	to	their	being	poor	students,	seen	as,	and
seeing	themselves	as,	“dumb”—a	judgment	confirmed	by	their	being
shunted	to	special-education	classes	(and	though	such	children	may
have	a	higher	rate	of	“hyperactivity”	or	learning	disorders,	by	no
means	all	do).	Children	who	on	entering	school	already	have	learned
in	their	homes	a	“coercive”	style—that	is,	bullying—are	also	written
off	by	their	teachers,	who	have	to	spend	too	much	time	keeping	the
children	in	line.	The	defiance	of	classroom	rules	that	comes	naturally
to	these	children	means	that	they	waste	time	that	would	otherwise	be
used	in	learning;	their	destined	academic	failure	is	usually	obvious	by
about	third	grade.	While	boys	on	a	trajectory	toward	delinquency


tend	to	have	lower	IQ	scores
than	their	peers,	their	impulsivity	is
more	directly	at	cause:	impulsivity	in	ten-year-old	boys	is	almost	three
times	as	powerful	a	predictor	of	their	later	delinquency	as	is	their
IQ.
18
By	fourth	or	fifth	grade	these	kids—by	now	seen	as	bullies	or	just
“difficult”—are	rejected	by	their	peers	and	are	unable	to	make	friends
easily,	if	at	all,	and	have	become	academic	failures.	Feeling
themselves	friendless,	they	gravitate	to	other	social	outcasts.	Between
grade	four	and	grade	nine	they	commit	themselves	to	their	outcast
group	and	a	life	of	defying	the	law:	they	show	a	fivefold	increase	in
their	truancy,	drinking,	and	drug	taking,	with	the	biggest	boost
between	seventh	and	eighth	grade.	By	the	middle-school	years,	they
are	joined	by	another	type	of	“late	starters,”	who	are	attracted	to	their
defiant	style;	these	late	starters	are	often	youngsters	who	are
completely	unsupervised	at	home	and	have	started	roaming	the	streets
on	their	own	in	grade	school.	In	the	high-school	years	this	outcast
group	typically	drops	out	of	school	in	a	drift	toward	delinquency,
engaging	in	petty	crimes	such	as	shoplifting,	theft,	and	drug	dealing.


(A	telling	difference	emerges	in	this	trajectory	between	boys	and
girls.	A	study	of	fourth-grade	girls	who	were	“bad”—getting	in	trouble
with	teachers	and	breaking	rules,	but	not	unpopular	with	their	peers
—found	that	40	percent	had	a	child	by	the	time	they	finished	the


high-school	years.
19
	That	was	three	times	the	average	pregnancy	rate
for	girls	in	their	schools.	In	other	words,	antisocial	teenage	girls	don’t
get	violent—they	get	pregnant.)
There	is,	of	course,	no	single	pathway	to	violence	and	criminality,
and	many	other	factors	can	put	a	child	at	risk:	being	born	in	a	high-
crime	neighborhood	where	they	are	exposed	to	more	temptations	to
crime	and	violence,	coming	from	a	family	under	high	levels	of	stress,
or	living	in	poverty.	But	none	of	these	factors	makes	a	life	of	violent
crime	inevitable.	All	things	being	equal,	the	psychological	forces	at
work	in	aggressive	children	greatly	intensify	the	likelihood	of	their
ending	up	as	violent	criminals.	As	Gerald	Patterson,	a	psychologist
who	has	closely	followed	the	careers	of	hundreds	of	boys	into	young
adulthood,	puts	it,	“the	anti-social	acts	of	a	five-year-old	may	be
prototypic	of	the	acts	of	the	delinquent	adolescent.”
20
SCHOOL	FOR	BULLIES
The	bent	of	mind	that	aggressive	children	take	with	them	through	life
is	one	that	almost	ensures	they	will	end	up	in	trouble.	A	study	of
juvenile	offenders	convicted	of	violent	crimes	and	of	aggressive	high-
school	students	found	a


school	students	found	a
common	mind-set:	When	they	have
difficulties	with	someone,	they	immediately	see	the	other	person	in	an
antagonistic	way,	jumping	to	conclusions	about	the	other	person’s
hostility	toward	them	without	seeking	any	further	information	or
trying	to	think	of	a	peaceful	way	to	settle	their	differences.	At	the
same	time,	the	negative	consequence	of	a	violent	solution—a	fight,
typically—never	crosses	their	mind.	Their	aggressive	bent	is	justified
in	their	mind	by	beliefs	like,	“It’s	okay	to	hit	someone	if	you	just	go
crazy	from	anger”;	“If	you	back	down	from	a	fight	everyone	will	think
you’re	a	coward”;	and	“People	who	get	beaten	up	badly	don’t	really
suffer	that	much.”
21
But	timely	help	can	change	these	attitudes	and	stop	a	child’s
trajectory	toward	delinquency;	several	experimental	programs	have
had	some	success	in	helping	such	aggressive	kids	learn	to	control	their
antisocial	bent	before	it	leads	to	more	serious	trouble.	One,	at	Duke
University,	worked	with	anger-ridden	grade-school	troublemakers	in
training	sessions	for	forty	minutes	twice	a	week	for	six	to	twelve
weeks.	The	boys	were	taught,	for	example,	to	see	how	some	of	the
social	cues	they	interpreted	as	hostile	were	in	fact	neutral	or	friendly.


They	learned	to	take	the	perspective	of	other	children,	to	get	a	sense
of	how	they	were	being	seen	and	of	what	other	children	might	be
thinking	and	feeling	in	the	encounters	that	had	gotten	them	so	angry.
They	also	got	direct	training	in	anger	control	through	enacting	scenes,
such	as	being	teased,	that	might	lead	them	to	lose	their	temper.	One
of	the	key	skills	for	anger	control	was	monitoring	their	feelings—
becoming	aware	of	their	body’s	sensations,	such	as	flushing	or	muscle
tensing,	as	they	were	getting	angry,	and	to	take	those	feelings	as	a	cue
to	stop	and	consider	what	to	do	next	rather	than	strike	out
impulsively.
John	Lochman,	a	Duke	University	psychologist	who	was	one	of	the
designers	of	the	program,	told	me,	“They’ll	discuss	situations	they’ve
been	in	recently,	like	being	bumped	in	the	hallway	when	they	think	it
was	on	purpose.	The	kids	will	talk	about	how	they	might	have
handled	it.	One	kid	said,	for	example,	that	he	just	stared	at	the	boy
who	bumped	him	and	told	him	not	to	do	it	again,	and	walked	away.
That	put	him	in	the	position	of	exerting	some	control	and	keeping	his
self-esteem,	without	starting	a	fight.”


self-esteem,	without	starting	a	fight.”
This	appeals;	many	such	aggressive	boys	are	unhappy	that	they	lose
their	temper	so	easily,	and	so	are	receptive	to	learning	to	control	it.	In
the	heat	of	the	moment,	of	course,	such	cool-headed	responses	as
walking	away	or	counting	to	ten	so	the	impulse	to	hit	will	pass	before
reacting	are	not	automatic;	the	boys	practice	such	alternatives	in	role-
playing	scenes	such	as	getting	on	a	bus	where	other	kids	are	taunting
them.	That	way	they	can	try
out	friendly	responses	that	preserve	their
dignity	while	giving	them	an	alternative	to	hitting,	crying,	or	running
away	in	shame.
Three	years	after	the	boys	had	been	through	the	training,	Lochman
compared	these	boys	with	others	who	had	been	just	as	aggressive,	but
did	not	have	the	benefit	of	the	anger-control	sessions.	He	found	that,
in	adolescence,	the	boys	who	graduated	from	the	program	were	much
less	disruptive	in	class,	had	more	positive	feelings	about	themselves,
and	were	less	likely	to	drink	or	take	drugs.	And	the	longer	they	had
been	in	the	program,	the	less	aggressive	they	were	as	teenagers.
PREVENTING	DEPRESSION


PREVENTING	DEPRESSION
Dana,	sixteen,	had	always	seemed	to	get	along.	But	now,	suddenly,	she	just	could	not
relate	with	other	girls,	and,	more	troubling	for	her,	she	could	not	find	a	way	to	hold	on


to	boyfriends,	even	though	she	slept	with	them.	Morose	and	constantly	fatigued,	Dana
lost	interest	in	eating,	in	having	fun	of	any	kind;	she	said	she	felt	hopeless	and	helpless
to	do	anything	to	escape	her	mood,	and	was	thinking	of	suicide.
The	drop	into	depression	had	been	triggered	by	her	most	recent	breakup.	She	said
she	didn’t	know	how	to	go	out	with	a	boy	without	getting	sexually	involved	right	away
—even	if	she	was	uncomfortable	about	it—and	that	she	did	not	know	how	to	end	a
relationship	even	if	it	was	unsatisfying.	She	went	to	bed	with	boys,	she	said,	when	all
she	really	wanted	to	do	was	get	to	know	them	better.
She	had	just	moved	to	a	new	school,	and	felt	shy	and	anxious	about	making	friends
with	girls	there.	For	instance,	she	held	back	from	starting	conversations,	only	talking
once	someone	spoke	to	her.	She	felt	unable	to	let	them	know	what	she	was	like,	and
didn’t	even	feel	she	knew	what	to	say	after	“Hello,	how	are	you?”
22
Dana	went	for	therapy	to	an	experimental	program	for	depressed
adolescents	at	Columbia	University.	Her	treatment	focused	on	helping
her	learn	how	to	handle	her	relationships	better:	how	to	develop	a


friendship,	how	to	feel	more	confident	with	other	teens,	how	to	assert
limits	on	sexual	closeness,	how	to	be	intimate,	how	to	express	her
feelings.	In	essence,	it	was	a	remedial	tutorial	in	some	of	the	most
basic	emotional	skills.	And	it	worked;	her	depression	lifted.
Particularly	in	young	people,	problems	in	relationships	are	a	trigger
for	depression.	The	difficulty	is	as	often	in	children’s	relationships
with	their	parents	as	it	is	with	their	peers.	Depressed	children	and
teenagers	are
frequently	unable	or	unwilling	to	talk	about	their
sadness.	They	seem	unable	to	label	their	feelings	accurately,	showing
instead	a	sullen	irritability,	impatience,	crankiness,	and	anger—
especially	toward	their	parents.	This,	in	turn,	makes	it	harder	for	their
parents	to	offer	the	emotional	support	and	guidance	the	depressed
child	actually	needs,	setting	in	motion	a	downward	spiral	that
typically	ends	in	constant	arguments	and	alienation.
A	new	look	at	the	causes	of	depression	in	the	young	pinpoints
deficits	in	two	areas	of	emotional	competence:	relationship	skills,	on
the	one	hand,	and	a	depression-promoting	way	of	interpreting
setbacks,	on	the	other.	While	some	of	the	tendency	to	depression
almost	certainly	is	due	to	genetic	destiny,	some	of	that	tendency


almost	certainly	is	due	to	genetic	destiny,	some	of	that	tendency
seems	due	to	reversible,	pessimistic	habits	of	thought	that	predispose
children	to	react	to	life’s	small	defeats—a	bad	grade,	arguments	with
parents,	a	social	rejection—by	becoming	depressed.	And	there	is
evidence	to	suggest	that	the	predisposition	to	depression,	whatever	its
basis,	is	becoming	ever	more	widespread	among	the	young.


A

COST	OF

MODERNITY:	RISING	RATES	OF

DEPRESSION
These	millennial	years	are	ushering	in	an	Age	of	Melancholy,	just	as
the	twentieth	century	became	an	Age	of	Anxiety.	International	data
show	what	seems	to	be	a	modern	epidemic	of	depression,	one	that	is
spreading	side	by	side	with	the	adoption	throughout	the	world	of
modern	ways.	Each	successive	generation	worldwide	since	the
opening	of	the	century	has	lived	with	a	higher	risk	than	their	parents
of	suffering	a	major	depression—not	just	sadness,	but	a	paralyzing
listlessness,	dejection,	and	self-pity,	and	an	overwhelming
hopelessness—over	the	course	of	life.
23
	And	those	episodes	are
beginning	at	earlier	and	earlier	ages.	Childhood	depression,	once
virtually	unknown	(or,	at	least,	unrecognized)	is	emerging	as	a	fixture
of	the	modern	scene.
Although	the	likelihood	of	becoming	depressed	rises	with	age,	the
greatest	increases	are	among	young	people.	For	those	born	after	1955
the	likelihood	they	will	suffer	a	major	depression	at	some	point	in	life
is,	in	many	countries,	three	times	or	more	greater	than	for	their
grandparents.	Among	Americans	born	before	1905,	the	rate	of	those


having	a	major	depression	over	a	lifetime	was	just	1	percent;	for	those
born	since	1955,	by	age	twenty-four	about	6	percent	had	become
depressed.	For	those	born	between	1945	and	1954,	the	chances	of
having	had	a	major	depression	before	age	thirty-four	are	ten	times
greater	than	for	those	born	between	1905	and	1914.
24
	And	for	each
generation
the	onset	of	a	person’s	first	episode	of	depression	has
tended	to	occur	at	an	ever-earlier	age.
A	worldwide	study	of	more	than	thirty-nine	thousand	people	found
the	same	trend	in	Puerto	Rico,	Canada,	Italy,	Germany,	France,
Taiwan,	Lebanon,	and	New	Zealand.	In	Beirut,	the	rise	of	depression
tracked	political	events	closely,	the	upward	trends	rocketing	during
periods	of	civil	war.	In	Germany,	for	those	born	before	1914	the	rate
of	depression	by	age	thirty-five	is	4	percent;	for	those	born	in	the
decade	before	1944	it	is	14	percent	at	age	thirty-five.	Worldwide,
generations	that	came	of	age	during	politically	troubled	times	had
higher	rates	of	depression,	though	the	overall	upward	trend	holds
apart	from	any	political	events.
The	lowering	into	childhood	of	the	age	when	people	first	experience


The	lowering	into	childhood	of	the	age	when	people	first	experience
depression	also	seems	to	hold	worldwide.	When	I	asked	experts	to
hazard	a	guess	as	to	why,	there	were	several	theories.
Dr.	Frederick	Goodwin,	then	director	of	the	National	Institute	of


Mental	Health,	speculated,	“There’s	been	a	tremendous	erosion	of	the
nuclear	family—a	doubling	of	the	divorce	rate,	a	drop	in	parents’	time
available	to	children,	and	an	increase	in	mobility.	You	don’t	grow	up
knowing	your	extended	family	much	anymore.	The	losses	of	these
stable	sources	of	self-identification	mean	a	greater	susceptibility	to
depression.”
Dr.	David	Kupfer,	chairman	of	psychiatry	at	the	University	of
Pittsburgh	medical	school,	pointed	to	another	trend:	“With	the	spread
of	industrialization	after	World	War	II,	in	a	sense	nobody	was	home
anymore.	In	more	and	more	families	there	has	been	growing	parental
indifference	to	children’s	needs	as	they	grow	up.	This	is	not	a	direct
cause	of	depression,	but	it	sets	up	a	vulnerability.	Early	emotional
stressors	may	affect	neuron	development,	which	can	lead	to	a
depression	when	you	are	under	great	stress	even	decades	later.”
Martin	Seligman,	the	University	of	Pennsylvania	psychologist,
proposed:	“For	the	last	thirty	or	forty	years	we’ve	seen	the	ascendance
of	individualism	and	a	waning	of	larger	beliefs	in	religion,	and	in
supports	from	the	community	and	extended	family.	That	means	a	loss
of	resources	that	can	buffer	you	against	setbacks	and	failures.	To	the


of	resources	that	can	buffer	you	against	setbacks	and	failures.	To	the
extent	you	see	a	failure	as	something	that	is	lasting	and	which	you
magnify	to	taint	everything	in	your	life,	you	are	prone	to	let	a
momentary	defeat	become	a	lasting	source	of	hopelessness.	But	if	you
have	a	larger	perspective,	like	a	belief	in	God	and	an	afterlife,	and	you
lose	your	job,	it’s	just	a	temporary	defeat.”
Whatever	the	cause,	depression	in	the	young	is	a	pressing	problem.
In	the	United	States,	estimates	vary	widely	for	how	many	children	and
teens	are
depressed	in	any	given	year,	as	opposed	to	vulnerability
over	their	lifetime.	Some	epidemiological	studies	using	strict	criteria
—the	official	diagnostic	symptoms	for	depression—have	found	that
for	boys	and	girls	between	ten	and	thirteen	the	rate	of	major
depression	over	the	course	of	a	year	is	as	high	as	8	or	9	percent,
though	other	studies	place	it	at	about	half	that	rate	(and	some	as	low
as	about	2	percent).	At	puberty,	some	data	suggest,	the	rate	nearly
doubles	for	girls;	up	to	16	percent	of	girls	between	fourteen	and
sixteen	suffer	a	bout	of	depression,	while	the	rate	is	unchanged	for
boys.
25
THE	COURSE	OF

DEPRESSION	IN	THE	YOUNG


That	depression	should	not	just	be	treated,	but
prevented
,	in	children	is
clear	from	an	alarming	discovery:	Even	mild	episodes	of	depression	in
a	child	can	augur	more	severe	episodes	later	in	life.
26
	This	challenges
the	old	assumption	that	depression	in	childhood	does	not	matter	in
the	long	run,	since	children	supposedly	“grow	out	of	it.”	Of	course,
every	child	gets	sad	from	time	to	time;	childhood	and	adolescence	are,
like	adulthood,	times	of	occasional	disappointments	and	losses	large
and	small	with	the	attendant	grief.	The	need	for	prevention	is	not	for
these	times,	but	for	those	children	for	whom	sadness	spirals
downward	into	a	gloom	that	leaves	them	despairing,	irritable,	and
withdrawn—a	far	more	severe	melancholy.
Among	children	whose	depression	was	severe	enough	that	they
were	referred	for	treatment,	three	quarters	had	a	subsequent	episode
of	severe	depression,	according	to	data	collected	by	Maria	Kovacs,	a
psychologist	at	Western	Psychiatric	Institute	and	Clinic	in
Pittsburgh.
27
	Kovacs	studied	children	diagnosed	with	depression	when
they	were	as	young	as	eight	years	old,	assessing	them	every	few	years
until	some	were	as	old	as	twenty-four.
The	children	with	major	depression	had	episodes	lasting	about


The	children	with	major	depression	had	episodes	lasting	about
eleven	months	on	average,	though	in	one	in	six	of	them	it	persisted
for	as	long	as	eighteen	months.	Mild	depression,	which	began	as	early
as	age	five	in	some	children,	was	less	incapacitating	but	lasted	far
longer—an	average	of	about	four	years.	And,	Kovacs	found,	children
who	have	a	minor	depression	are	more	likely	to	have	it	intensify	into
major	depression—a	so-called	double	depression.	Those	who	develop
double	depression	are	much	more	prone	to	suffer	recurring	episodes
as	the	years	go	on.	As	children	who	had	an	episode	of	depression	grew
into	adolescence	and	early	adulthood,	they	suffered	from	depression
or	manic-depressive	disorder,	on	average,	one	year	in	three.
The	cost	to	children	goes	beyond	the	suffering	caused	by	depression
itself.	Kovacs	told	me,	“Kids	learn	social	skills	in	their	peer	relations—
for	example,	what	to	do	if	you	want	something	and	aren’t	getting	it,
seeing	how	other	children	handle	the	situation	and	then	trying	it
yourself.	But	depressed	kids	are	likely	to	be	among	the	neglected
children	in	a	school,	the	ones	other	kids	don’t	play	with	much.”
28
The	sullenness	or	sadness	such	children	feel	leads	them	to	avoid


initiating	social	contacts,	or	to	look	away	when	another	child	is	trying
to	engage	them—a	social	signal	the	other	child	only	takes	as	a	rebuff;
the	end	result	is	that	depressed	children	end	up	rejected	or	neglected
on	the	playground.	This	lacuna	in	their	interpersonal	experience


means	they	miss	out	on	what	they	would	normally	learn	in	the	rough-
and-tumble	of	play,	and	so	can	leave	them	social	and	emotional
laggards,	with	much	catching	up	to	do	after	the	depression	lifts.
29
Indeed,	when	depressed	children	have	been	compared	to	those
without	depression,	they	have	been	found	to	be	more	socially	inept,	to
have	fewer	friends,	to	be	less	preferred	than	others	as	playmates,	to	be
less	liked,	and	to	have	more	troubled	relationships	with	other
children.
Another	cost	to	these	children	is	doing	poorly	in	school;	depression
interferes	with	their	memory	and	concentration,	making	it	harder	to
pay	attention	in	class	and	retain	what	is	taught.	A	child	who	feels	no
joy	in	anything	will	find	it	hard	to	marshal	the	energy	to	master
challenging	lessons,	let	alone	experience	flow	in	learning.
Understandably,	the	longer	children	in	Kovacs’s	study	were	depressed,
the	more	their	grades	dropped	and	the	poorer	they	did	on
achievement	tests,	so	that	they	were	more	likely	to	be	held	back	in
school.	In	fact,	there	was	a	direct	correlation	between	the	length	of
time	a	child	had	been	depressed	and	his	grade-point	average,	with	a
steady	plummet	over	the	course	of	the	episode.	All	of	this	academic


rough	going,	of	course,	compounds	the	depression.	As	Kovacs
observes,	“Imagine	you’re	already	feeling	depressed,	and	you	start
flunking	out	of	school,	and	you	sit	home	by	yourself	instead	of
playing	with	other	kids.”
DEPRESSIONOGENIC	WAYS	OF	THOUGHT
Just	as	with	adults,	pessimistic	ways	of	interpreting	life’s	defeats	seem
to	feed	the	sense	of	helplessness	and	hopelessness	at	the	heart	of
children’s	depression.	That	people	who	are
already
	depressed	think	in
these	ways	has	long	been	known.	What	has	only	recently	emerged,
though,	is	that	children	who	are	most	prone	to	melancholy	tend
toward	this	pessimistic	outlook
before

they	become	depressed.	This
insight	suggests	a	window	of	opportunity	for	inoculating	them	against
depression	before	it	strikes.
One	line	of	evidence	comes	from	studies	of	children’s	beliefs	about
their	own	ability	to	control	what	happens	in	their	lives—for	example,
being	able	to	change	things	for	the	better.	This	is	assessed	by
children’s	ratings	of	themselves	in	such	terms	as	“When	I	have
problems	at	home	I’m	better	than	most	kids	at	helping	to	solve	the


problems”	and	“When	I	work	hard	I	get	good	grades.”	Children	who
say	none	of	these	positive	descriptions	fits	them	have	little	sense	that
they	can	do	anything	to	change	things;	this	sense	of	helplessness	is
highest	in	those	children	who	are	most	depressed.
30
A	telling	study	looked	at	fifth	and	sixth	graders	in	the	few	days	after
they	received	report	cards.	As	we	all	remember,	report	cards	are	one
of	the	greatest	sources	of	elation	and	despair	in	childhood.	But
researchers	find	a	marked	consequence	in	how	children	assess	their
role	when	they	get	a	worse	grade	than	they	expected.	Those	who	see	a
bad	grade	as	due	to	some	personal	flaw	(“I’m	stupid”)	feel	more
depressed	than	those	who	explain	it	away	in	terms	of	something	they
could	change	(“If	I	work	harder	on	my	math	homework	I’ll	get	a
better	grade”).
31
Researchers	identified	a	group	of	third,	fourth,	and	fifth	graders
whom	classmates	had	rejected,	and	tracked	which	ones	continued	to
be	social	outcasts	in	their	new	classes	the	following	year.	How	the
children	explained	the	rejection	to	themselves	seemed	crucial	to
whether	they	became	depressed.	Those	who	saw	their	rejection	as	due
to	some	flaw	in	themselves	grew	more	depressed.	But	the	optimists,


who	felt	that	they	could	do	something	to	change	things	for	the	better,
were	not	especially	depressed	despite	the	continuing	rejection.
32
	And
in	a	study	of	children	making	the	notoriously	stressful	transition	to
seventh	grade,	those	who	had	the	pessimistic	attitude	responded	to
high	levels	of	hassles	at	school	and	to	any	additional	stress	at	home	by
becoming	depressed.
33
The	most	direct	evidence	that	a	pessimistic	outlook	makes	children
highly	susceptible	to	depression	comes	from	a	five-year	study	of
children	beginning	when	they	were	in	third	grade.
34
	Among	the
younger	children,	the	strongest	predictor	that	they	would	become
depressed	was	a	pessimistic	outlook	coupled	with	a	major	blow	such
as	parents	divorcing	or	a	death	in	the	family,	which	left	the	child
upset,	unsettled,	and,	presumably,	with	parents	less	able	to	offer	a
nurturing	buffer.	As	the	children	grew	through	the	elementary-school
years,	there	was	a	telling	shift	in	their	thinking	about	the	good	and
bad	events	of	their	lives,	with	the	children	increasingly	ascribing	them
to	their	own	traits:	“I’m	getting	good	grades	because	I’m	smart”;	“I
don’t	have	many
friends	because	I’m	no	fun.”	This	shift	seems	to	set	in
gradually	over	the	third	to	fifth	grades.	As	this	happens	those	children


who	develop	a	pessimistic	outlook—attributing	the	setbacks	in	their
lives	to	some	dire	flaw	in	themselves—begin	to	fall	prey	to	depressed


moods	in	reaction	to	setbacks.	What’s	more,	the	experience	of
depression	itself	seems	to	reinforce	these	pessimistic	ways	of	thinking,
so	that	even	after	the	depression	lifts,	the	child	is	left	with	what
amounts	to	an	emotional	scar,	a	set	of	convictions	fed	by	the
depression	and	solidified	in	the	mind:	that	he	can’t	do	well	in	school,
is	unlikable,	and	can	do	nothing	to	escape	his	own	brooding	moods.
These	fixed	ideas	can	make	the	child	all	the	more	vulnerable	to
another	depression	down	the	road.
SHORT-CIRCUITING	DEPRESSION
The	good	news:	there	is	every	sign	that	teaching	children	more
productive	ways	of	looking	at	their	difficulties	lowers	their	risk	of
depression.
*
	In	a	study	of	one	Oregon	high	school,	about	one	in	four
students	had	what	psychologists	call	a	“low-level	depression,”	not
severe	enough	to	say	it	was	beyond	ordinary	unhappiness	as	yet.
35
Some	may	have	been	in	the	early	weeks	or	months	of	what	was	to
become	a	depression.
In	a	special	after-school	class	seventy-five	of	the	mildly	depressed
students	learned	to	challenge	the	thinking	patterns	associated	with
depression,	to	become	more	adept	at	making	friends,	to	get	along
better	with	their	parents,	and	to	engage	in	more	social	activities	they


found	pleasant.	By	the	end	of	the	eight-week	program,	55	percent	of
the	students	had	recovered	from	their	mild	depression,	while	only
about	a	quarter	of	equally	depressed	students	who	were	not	in	the
program	had	begun	to	pull	out	of	their	depression.	A	year	later	a
quarter	of	those	in	the	comparison	group	had	gone	on	to	fall	into	a
major	depression,	as	opposed	to	only	14	percent	of	students	in	the
depression-prevention	program.	Though	they	lasted	just	eight
sessions,	the	classes	seemed	to	have	cut	the	risk	of	depression	in
half.
36
Similarly	promising	findings	came	from	a	special	once-a-week	class
given	to	ten-	to	thirteen-year-old	youngsters	at	odds	with	their	parents
and	showing	some	signs	of	depression.	In	after-school	sessions	they
learned	some	basic	emotional	skills,	including	handling
disagreements,	thinking	before	acting,	and,	perhaps	most	important,
challenging	the	pessimistic	beliefs	associated	with	depression—for
example,	resolving	to	study	harder	after	doing	poorly	on	an	exam
instead	of	thinking,	“I’m	just	not	smart	enough.”


“What	a	child	learns	in	these	classes	is	that	moods	like	anxiety,
sadness,	and	anger	don’t	just	descend	on	you	without	your	having	any
control	over	them,	but	that	you	can	change	the	way	you	feel	by	what
you	think,”	points	out	psychologist	Martin	Seligman,	one	of	the
developers	of	the	twelve-week	program.	Because	disputing	the
depressing	thoughts	vanquishes	the	gathering	mood	of	gloom,
Seligman	added,	“it’s	an	instant	reinforcer	that	becomes	a	habit.”
Again	the	special	sessions	lowered	depression	rates	by	one	half—
and	did	so	as	long	as	two	years	later.	A	year	after	the	classes	ended,
just	8	percent	of	those	who	participated	scored	at	a	moderate-to-
severe	level	on	a	test	of	depression,	versus	29	percent	of	children	in	a
comparison	group.	And	after	two	years,	about	20	percent	of	those	in
the	course	were	showing	some	signs	of	at	least	mild	depression,
compared	to	44	percent	of	those	in	the	comparison	group.
Learning	these	emotional	skills	at	the	cusp	of	adolescence	may	be
especially	helpful,	Seligman	observes,	“These	kids	seem	to	be	better	at
handling	the	routine	teenage	agonies	of	rejection.	They	seem	to	have
learned	this	at	a	crucial	window	for	risk	of	depression,	just	as	they


enter	the	teen	years.	And	the	lesson	seems	to	persist	and	grow	a	bit
stronger	over	the	course	of	the	years	after	they	learn	it,	suggesting	the
kids	are	actually	using	it	in	their	day-to-day	lives.”
Other	experts	on	childhood	depression	applaud	the	new	programs.
“If	you	want	to	make	a	real	difference	for	psychiatric	illness	like
depression,	you	have	to	do	something	before	the	kids	get	sick	in	the
first	place,”	Kovacs	commented.	“The	real	solution	is	a	psychological
inoculation.”
EATING	DISORDERS
During	my	days	as	a	graduate	student	in	clinical	psychology	in	the
late	1960s,	I	knew	two	women	who	suffered	from	eating	disorders,
though	I	realized	this	only	after	many	years	had	passed.	One	was	a
brilliant	graduate	student	in
mathematics	at	Harvard,	a	friend	from
my	undergraduate	days;	the	other	was	on	the	staff	at	M.I.T.	The
mathematician,	though	skeletally	thin,	simply	could	not	bring	herself
to	eat;	food,	she	said,	repulsed	her.	The	librarian	had	an	ample	figure
and	was	given	to	bingeing	on	ice	cream,	Sara	Lee	carrot	cake,	and
other	desserts;	then—as	she	once	confided	with	some	embarrassment
—she	would	secretly	go	off	to	the	bathroom	and	make	herself	vomit.


Today	the	mathematician	would	be	diagnosed	with	anorexia	nervosa,
the	librarian	with	bulimia.
In	those	years	there	were	no	such	labels.	Clinicians	were	just
beginning	to	comment	on	the	problem;	Hilda	Bruch,	the	pioneer	in
this	movement,	published	her	seminal	article	on	eating	disorders	in
1969.
37
	Bruch,	puzzled	by	women	who	were	starving	themselves	to
death,	proposed	that	one	of	the	several	underlying	causes	lay	in	an
inability	to	label	and	respond	appropriately	to	bodily	urges—notably,
of	course,	hunger.	Since	then	the	clinical	literature	on	eating	disorders
has	mushroomed,	with	a	multitude	of	hypotheses	about	the	causes,
ranging	from	ever-younger	girls	feeling	compelled	to	compete	with
unattainably	high	standards	of	female	beauty,	to	intrusive	mothers
who	enmesh	their	daughters	in	a	controlling	web	of	guilt	and	blame.
Most	of	these	hypotheses	suffered	from	one	great	drawback:	they
were	extrapolations	from	observations	made	during	therapy.	Far	more
desirable,	from	a	scientific	viewpoint,	are	studies	of	large	groups	of
people	over	a	period	of	several	years,	to	see	who	among	them
eventually	comes	down	with	the	problem.	That	kind	of	study	allows	a


clean	comparison	that	can	tell,	for	example,	if	having	controlling
parents	predisposes	a	girl	to	eating	disorders.	Beyond	that,	it	can
identify	the	cluster	of	conditions	that	leads	to	the	problem,	and
distinguish	them	from	conditions	that	might	seem	to	be	a	cause,	but
which	actually	are	found	as	often	in	people	without	the	problem	as	in
those	who	come	for	treatment.
When	just	such	a	study	was	done	with	more	than	nine	hundred	girls
in	the	seventh	through	tenth	grades,	emotional	deficits—particularly	a
failure	to	tell	distressing	feelings	from	one	another	and	to	control
them—were	found	to	be	key	among	the	factors	leading	to	eating
disorders.
38
	Even	by	tenth	grade,	there	were	sixty-one	girls	in	this
affluent,	suburban	Minneapolis	high	school	who	already	had	serious
symptoms	of	anorexia	or	bulimia.	The	greater	the	problem,	the	more
the	girls	reacted	to	setbacks,	difficulties,	and	minor	annoyances	with
intense	negative	feelings	that	they	could	not	soothe,	and	the	less	their
awareness	of	what,	exactly,	they	were	feeling.	When	these	two
emotional	tendencies	were	coupled	with	being	highly	dissatisfied	with
their	body,	then	the	outcome	was	anorexia	or	bulimia.	Overly
controlling	parents
were	found	not	to	play	a	prime	role	in	causing


were	found	not	to	play	a	prime	role	in	causing
eating	disorders.	(As	Bruch	herself	had	warned,	theories	based	on
hindsight	were	unlikely	to	be	accurate;	for	example,	parents	can	easily
become	intensely	controlling
in	response
	to	their	daughter’s	eating


disorder,	out	of	desperation	to	help	her.)	Also	judged	irrelevant	were
such	popular	explanations	as	fear	of	sexuality,	early	onset	of	puberty,
and	low	self-esteem.
Instead,	the	causal	chain	this	prospective	study	revealed	began	with
the	effects	on	young	girls	of	growing	up	in	a	society	preoccupied	with
unnatural	thinness	as	a	sign	of	female	beauty.	Well	in	advance	of
adolescence,	girls	are	already	self-conscious	about	their	weight.	One
six-year-old,	for	example,	broke	into	tears	when	her	mother	asked	her
to	go	for	a	swim,	saying	she’d	look	fat	in	a	swimsuit.	In	fact,	says	her
pediatrician,	who	tells	the	story,	her	weight	was	normal	for	her
height.
39
	In	one	study	of	271	young	teenagers,	half	the	girls	thought
they	were	too	fat,	even	though	the	vast	majority	of	them	were	normal
in	weight.	But	the	Minneapolis	study	showed	that	an	obsession	with
being	overweight	is	not	in	and	of	itself	sufficient	to	explain	why	some
girls	go	on	to	develop	eating	disorders.
Some	obese	people	are	unable	to	tell	the	difference	between	being
scared,	angry,	and	hungry,	and	so	lump	all	those	feelings	together	as
signifying	hunger,	which	leads	them	to	overeat	whenever	they	feel


upset.
40
	Something	similar	seems	to	be	happening	in	these	girls.
Gloria	Leon,	the	University	of	Minnesota	psychologist	who	did	the
study	of	young	girls	and	eating	disorders,	observed	that	these	girls
“have	poor	awareness	of	their	feelings	and	body	signals;	that	was	the
strongest	single	predictor	that	they	would	go	on	to	develop	an	eating
disorder	within	the	next	two	years.	Most	children	learn	to	distinguish
among	their	sensations,	to	tell	if	they’re	feeling	bored,	angry,
depressed,	or	hungry—it’s	a	basic	part	of	emotional	learning.	But
these	girls	have	trouble	distinguishing	among	their	most	basic
feelings.	They	may	have	a	problem	with	their	boyfriend,	and	not	be
sure	whether	they’re	angry,	or	anxious,	or	depressed—they	just
experience	a	diffuse	emotional	storm	that	they	do	not	know	how	to
deal	with	effectively.	Instead	they	learn	to	make	themselves	feel
better	by	eating;	that	can	become	a	strongly	entrenched	emotional
habit.”
But	when	this	habit	for	soothing	themselves	interacts	with	the
pressures	girls	feel	to	stay	thin,	the	way	is	paved	for	eating	disorders
to	develop.	“At	first	she	might	start	with	binge	eating,”	Leon	observes.
“But	to	stay	thin	she	may	turn	to	vomiting	or	laxatives,	or	intense


physical	exertion	to	undo	the	weight	gain	from	overeating.	Another
avenue	this	struggle	to	handle	emotional
confusion	can	take	is	for	the
girl	not	to	eat	at	all—it	can	be	a	way	to	feel	you	have	at	least	some


control	over	these	overwhelming	feelings.”
The	combination	of	poor	inner	awareness	and	weak	social	skills
means	that	these	girls,	when	upset	by	friends	or	parents,	fail	to	act
effectively	to	soothe	either	the	relationship	or	their	own	distress.
Instead	their	upset	triggers	the	eating	disorder,	whether	it	be	that	of
bulimia	or	anorexia,	or	simply	binge	eating.	Effective	treatments	for
such	girls,	Leon	believes,	need	to	include	some	remedial	instruction	in
the	emotional	skills	they	lack.	“Clinicians	find,”	she	told	me,	“that	if
you	address	the	deficits	therapy	works	better.	These	girls	need	to
learn	to	identify	their	feelings	and	learn	ways	to	soothe	themselves	or
handle	their	relationships	better,	without	turning	to	their	maladaptive
eating	habits	to	do	the	job.”
ONLY	THE	LONELY:	DROPOUTS
It’s	a	grade-school	drama:	Ben,	a	fourth	grader	with	few	friends,	has
just	heard	from	his	one	buddy,	Jason,	that	they	aren’t	going	to	play
together	this	lunch	period—Jason	wants	to	play	with	another	boy,
Chad,	instead.	Ben,	crushed,	hangs	his	head	and	cries.	After	his	sobs
subside,	Ben	goes	over	to	the	lunch	table	where	Jason	and	Chad	are
eating.


eating.
“I	hate	your	guts!”	Ben	yells	at	Jason.
“Why?”	Jason	asks.
“Because	you	lied,”	Ben	says,	his	tone	accusatory.	“You	said	this
whole	week	that	you	were	gonna	play	with	me	and	you	lied.”
Ben	then	stalks	off	to	his	empty	table,	crying	quietly.	Jason	and
Chad	go	over	to	him	and	try	to	talk	to	him,	but	Ben	puts	his	fingers	in
his	ears,	determinedly	ignoring	them,	and	runs	out	of	the	lunchroom
to	hide	behind	the	school	Dumpster.	A	group	of	girls	who	have
witnessed	the	exchange	try	to	play	a	peacemaker	role,	finding	Ben
and	telling	him	that	Jason	is	willing	to	play	with	him	too.	But	Ben
will	have	none	of	it,	and	tells	them	to	leave	him	alone.	He	nurses	his
wounds,	sulking	and	sobbing,	defiantly	alone.
41
A	poignant	moment,	to	be	sure;	the	feeling	of	being	rejected	and
friendless	is	one	most	everyone	goes	through	at	some	point	in
childhood	or	adolescence.	But	what	is	most	telling	about	Ben’s
reaction	is	his	failure	to	respond	to	Jason’s	efforts	to	repair	their
friendship,	a	stance	that	extends	his	plight	when	it	might	have	ended.


Such	an	inability	to	seize	key	cues	is	typical	of	children	who	are


unpopular;	as	we	saw	in
Chapter	8
,	socially	rejected	children
typically
are	poor	at	reading	emotional	and	social	signals;	even	when	they	do
read	such	signals,	they	may	have	limited	repertoires	for	response.
Dropping	out	of	school	is	a	particular	risk	for	children	who	are
social	rejects.	The	dropout	rate	for	children	who	are	rejected	by	their
peers	is	between	two	and	eight	times	greater	than	for	children	who
have	friends.	One	study	found,	for	example,	that	about	25	percent	of
children	who	were	unpopular	in	elementary	school	had	dropped	out
before	completing	high	school,	compared	to	a	general	rate	of	8
percent.
42
	Small	wonder:	imagine	spending	thirty	hours	a	week	in	a
place	where	no	one	likes	you.
Two	kinds	of	emotional	proclivities	lead	children	to	end	up	as	social
outcasts.	As	we	have	seen,	one	is	the	propensity	to	angry	outbursts
and	to	perceive	hostility	even	where	none	is	intended.	The	second	is
being	timid,	anxious,	and	socially	shy.	But	over	and	above	these
temperamental	factors,	it	is	children	who	are	“off”—whose
awkwardness	repeatedly	makes	people	uncomfortable—who	tend	to
be	shunted	aside.
One	way	these	children	are	“off”	is	in	the	emotional	signals	they


send.	When	grade	schoolers	with	few	friends	were	asked	to	match	an
emotion	such	as	disgust	or	anger	with	faces	that	displayed	a	range	of
emotions,	they	made	far	more	mismatches	than	did	children	who
were	popular.	When	kindergarteners	were	asked	to	explain	ways	they
might	make	friends	with	someone	or	keep	from	having	a	fight,	it	was
the	unpopular	children—the	ones	others	shied	away	from	playing
with—who	came	up	with	self-defeating	answers	(“Punch	him”	for
what	to	do	when	both	children	wanted	the	same	toy,	for	example),	or
vague	appeals	for	help	from	a	grown-up.	And	when	teenagers	were
asked	to	role-play	being	sad,	angry,	or	mischievous,	the	more
unpopular	among	them	gave	the	least	convincing	performances.	It	is
perhaps	no	surprise	that	such	children	come	to	feel	that	they	are
helpless	to	do	any	better	at	making	friends;	their	social	incompetence
becomes	a	self-fulfilling	prophecy.	Instead	of	learning	new	approaches
to	making	friends,	they	simply	keep	doing	the	same	things	that	have
not	worked	for	them	in	the	past,	or	come	up	with	even	more	inept
responses.
43
In	the	lottery	of	liking,	these	children	fall	short	on	key	emotional


criteria:	they	are	not	seen	as	fun	to	be	with,	and	they	don’t	know	how
to	make	another	child	feel	good.	Observations	of	unpopular	children
at	play	show,	for	example,	that	they	are	much	more	likely	than	others


to	cheat,	sulk,	quit	when	losing,	or	show	off	and	brag	about	winning.
Of	course,	most	children	want	to	win	at	a	game—but	win	or	lose,
most	children	are	able	to	contain	their	emotional	reaction	so	that	it
does	not	undermine	the	relationship	with	the	friend	they	play	games
with.
While	children	who	are	socially	tone-deaf—who	continually	have
trouble	reading	and	responding	to	emotions—end	up	as	social
isolates,	this	does	not	apply,	of	course,	to	children	who	go	through	a
temporary	period	of	feeling	left	out.	But	for	those	who	are	continually
excluded	and	rejected,	their	painful	outcast	status	clings	to	them	as
they	continue	their	school	years.	The	consequences	of	ending	up	at
the	social	margins	are	potentially	great	as	a	child	continues	on	into
adulthood.	For	one,	it	is	in	the	cauldron	of	close	friendships	and	the
tumult	of	play	that	children	refine	the	social	and	emotional	skills	that
they	will	bring	to	relationships	later	in	life.	Children	who	are
excluded	from	this	realm	of	learning	are,	inevitably,	disadvantaged.
Understandably,	those	who	are	rejected	report	great	anxiety	and
many	worries,	as	well	as	being	depressed	and	lonely.	In	fact,	how
popular	a	child	was	in	third	grade	has	been	shown	to	be	a	better


predictor	of	mental-health	problems	at	age	eighteen	than	anything
else—teachers’	and	nurses’	ratings,	school	performance	and	IQ,	even
scores	on	psychological	tests.
44
	And,	as	we	have	seen,	in	later	stages
of	life	people	who	have	few	friends	and	are	chronically	lonely	are	at
greater	risk	for	medical	diseases	and	an	early	death.
As	psychoanalyst	Harry	Stack	Sullivan	pointed	out,	we	learn	how	to
negotiate	intimate	relations—to	work	out	differences	and	share	our
deepest	feelings—in	our	first	close	friendships	with	same-sex	chums.
But	children	who	are	socially	rejected	are	only	half	as	likely	as	their
peers	to	have	a	best	friend	during	the	crucial	years	of	elementary
school,	and	so	miss	out	on	one	of	the	essential	chances	for	emotional
growth.
45
	One	friend	can	make	the	difference—even	when	all	others
turn	their	backs	(and	even	when	that	friendship	is	not	all	that	solid).
COACHING	FOR	FRIENDSHIP
There	is	hope	for	rejected	children,	despite	their	ineptness.	Steven
Asher,	a	University	of	Illinois	psychologist,	has	designed	a	series	of
“friendship	coaching”	sessions	for	unpopular	children	that	has	shown
some	success.
46
	Identifying	third	and	fourth	graders	who	were	the


least	liked	in	their	classes,	Asher	gave	them	six	sessions	in	how	to
“make	playing	games	more	fun”	through	being	“friendly,	fun,	and
nice.”	To	avoid	stigma,	the	children	were	told	that	they	were	acting	as
“consultants”	to	the	coach,	who	was	trying	to	learn	what	kinds	of
things	make	it	more	enjoyable	to	play	games.
The	children	were	coached	to	act	in	ways	Asher	had	found	typical
of	more	popular	children.	For	example,	they	were	encouraged	to	think
of	alternative
suggestions	and	compromises	(rather	than	fighting)	if
they	disagree	about	the	rules;	to	remember	to	talk	with	and	ask
questions	about	the	other	child	while	they	play;	to	listen	and	look	at
the	other	child	to	see	how	he’s	doing;	to	say	something	nice	when	the
other	person	does	well;	to	smile	and	offer	help	or	suggestions	and
encouragement.	The	children	also	tried	out	these	basic	social
amenities	while	playing	games	such	as	Pick-up	Sticks	with	a
classmate,	and	were	coached	afterward	on	how	well	they	did.	This
minicourse	in	getting	along	had	a	remarkable	effect:	a	year	later	the
children	who	were	coached—all	of	whom	were	selected	because	they
were	the	least-liked	in	their	class—were	now	solidly	in	the	middle	of


classroom	popularity.	None	were	social	stars,	but	none	were	rejects.
Similar	results	have	been	found	by	Stephen	Nowicki,	an	Emory
University	psychologist.
47
	His	program	trains	social	outcasts	to	hone
their	ability	to	read	and	respond	appropriately	to	other	children’s
feelings.	The	children,	for	example,	are	videotaped	while	practicing
expression	of	feelings	such	as	happiness	and	sadness,	and	are	coached
to	improve	their	emotional	expressiveness.	They	then	try	out	their
newly	honed	skills	with	a	child	they	want	to	make	friends	with.
Such	programs	have	reported	a	50	to	60	percent	success	rate	in
raising	the	popularity	of	rejected	children.	These	programs	(at	least	as
presently	designed)	seem	to	work	best	for	third	and	fourth	graders
rather	than	children	in	higher	grades,	and	to	be	more	helpful	for
socially	inept	children	than	for	highly	aggressive	ones.	But	that	is	all	a
matter	for	fine-tuning;	the	hopeful	sign	is	that	many	or	most	rejected
children	can	be	brought	into	the	circle	of	friendship	with	some	basic
emotional	coaching.
DRINKING	AND	DRUGS:	ADDICTION	AS	SELF-MEDICATION
Students	at	the	local	campus	call	it
drinking	to	black
—bingeing	on	beer
to	the	point	of	passing	out.	One	of	the	techniques:	attach	a	funnel	to	a


garden	hose,	so	that	a	can	of	beer	can	be	downed	in	about	ten
seconds.	The	method	is	not	an	isolated	oddity.	One	survey	found	that
two	fifths	of	male	college	students	down	seven	or	more	drinks	at	a
time,	while	11	percent	call	themselves	“heavy	drinkers.”	Another
term,	of	course,	might	be	“alcoholics.”
48
	About	half	of	college	men
and	almost	40	percent	of	women	have	at	least	two	binge-drinking
episodes	in	a	month.
49
While	in	the	United	States	use	of	most	drugs	among	young	people
generally	tapered	off	in	the	1980s,	there	is	a	steady	trend	toward
more	alcohol	use
at	ever-younger	ages.	A	1993	survey	found	that	35
percent	of	college	women	said	they	drank	to	get	drunk,	while	just	10
percent	did	so	in	1977;	overall,	one	in	three	students	drinks	to	get
drunk.	That	poses	other	risks:	90	percent	of	all	rapes	reported	on
college	campuses	happened	when	either	the	assailant	or	the	victim—
or	both—had	been	drinking.
50
	Alcohol-related	accidents	are	the
leading	cause	of	death	among	young	people	between	fifteen	and
twenty-four.
51
Experimentation	with	drugs	and	alcohol	might	seem	a	rite	of


51
Experimentation	with	drugs	and	alcohol	might	seem	a	rite	of
passage	for	adolescents,	but	this	first	taste	can	have	long-lasting
results	for	some.	For	most	alcoholics	and	drug	abusers,	the	beginnings
of	addiction	can	be	traced	to	their	teen	years,	though	few	of	those
who	so	experiment	end	up	as	alcoholics	or	drug	abusers.	By	the	time
students	leave	high	school,	over	90	percent	have	tried	alcohol,	yet
only	about	14	percent	eventually	become	alcoholics;	of	the	millions	of
Americans	who	experimented	with	cocaine,	fewer	than	5	percent
became	addicted.
52
	What	makes	the	difference?
To	be	sure,	those	living	in	high-crime	neighborhoods,	where	crack
is	sold	on	the	corner	and	the	drug	dealer	is	the	most	prominent	local
model	of	economic	success,	are	most	at	risk	for	substance	abuse.	Some
may	end	up	addicted	through	becoming	small-time	dealers
themselves,	others	simply	because	of	the	easy	access	or	a	peer	culture
that	glamorizes	drugs—a	factor	that	heightens	the	risk	of	drug	use	in
any	neighborhood,	even	(and	perhaps	especially)	the	most	well-off.
But	still	the	question	remains,	of	the	pool	of	those	exposed	to	these
lures	and	pressures,	and	who	go	on	to	experiment,	which	ones	are


most	likely	to	end	up	with	a	lasting	habit?
One	current	scientific	theory	is	that	those	who	stay	with	the	habit,
becoming	increasingly	dependent	on	alcohol	or	drugs,	are	using	these
substances	as	a	medication	of	sorts,	a	way	to	soothe	feelings	of
anxiety,	anger,	or	depression.	Through	their	early	experimentation


they	hit	upon	a	chemical	fix,	a	way	to	calm	the	feelings	of	anxiety	or
melancholy	that	have	tormented	them.	Thus	of	several	hundred
seventh-	and	eighth-grade	students	tracked	for	two	years,	it	was	those
who	reported	higher	levels	of	emotional	distress	who	subsequently
went	on	to	have	the	highest	rates	of	substance	abuse.
53
	This	may
explain	why	so	many	young	people	are	able	to	experiment	with	drugs
and	drinking	without	becoming	addicted,	while	others	become
dependent	almost	from	the	start:	those	most	vulnerable	to	addiction
seem	to	find	in	the	drug	or	alcohol	an	instant	way	to	soothe	emotions
that	have	distressed	them	for	years.
As	Ralph	Tarter,	a	psychologist	at	the	Western	Psychiatric	Institute
and	Clinic	in	Pittsburgh,	put	it,	“For	people	who	are	biologically
predisposed,	the
first	drink	or	dose	of	a	drug	is	immensely	reinforcing,
in	a	way	others	just	don’t	experience.	Many	recovering	drug	abusers
tell	me,	‘The	moment	I	took	my	first	drug,	I	felt	normal	for	the	first
time.’	It	stabilizes	them	physiologically,	at	least	in	the	short	term.”
54
That,	of	course,	is	the	devil’s	bargain	of	addiction:	a	short-term	good
feeling	in	exchange	for	the	steady	meltdown	of	one’s	life.


Certain	emotional	patterns	seem	to	make	people	more	likely	to	find
emotional	relief	in	one	substance	rather	than	another.	For	example,
there	are	two	emotional	pathways	to	alcoholism.	One	starts	with
someone	who	was	high-strung	and	anxious	in	childhood,	who
typically	discovers	as	a	teenager	that	alcohol	will	calm	the	anxiety.
Very	often	they	are	children—usually	sons—of	alcoholics	who
themselves	have	turned	to	alcohol	to	soothe	their	nerves.	One
biological	marker	for	this	pattern	is	undersecretion	of	GABA,	a
neurotransmitter	that	regulates	anxiety—too	little	GABA	is
experienced	as	a	high	level	of	tension.	One	study	found	that	sons	of
alcoholic	fathers	had	low	levels	of	GABA	and	were	highly	anxious,	but
when	they	drank	alcohol,	their	GABA	levels	rose	as	their	anxiety
fell.
55
	These	sons	of	alcoholics	drink	to	ease	their	tension,	finding	in
alcohol	a	relaxation	that	they	could	not	seem	to	get	otherwise.	Such
people	may	be	vulnerable	to	abusing	sedatives	as	well	as	alcohol	for
the	same	anxiety-reduction	effect.
A	neuropsychological	study	of	sons	of	alcoholics	who	at	age	twelve
showed	signs	of	anxiety	such	as	a	heightened	heart	rate	in	response	to
stress,	as	well	as	impulsivity,	found	the	boys	also	had	poor	frontal


lobe	functioning.
56
	Thus	the	brain	areas	that	might	have	helped	ease
their	anxiety	or	control	their	impulsiveness	brought	them	less	help
than	in	other	boys.	And	since	the	pre-frontal	lobes	also	handle


working	memory—which	holds	in	mind	the	consequences	of	various
routes	of	action	while	making	a	decision—their	deficit	could	support	a
slide	into	alcoholism	by	helping	them	ignore	the	long-term	drawbacks
of	drinking,	even	as	they	found	an	immediate	sedation	from	anxiety
through	alcohol.
This	craving	for	calm	seems	to	be	an	emotional	marker	of	a	genetic
susceptibility	to	alcoholism.	A	study	of	thirteen	hundred	relatives	of
alcoholics	found	that	the	children	of	alcoholics	who	were	most	at	risk
for	becoming	alcoholics	themselves	were	those	who	reported	having
chronically	high	levels	of	anxiety.	Indeed,	the	researchers	concluded
that	alcoholism	develops	in	such	people	as	“self-medication	of	anxiety
symptoms.”
57
A	second	emotional	pathway	to	alcoholism	comes	from	a	high	level
of	agitation,	impulsivity,	and	boredom.	This	pattern	shows	up	in
infancy	as
being	restless,	cranky,	and	hard	to	handle,	in	grade	school
as	having	the	“fidgets,”	hyperactivity,	and	getting	into	trouble,	a
propensity	that,	as	we	have	seen,	can	push	such	children	to	seek	out
friends	on	the	fringe—sometimes	leading	to	a	criminal	career	or	the
diagnosis	of	“antisocial	personality	disorder.”	Such	people	(and	they
are	mainly	men)	have	as	their	main	emotional	complaint	agitation;


their	main	weakness	is	unrestrained	impulsivity;	their	usual	reaction
to	boredom—which	they	often	feel—is	an	impulsive	search	for	risk
and	excitement.	As	adults,	people	with	this	pattern	(which	may	be
tied	to	deficiencies	in	two	other	neurotransmitters,	serotonin	and
MAO)	find	that	alcohol	can	soothe	their	agitation.	And	the	fact	that
they	can’t	stand	monotony	makes	them	ready	to	try	anything;	coupled
with	their	general	impulsivity,	it	makes	them	prone	to	abusing	an
almost	random	list	of	drugs	besides	alcohol.
58
While	depression	can	drive	some	to	drink,	the	metabolic	effects	of
alcohol	often	simply	worsen	the	depression	after	a	short	lift.	People
who	turn	to	alcohol	as	an	emotional	palliative	do	so	much	more	often
to	calm	anxiety	than	for	depression;	an	entirely	different	class	of
drugs	soothes	the	feelings	of	people	who	are	depressed—at	least
temporarily.	Feeling	chronically	unhappy	puts	people	at	greater	risk
for	addiction	to	stimulants	such	as	cocaine,	which	provide	a	direct
antidote	to	feeling	depressed.	One	study	found	that	more	than	half	the
patients	being	treated	at	a	clinic	for	cocaine	addiction	would	have
been	diagnosed	with	severe	depression	before	they	started	their	habit,


and	the	deeper	the	preceding	depression,	the	stronger	the	habit.
59
Chronic	anger	may	lead	to	still	another	kind	of	susceptibility.	In	a


study	of	four	hundred	patients	being	treated	for	addiction	to	heroin
and	other	opioids,	the	most	striking	emotional	pattern	was	a	lifelong
difficulty	handling	anger	and	a	quickness	to	rage.	Some	of	the	patients
themselves	said	that	with	opiates	they	finally	felt	normal	and
relaxed.
60
Though	the	predisposition	to	substance	abuse	may,	in	many	cases,
be	brain-based,	the	feelings	that	drive	people	to	“self-medicate”
themselves	through	drink	or	drugs	can	be	handled	without	recourse	to
medication,	as	Alcoholics	Anonymous	and	other	recovery	programs
have	demonstrated	for	decades.	Acquiring	the	ability	to	handle	those
feelings—soothing	anxiety,	lifting	depression,	calming	rage—removes
the	impetus	to	use	drugs	or	alcohol	in	the	first	place.	These	basic
emotional	skills	are	taught	remedially	in	treatment	programs	for	drug
and	alcohol	abuse.	It	would	be	far	better,	of	course,	if	they	were
learned	early	in	life,	well	before	the	habit	became	established.
NO	MORE	WARS:	A	FINAL	COMMON	PREVENTIVE	PATHWAY
Over	the	last	decade	or	so	“wars”	have	been	proclaimed,	in	turn,	on
teen	pregnancy,	dropping	out,	drugs,	and	most	recently	violence.	The


trouble	with	such	campaigns,	though,	is	that	they	come	too	late,	after
the	targeted	problem	has	reached	epidemic	proportions	and	taken
firm	root	in	the	lives	of	the	young.	They	are	crisis	intervention,	the
equivalent	of	solving	a	problem	by	sending	an	ambulance	to	the
rescue	rather	than	giving	an	inoculation	that	would	ward	off	the
disease	in	the	first	place.	Instead	of	more	such	“wars,”	what	we	need
is	to	follow	the	logic	of	prevention,	offering	our	children	the	skills	for
facing	life	that	will	increase	their	chances	of	avoiding	any	and	all	of
these	fates.
61
My	focus	on	the	place	of	emotional	and	social	deficits	is	not	to	deny
the	role	of	other	risk	factors,	such	as	growing	up	in	a	fragmented,
abusive,	or	chaotic	family,	or	in	an	impoverished,	crime-	and	drug-
ridden	neighborhood.	Poverty	itself	delivers	emotional	blows	to
children:	poorer	children	at	age	five	are	already	more	fearful,	anxious,
and	sad	than	their	better-off	peers,	and	have	more	behavior	problems
such	as	frequent	tantrums	and	destroying	things,	a	trend	that
continues	through	the	teen	years.	The	press	of	poverty	corrodes	family
life	too:	there	tend	to	be	fewer	expressions	of	parental	warmth,	more


depression	in	mothers	(who	are	often	single	and	jobless),	and	a


greater	reliance	on	harsh	punishments	such	as	yelling,	hitting,	and
physical	threats.
62
But	there	is	a	role	that	emotional	competence	plays	over	and	above
family	and	economic	forces—it	may	be	decisive	in	determining	the
extent	to	which	any	given	child	or	teenager	is	undone	by	these
hardships	or	finds	a	core	of	resilience	to	survive	them.	Long-term
studies	of	hundreds	of	children	brought	up	in	poverty,	in	abusive
families,	or	by	a	parent	with	severe	mental	illness	show	that	those
who	are	resilient	even	in	the	face	of	the	most	grinding	hardships	tend
to	share	key	emotional	skills.
63
	These	include	a	winning	sociability
that	draws	people	to	them,	self-confidence,	an	optimistic	persistence
in	the	face	of	failure	and	frustration,	the	ability	to	recover	quickly
from	upsets,	and	an	easygoing	nature.
But	the	vast	majority	of	children	face	such	difficulties	without	these
advantages.	Of	course,	many	of	these	skills	are	innate,	the	luck	of
genes—but	even	qualities	of	temperament	can	change	for	the	better,
as	we	saw	in
Chapter	14
.	One	line	of	intervention,	of	course,	is
political	and	economic,	alleviating	the	poverty	and	other	social
conditions	that	breed	these	problems.	But	apart	from	these	tactics


conditions	that	breed	these	problems.	But	apart	from	these	tactics
(which	seem	to	move	ever	lower	on	the	social	agenda)
there	is	much
that	can	be	offered	to	children	to	help	them	grapple	better	with	such
debilitating	hardships.
Take	the	case	of	emotional	disorders,	afflictions	that	about	one	in
two	Americans	experiences	over	the	course	of	life.	A	study	of	a
representative	sample	of	8,098	Americans	found	that	48	percent
suffered	from	at	least	one	psychiatric	problem	during	their	lifetime.
64
Most	severely	affected	were	the	14	percent	of	people	who	developed
three	or	more	psychiatric	problems	at	once.	This	group	was	the	most
troubled,	accounting	for	60	percent	of	all	psychiatric	disorders
occurring	at	any	one	time,	and	90	percent	of	the	most	severe	and
disabling	ones.	While	they	need	intensive	care	now,	the	optimal
approach	would	be,	wherever	possible,	to	prevent	these	problems	in
the	first	place.	To	be	sure,	not	every	mental	disorder	can	be	prevented
—but	there	are	some,	and	perhaps	many,	that	can.	Ronald	Kessler,	the
University	of	Michigan	sociologist	who	did	the	study,	told	me,	“We
need	to	intervene	early	in	life.	Take	a	young	girl	who	has	a	social
phobia	in	the	sixth	grade,	and	starts	drinking	in	junior	high	school	to


handle	her	social	anxieties.	By	her	late	twenties,	when	she	shows	up
in	our	study,	she’s	still	fearful,	has	become	both	an	alcohol	and	drug
abuser,	and	is	depressed	because	her	life	is	so	messed	up.	The	big


question	is,	what	could	we	have	done	early	in	her	life	to	have	headed
off	the	whole	downward	spiral?”
The	same	holds,	of	course,	for	dropping	out	or	violence,	or	most	of
the	litany	of	perils	faced	by	young	people	today.	Educational
programs	to	prevent	one	or	another	specific	problem	such	as	drug	use
and	violence	have	proliferated	wildly	in	the	last	decade	or	so,	creating
a	mini-industry	within	the	education	marketplace.	But	many	of	them
—including	many	of	the	most	slickly	marketed	and	most	widely	used
—have	proven	to	be	ineffective.	A	few,	to	the	chagrin	of	educators,
even	seemed	to	increase	the	likelihood	of	the	problems	they	were
meant	to	head	off,	particularly	drug	abuse	and	teen	sex.
Information	Is	Not	Enough
An	instructive	case	in	point	is	sexual	abuse	of	children.	As	of	1993,
about	two	hundred	thousand	substantiated	cases	were	reported
annually	in	the	United	States,	with	that	number	growing	by	about	10
percent	per	year.	And	while	estimates	vary	widely,	most	experts	agree
that	between	20	and	30	percent	of	girls	and	about	half	that	number	of
boys	are	victims	of	some	form	of	sexual	abuse	by	age	seventeen	(the


figures	rise	or	fall	depending	on	how	sexual	abuse	is	defined,	among
other	factors).
65
	There	is	no	single	profile	of	a	child
who	is
particularly	vulnerable	to	sexual	abuse,	but	most	feel	unprotected,
unable	to	resist	on	their	own,	and	isolated	by	what	has	happened	to
them.
With	these	risks	in	mind,	many	schools	have	begun	to	offer
programs	to	prevent	sexual	abuse.	Most	such	programs	are	tightly
focused	on	basic	information	about	sexual	abuse,	teaching	kids,	for
example,	to	know	the	difference	between	“good”	and	“bad”	touching,
alerting	them	to	the	dangers,	and	encouraging	them	to	tell	an	adult	if
anything	untoward	happens	to	them.	But	a	national	survey	of	two
thousand	children	found	that	this	basic	training	was	little	better	than
nothing—or	actually	worse	than	nothing—in	helping	children	do
something	to	prevent	being	victimized,	whether	by	a	school	bully	or	a
potential	child	molester.
66
	Worse,	the	children	who	had	only	such
basic	programs	and	who	had	subsequently	become	victims	of	sexual
assault	were	actually
half
	as	likely	to	report	it	afterward	than	were
children	who	had	had	no	programs	at	all.
By	contrast,	children	given	more	comprehensive	training—
including	related	emotional	and	social	competences—were	better	able


to	protect	themselves	against	the	threat	of	being	victimized:	they	were
far	more	likely	to	demand	to	be	left	alone,	to	yell	or	fight	back,	to
threaten	to	tell,	and	to	actually	tell	if	something	bad	did	happen	to
them.	This	last	benefit—reporting	the	abuse—is	preventive	in	a	telling
sense:	many	child	molesters	victimize	hundreds	of	children.	A	study	of
child	molesters	in	their	forties	found	that,	on	average,	they	had	one
victim	a	month	since	their	teenage	years.	A	report	on	a	bus	driver	and
a	high-school	computer	teacher	reveals	they	molested	about	three
hundred	children	each	year	between	them—yet	not	one	of	the
children	reported	the	sexual	abuse;	the	abuse	came	to	light	only	after
one	of	the	boys	who	had	been	abused	by	the	teacher	started	to
sexually	abuse	his	sister.
67
Those	children	who	got	the	more	comprehensive	programs	were
three	times	more	likely	than	those	in	minimal	programs	to	report
abuse.	What	worked	so	well?	These	programs	were	not	one-shot
topics,	but	were	given	at	different	levels	several	times	over	the	course
of	a	child’s	school	career,	as	part	of	health	or	sex	education.	They
enlisted	parents	to	deliver	the	message	to	the	child	along	with	what


enlisted	parents	to	deliver	the	message	to	the	child	along	with	what
was	taught	in	school	(children	whose	parents	did	this	were	the	very
best	at	resisting	threats	of	sexual	abuse).
Beyond	that,	social	and	emotional	competences	made	the
difference.	It	is	not	enough	for	a	child	simply	to	know	about	“good”
and	“bad”	touching;	children	need	the	self-awareness	to	know	when	a
situation
feels
	wrong	or	distressing	long	before	the	touching	begins.
This	entails	not	just	self-awareness,	but	also	enough	self-confidence
and	assertiveness	to	trust	and	act	on	those	feelings	of	distress,	even	in
the	face	of	an	adult	who	may	be	trying	to
reassure	her	that	“it’s	okay.”
And	then	a	child	needs	a	repertoire	of	ways	to	disrupt	what	is	about
to	happen—everything	from	running	away	to	threatening	to	tell.	For
these	reasons,	the	better	programs	teach	children	to	stand	up	for	what
they	want,	to	assert	their	rights	rather	than	be	passive,	to	know	what
their	boundaries	are	and	defend	them.
The	most	effective	programs,	then,	supplemented	the	basic	sexual-
abuse	information	with	essential	emotional	and	social	skills.	These
programs	taught	children	to	find	ways	to	solve	interpersonal	conflicts
more	positively,	to	have	more	self-confidence,	not	to	blame


more	positively,	to	have	more	self-confidence,	not	to	blame
themselves	if	something	happened,	and	to	feel	they	had	a	network	of
support	in	teachers	and	parents	whom	they	could	turn	to.	And	if
something	bad	did	happen	to	them,	they	were	far	more	likely	to	tell.


The	Active	Ingredients
Such	findings	have	led	to	a	reenvisioning	of	what	the	ingredients	of
an	optimal	prevention	program	should	be,	based	on	those	that
impartial	evaluations	showed	to	be	truly	effective.	In	a	five-year
project	sponsored	by	the	W.	T.	Grant	Foundation,	a	consortium	of
researchers	studied	this	landscape	and	distilled	the	active	ingredients
that	seemed	crucial	to	the	success	of	those	programs	that	worked.
68
The	list	of	key	skills	the	consortium	concluded	should	be	covered,	no
matter	what	specific	problem	it	is	designed	to	prevent,	reads	like	the
ingredients	of	emotional	intelligence	(see
Appendix	D
	for	the	full
list).
69
The	emotional	skills	include	self-awareness;	identifying,	expressing,
and	managing	feelings;	impulse	control	and	delaying	gratification;
and	handling	stress	and	anxiety.	A	key	ability	in	impulse	control	is
knowing	the	difference	between	feelings	and	actions,	and	learning	to
make	better	emotional	decisions	by	first	controlling	the	impulse	to
act,	then	identifying	alternative	actions	and	their	consequences	before
acting.	Many	competences	are	interpersonal:	reading	social	and
emotional	cues,	listening,	being	able	to	resist	negative	influences,
taking	others’	perspectives,	and	understanding	what	behavior	is
acceptable	in	a	situation.
These	are	among	the	core	emotional	and	social	skills	for	life,	and


These	are	among	the	core	emotional	and	social	skills	for	life,	and
include	at	least	partial	remedies	for	most,	if	not	all,	of	the	difficulties	I
have	discussed	in	this	chapter.	The	choice	of	specific	problems	these
skills	might	inoculate	against	is	nearly	arbitrary—similar	cases	for	the
role	of	emotional	and	social	competences	could	have	been	made	for,
say,	unwanted	teen	pregnancy	or	teen	suicide.
To	be	sure,	the	causes	of	all	such	problems	are	complex,
interweaving	differing	ratios	of	biological	destiny,	family	dynamics,
the	politics	of	poverty,	and	the	culture	of	the	streets.	No	single	kind	of
intervention,	including	one	targeting	emotions,	can	claim	to	do	the
whole	job.	But	to	the	degree	emotional	deficits	add	to	a	child’s	risk—
and	we	have	seen	that	they	add	a	great	deal—attention	must	be	paid
to	emotional	remedies,	not	to	the	exclusion	of	other	answers,	but
along	with	them.	The	next	question	is,	what	would	an	education	in
the	emotions	look	like?
*
	In	children,	unlike	adults,	medication	is	not	a	clear	alternative	to	therapy	or	preventive
education	for	treating	depression;	children	metabolize	medications	differently	than	do	adults.
Tricyclic	antidepressants,	often	successful	with	adults,	have	failed	in	controlled	studies	with


children	to	prove	better	than	an	inactive	placebo	drug.	Newer	depression	medications,
including	Prozac,	are	as	yet	untested	for	use	in	children.	And	desipramine,	one	of	the	most
common	(and	safest)	tricyclics	used	with	adults,	has,	at	this	writing,	become	the	focus	of	FDA
scrutiny	as	a	possible	cause	of	death	in	children.


16
Schooling	the	Emotions
The	main	hope	of	a	nation	lies	in	the	proper	education	of	its	youth
.
—E
RASMUS
It’s	a	strange	roll	call,	going	around	the	circle	of	fifteen	fifth	graders
sitting	Indian-style	on	the	floor.	As	a	teacher	calls	their	names	the
students	respond	not	with	the	vacant	“Here”	standard	in	schools,	but
instead	call	out	a	number	that	indicates	how	they	feel;	one	means	low
spirits,	ten	high	energy.
Today	spirits	are	high:
“Jessica.”
“Ten:	I’m	jazzed,	it’s	Friday.”
“Patrick.”
“Nine:	excited,	a	little	nervous.”
“Nicole.”
“Ten:	peaceful,	happy	…”
It’s	a	class	in	Self	Science	at	the	Nueva	School,	a	school	retrofitted
into	what	used	to	be	the	grand	manse	of	the	Crocker	family,	the
dynasty	that	founded	one	of	San	Francisco’s	biggest	banks.	Now	the
building,	which	resembles	a	miniature	version	of	the	San	Francisco
Opera	House,	houses	a	private	school	that	offers	what	may	be	a	model
course	in	emotional	intelligence.
The	subject	in	Self	Science	is	feelings—your	own	and	those	that
erupt	in	relationships.	The	topic,	by	its	very	nature,	demands	that
teachers	and	students	focus	on	the	emotional	fabric	of	a	child’s	life—a


teachers	and	students	focus	on	the	emotional	fabric	of	a	child’s	life—a
focus	that	is	determinedly	ignored	in	almost	every	other	classroom	in
America.	The	strategy
here	includes	using	the	tensions	and	traumas	of
children’s	lives	as	the	topic	of	the	day.	Teachers	speak	to	real	issues—
hurt	over	being	left	out,	envy,	disagreements	that	could	escalate	into	a
schoolyard	battle.	As	Karen	Stone	McCown,	developer	of	the	Self
Science	Curriculum	and	founder	of	Nueva,	put	it,	“Learning	doesn’t
take	place	in	isolation	from	kids’	feelings.	Being	emotionally	literate	is
as	important	for	learning	as	instruction	in	math	and	reading.”
1


Self	Science	is	a	pioneer,	an	early	harbinger	of	an	idea	that	is
spreading	to	schools	coast	to	coast.
*
	Names	for	these	classes	range
from	“social	development”	to	“life	skills”	to	“social	and	emotional
learning.”	Some,	referring	to	Howard	Gardner’s	idea	of	multiple
intelligences,	use	the	term	“personal	intelligences.”	The	common
thread	is	the	goal	of	raising	the	level	of	social	and	emotional
competence	in	children	as	a	part	of	their	regular	education—not	just
something	taught	remedially	to	children	who	are	faltering	and
identified	as	“troubled,”	but	a	set	of	skills	and	understandings
essential	for	every	child.
The	emotional-literacy	courses	have	some	remote	roots	in	the
affective-education	movement	of	the	1960s.	The	thinking	then	was
that	psychological	and	motivational	lessons	were	more	deeply	learned
if	they	involved	an	immediate	experience	of	what	was	being	taught
conceptually.	The	emotional-literacy	movement,	though,	turns	the
term
affective	education
	inside	out—instead	of	using	affect	to	educate,
it	educates	affect	itself.
More	immediately,	many	of	these	courses	and	the	momentum	for
their	spread	come	from	an	ongoing	series	of	school-based	prevention
programs,	each	targeting	a	specific	problem:	teen	smoking,	drug


programs,	each	targeting	a	specific	problem:	teen	smoking,	drug
abuse,	pregnancy,	dropping	out,	and	most	recently	violence.	As	we
saw	in	the	last	chapter,	the	W.	T.	Grant	Consortium’s	study	of
prevention	programs	found	they	are	far	more	effective	when	they
teach	a	core	of	emotional	and	social	competences,	such	as	impulse
control,	managing	anger,	and	finding	creative	solutions	to	social
predicaments.	From	this	principle	a	new	generation	of	interventions
has	emerged.
As	we	saw	in
Chapter	15
,	interventions	designed	to	target	the
specific	deficits	in	emotional	and	social	skills	that	undergird	problems
such	as	aggression	or	depression	can	be	highly	effective	as	buffers	for
children.	But	those	well-designed	interventions,	in	the	main,	have
been	run	by	research	psychologists
as	experiments.	The	next	step	is	to
take	the	lessons	learned	from	such	highly	focused	programs	and
generalize	them	as	a	preventive	measure	for	the	entire	school
population,	taught	by	ordinary	teachers.
This	more	sophisticated	and	more	effective	approach	to	prevention
includes	information	about	problems	such	as	AIDS,	drugs,	and	the
like,	at	the	points	in	youngsters’	lives	when	they	are	beginning	to	face
them.	But	its	main,	ongoing	subject	is	the	core	competence	that	is


brought	to	bear	on	any	of	these	specific	dilemmas:	emotional


intelligence.
This	new	departure	in	bringing	emotional	literacy	into	schools
makes	emotions	and	social	life	themselves	topics,	rather	than	treating
these	most	compelling	facets	of	a	child’s	day	as	irrelevant	intrusions
or,	when	they	lead	to	eruptions,	relegating	them	to	occasional
disciplinary	trips	to	the	guidance	counselor	or	the	principal’s	office.
The	classes	themselves	may	at	first	glance	seem	uneventful,	much
less	a	solution	to	the	dramatic	problems	they	address.	But	that	is
largely	because,	like	good	childrearing	at	home,	the	lessons	imparted
are	small	but	telling,	delivered	regularly	and	over	a	sustained	period
of	years.	That	is	how	emotional	learning	becomes	ingrained;	as
experiences	are	repeated	over	and	over,	the	brain	reflects	them	as
strengthened	pathways,	neural	habits	to	apply	in	times	of	duress,
frustration,	hurt.	And	while	the	everyday	substance	of	emotional
literacy	classes	may	look	mundane,	the	outcome—decent	human
beings—is	more	critical	to	our	future	than	ever.
A	LESSON	IN	COOPERATION
Compare	a	moment	from	a	class	in	Self	Science	with	the	classroom
experiences	you	can	recall.
A	fifth-grade	group	is	about	to	play	the	Cooperation	Squares	game,
in	which	the	students	team	up	to	put	together	a	series	of	square-


shaped	jigsaw	puzzles.	The	catch:	their	teamwork	is	all	in	silence,
with	no	gesturing	allowed.
The	teacher,	Jo-An	Vargo,	divides	the	class	into	three	groups,	each
assigned	to	a	different	table.	Three	observers,	each	familiar	with	the
game,	get	an	evaluation	sheet	to	assess,	for	example,	who	in	the	group
takes	the	lead	in	organizing,	who	is	a	clown,	who	disrupts.
The	students	dump	the	pieces	of	the	puzzles	on	the	table	and	go	to
work.	Within	a	minute	or	so	it’s	clear	that	one	group	is	surprisingly
efficient	as	a	team;	they	finish	in	just	a	few	minutes.	A	second	group
of	four	is	engaged	in
solitary,	parallel	efforts,	each	working	separately
on	their	own	puzzle,	but	getting	nowhere.	Then	they	slowly	start	to
work	collectively	to	assemble	their	first	square,	and	continue	to	work
as	a	unit	until	all	the	puzzles	are	solved.
But	the	third	group	still	struggles,	with	only	one	puzzle	nearing
completion,	and	even	that	looking	more	like	a	trapezoid	than	a
square.	Sean,	Fairlie,	and	Rahman	have	yet	to	find	the	smooth


coordination	that	the	other	two	groups	fell	into.	They	are	clearly
frustrated,	frantically	scanning	the	pieces	on	the	table,	seizing	on
likely	possibilities	and	putting	them	near	the	partly	finished	squares,
only	to	be	disappointed	by	the	lack	of	fit.
The	tension	breaks	a	bit	when	Rahman	takes	two	of	the	pieces	and
puts	them	in	front	of	his	eyes	like	a	mask;	his	partners	giggle.	This
will	prove	to	be	a	pivotal	moment	in	the	day’s	lesson.
Jo-An	Vargo,	the	teacher,	offers	some	encouragement:	“Those	of
you	who	have	finished	can	give	one	specific	hint	to	those	who	are	still
working.”
Dagan	moseys	over	to	the	still-struggling	group,	points	to	two
pieces	that	jut	out	from	the	square,	and	suggests,	“You’ve	got	to	move
those	two	pieces	around.”	Suddenly	Rahman,	his	wide	face	furrowed
in	concentration,	grasps	the	new	gestalt,	and	the	pieces	quickly	fall
into	place	on	the	first	puzzle,	then	the	others.	There’s	spontaneous
applause	as	the	last	piece	falls	into	place	on	the	third	group’s	final
puzzle.
A	POINT	OF	CONTENTION
But	as	the	class	goes	on	to	mull	over	the	object	lessons	in	teamwork
they’ve	received,	there	is	another,	more	intense	interchange.	Rahman,


tall	and	with	a	shock	of	bushy	black	hair	cut	into	a	longish	crew	cut,
and	Tucker,	the	group’s	observer,	are	locked	in	contentious	discussion
over	the	rule	that	you	can’t	gesture.	Tucker,	his	blond	hair	neatly
combed	except	for	a	cowlick,	wears	a	baggy	blue	T-shirt	emblazoned
with	the	motto	“Be	Responsible,”	which	somehow	underscores	his
official	role.
“You	can
too
	offer	a	piece—that’s	not	gesturing,”	Tucker	says	to
Rahman	in	an	emphatic,	argumentative	tone.
“But	that
is
	gesturing,”	Rahman	insists,	vehement.
Vargo	notices	the	heightened	volume	and	increasingly	aggressive
staccato	of	the	exchange,	and	gravitates	to	their	table.	This	is	a	critical
incident,	a	spontaneous	exchange	of	heated	feeling;	it	is	in	moments
such	as	this	that	the	lessons	already	learned	will	pay	off,	and	new
ones	can	be	taught	most
profitably.	And,	as	every	good	teacher
knows,	the	lessons	applied	in	such	electric	moments	will	last	in
students’	memories.
“This	isn’t	a	criticism—you	cooperated	very	well—but	Tucker,	try


to	say	what	you	mean	in	a	tone	of	voice	that	doesn’t	sound	so
critical,”	Vargo	coaches.
Tucker,	his	voice	calmer	now,	says	to	Rahman,	“You	can	just	put	a
piece	where	you	think	it	goes,	give	someone	what	you	think	they
need,	without	gesturing.	Just	offering.”
Rahman	responds	in	an	angry	tone,	“You	could	have	just	gone	like
this”—he	scratches	his	head	to	illustrate	an	innocent	movement
—“and	he’d	say	‘No	gesturing!’	”
There	is	clearly	more	to	Rahman’s	ire	than	this	dispute	about	what
does	or	does	not	constitute	a	gesture.	His	eyes	constantly	go	to	the
evaluation	sheet	Tucker	has	filled	out,	which—though	it	has	not	yet
been	mentioned—has	actually	provoked	the	tension	between	Tucker
and	Rahman.	On	the	evaluation	sheet	Tucker	has	listed	Rahman’s
name	in	the	blank	for	“Who	is	disruptive?”
Vargo,	noticing	Rahman	looking	at	the	offending	form,	hazards	a
guess,	saying	to	Tucker,	“He’s	feeling	that	you	used	a	negative	word
—
disruptive
—about	him.	What	did	you	mean?”
“I	didn’t	mean	it	was	a
bad
	kind	of	disruption,”	says	Tucker,	now
conciliatory.


bad
	kind	of	disruption,”	says	Tucker,	now
conciliatory.
Rahman	isn’t	buying	it,	but	his	voice	is	calmer,	too:	“That’s	a	little
farfetched,	if	you	ask	me.”
Vargo	emphasizes	a	positive	way	of	seeing	it.	“Tucker	is	trying	to
say	that	what	could	be	considered	disruptive	could	also	be	part	of
lightening	things	up	during	a	frustrating	time.”
“But,”	Rahman	protests,	now	more	matter-of-fact,
“disruptive	is
	like
when	we’re	all	concentrating	hard	on	something	and	if	I	went	like
this”—he	makes	a	ridiculous,	clowning	expression,	his	eyes	bulging,
cheeks	puffed	out—“that	would	be	disruptive.”
Vargo	tries	more	emotional	coaching,	telling	Tucker,	“In	trying	to
help,	you	didn’t	mean	he	was	disruptive	in	a	bad	way.	But	you	send	a
different	message	in	how	you’re	talking	about	it.	Rahman	is	needing
you	to	hear	and	accept	his	feelings.	Rahman	was	saying	that	having
negative	words	like
disruptive	feels
	unfair.	He	doesn’t	like	being	called
that.”
Then,	to	Rahman,	she	adds,	“I	appreciate	the	way	you’re	being
assertive	in	talking	with	Tucker.	You’re	not	attacking.	But	it’s	not


pleasant	to	have	a	label
like
disruptive
	put	on	you.	When	you	put	those
pieces	up	to	your	eyes	it	seems	like	you	were	feeling	frustrated	and
wanted	to	lighten	things	up.	But	Tucker	called	it	disruptive	because
he	didn’t	understand	your	intent.	Is	that	right?”


Both	boys	nod	assent	as	the	other	students	finish	clearing	away	the
puzzles.	This	small	classroom	melodrama	is	reaching	its	finale.	“Do
you	feel	better?”	Vargo	asks.	“Or	is	this	still	distressing?”
“Yeah,	I	feel	okay,”	says	Rahman,	his	voice	softer	now	that	he	feels
heard	and	understood.	Tucker	nods,	too,	smiling.	The	boys,	noticing
that	everyone	else	has	already	left	for	the	next	class,	turn	in	unison
and	dash	out	together.
POSTMORTEM:	A	FIGHT	THAT	DID	NOT	BREAK	OUT
As	a	new	group	starts	to	find	their	chairs,	Vargo	dissects	what	has	just
transpired.	The	heated	exchange	and	its	cooling-down	draw	on	what
the	boys	have	been	learning	about	conflict	resolution.	What	typically
escalates	to	conflict	begins,	as	Vargo	puts	it,	with	“not
communicating,	making	assumptions,	and	jumping	to	conclusions,
sending	a	‘hard’	message	in	ways	that	make	it	tough	for	people	to
hear	what	you’re	saying.”
Students	in	Self	Science	learn	that	the	point	is	not	to	avoid	conflict
completely,	but	to	resolve	disagreement	and	resentment	before	it
spirals	into	an	out-and-out	fight.	There	are	signs	of	these	earlier
lessons	in	how	Tucker	and	Rahman	handled	the	dispute.	Both,	for


example,	made	some	effort	to	express	their	point	of	view	in	a	way
that	would	not	accelerate	the	conflict.	This	assertiveness	(as	distinct
from	aggression	or	passivity)	is	taught	at	Nueva	from	third	grade	on.
It	emphasizes	expressing	feelings	forthrightly,	but	in	a	way	that	will
not	spiral	into	aggression.	While	at	the	beginning	of	their	dispute
neither	boy	was	looking	at	the	other,	as	it	went	on	they	began	to
show	signs	of	“active	listening,”	facing	each	other,	making	eye
contact,	and	sending	the	silent	cues	that	let	a	speaker	know	that	he	is
being	heard.
By	putting	these	tools	into	action,	helped	along	by	some	coaching,
“assertiveness”	and	“active	listening”	for	these	boys	become	more
than	just	empty	phrases	on	a	quiz—they	become	ways	of	reacting	the
boys	can	draw	on	at	those	moments	when	they	need	them	most
urgently.
Mastery	in	the	emotional	domain	is	especially	difficult	because
skills	need	to	be	acquired	when	people	are	usually	least	able	to	take	in
new	information	and	learn	new	habits	of	response—when	they	are
upset.	Coaching	in	these	moments	helps.	“Anyone,	adult	or	fifth


grader,	needs	some	help	being	a	self-observer
when	they’re	so	upset,”
Vargo	points	out.	“Your	heart	is	pounding,	your	hands	are	sweaty,
you’re	jittery,	and	you’re	trying	to	listen	clearly	while	keeping	your
own	self-control	to	get	through	it	without	screaming,	blaming,	or
clamming	up	in	defensiveness.”
For	anyone	familiar	with	the	rough-and-tumble	of	fifth-grade	boys,
what	may	be	most	remarkable	is	that	both	Tucker	and	Rahman	tried
to	assert	their	views	without	resorting	to	blaming,	name-calling,	or
yelling.	Neither	let	their	feelings	escalate	to	a	contemptuous	“f——
you!”	or	a	fistfight,	nor	cut	off	the	other	by	stalking	out	of	the	room.
What	could	have	been	the	seed	of	a	full-fledged	battle	instead
heightened	the	boys’	mastery	of	the	nuances	of	conflict	resolution.
How	differently	it	all	could	have	gone	in	other	circumstances.
Youngsters	daily	come	to	blows—and	even	worse—over	less.
CONCERNS	OF	THE	DAY
At	the	traditional	circle	that	opens	each	class	in	Self	Science,	the
numbers	are	not	always	so	high	as	they	were	today.	When	they	are
low—the	ones,	twos,	or	threes	that	indicate	feeling	terrible—it	opens


the	way	for	someone	to	ask,	“Do	you	want	to	talk	about	why	you	feel
that	way?”	And,	if	the	student	wants	(no	one	is	pressured	to	talk
about	things	they	don’t	want	to),	it	allows	the	airing	of	whatever	is	so
troubling—and	the	chance	to	consider	creative	options	for	handling	it.
The	troubles	that	emerge	vary	with	the	grade	level.	In	the	lower
grades	typical	ones	are	teasing,	feeling	left	out,	fears.	Around	sixth
grade	a	new	set	of	concerns	emerges—hurt	feelings	about	not	being
asked	on	a	date,	or	being	left	out;	friends	who	are	immature;	the
painful	predicaments	of	the	young	(“Big	kids	are	picking	on	me”;	“My
friends	are	smoking,	and	they’re	always	trying	to	get	me	to	try,	too”).
These	are	the	topics	of	gripping	import	in	a	child’s	life,	which	are
aired	on	the	periphery	of	school—at	lunch,	on	the	bus	to	school,	at	a
friend’s	house—if	at	all.	More	often	than	not,	these	are	the	troubles
that	children	keep	to	themselves,	obsessing	about	them	alone	at	night,
having	no	one	to	mull	them	over	with.	In	Self	Science	they	can
become	topics	of	the	day.
Each	of	these	discussions	is	potential	grist	for	the	explicit	goal	of


Each	of	these	discussions	is	potential	grist	for	the	explicit	goal	of
Self	Science,	which	is	illuminating	the	child’s	sense	of	self	and
relationships	with	others.	While	the	course	has	a	lesson	plan,	it	is


flexible	so	that	when	moments	such	as	the	conflict	between	Rahman
and	Tucker	occur	they	can	be	capitalized	on.	The	issues	that	students
bring	up	provide	the	living	examples	to
which	students	and	teachers
alike	can	apply	the	skills	they	are	learning,	such	as	the	conflict-
resolution	methods	that	cooled	down	the	heat	between	the	two	boys.
THE	ABC’S	OF	EMOTIONAL	INTELLIGENCE
In	use	for	close	to	twenty	years,	the	Self	Science	curriculum	stands	as
a	model	for	the	teaching	of	emotional	intelligence.	The	lessons
sometimes	are	surprisingly	sophisticated;	as	Nueva’s	director,	Karen
Stone	McCown,	told	me,	“When	we	teach	about	anger,	we	help	kids
understand	that	it	is	almost	always	a	secondary	reaction	and	to	look
for	what’s	underneath—are	you	hurt?	jealous?	Our	kids	learn	that	you
always	have	choices	about	how	you	respond	to	emotion,	and	the	more
ways	you	know	to	respond	to	an	emotion,	the	richer	your	life	can	be.”
A	list	of	the	contents	of	Self	Science	is	an	almost	point-for-point
match	with	the	ingredients	of	emotional	intelligence—and	with	the
core	skills	recommended	as	primary	prevention	for	the	range	of
pitfalls	threatening	children	(see
Appendix	E
	for	the	full	list).
2
	The
topics	taught	include	self-awareness,	in	the	sense	of	recognizing


The
topics	taught	include	self-awareness,	in	the	sense	of	recognizing
feelings	and	building	a	vocabulary	for	them,	and	seeing	the	links
between	thoughts,	feelings,	and	reactions;	knowing	if	thoughts	or
feelings	are	ruling	a	decision;	seeing	the	consequences	of	alternative
choices;	and	applying	these	insights	to	decisions	about	such	issues	as
drugs,	smoking,	and	sex.	Self-awareness	also	takes	the	form	of
recognizing	your	strengths	and	weaknesses,	and	seeing	yourself	in	a
positive	but	realistic	light	(and	so	avoiding	a	common	pitfall	of	the
self-esteem	movement).
Another	emphasis	is	managing	emotions:	realizing	what	is	behind	a
feeling	(for	example,	the	hurt	that	triggers	anger),	and	learning	ways
to	handle	anxieties,	anger,	and	sadness.	Still	another	emphasis	is	on
taking	responsibility	for	decisions	and	actions,	and	following	through
on	commitments.
A	key	social	ability	is	empathy,	understanding	others’	feelings	and
taking	their	perspective,	and	respecting	differences	in	how	people	feel
about	things.	Relationships	are	a	major	focus,	including	learning	to	be
a	good	listener	and	question-asker;	distinguishing	between	what
someone	says	or	does	and	your	own	reactions	and	judgments;	being


assertive	rather	than	angry	or	passive;	and	learning	the	arts	of
cooperation,	conflict	resolution,	and	negotiating	compromise.
There	are	no	grades	given	in	Self	Science;	life	itself	is	the	final
exam.	But	at	the	end	of	the	eighth	grade,	as	students	are	about	to
leave	Nueva	for	high
school,	each	is	given	a	Socratic	examination,	an
oral	test	in	Self	Science.	One	question	from	a	recent	final:	“Describe
an	appropriate	response	to	help	a	friend	solve	a	conflict	over	someone
pressuring	them	to	try	drugs,	or	over	a	friend	who	likes	to	tease.”	Or,
“What	are	some	healthy	ways	to	deal	with	stress,	anger,	and	fear?”
Were	he	alive	today,	Aristotle,	so	concerned	with	emotional
skillfulness,	might	well	approve.
EMOTIONAL	LITERACY	IN	THE	INNER	CITY
Skeptics	understandably	will	ask	if	a	course	like	Self	Science	could
work	in	a	less	privileged	setting,	or	if	it	is	only	possible	in	a	small
private	school	like	Nueva,	where	every	child	is,	in	some	respect,
gifted.	In	short,	can	emotional	competence	be	taught	where	it	may	be
most	urgently	needed,	in	the	gritty	chaos	of	an	inner-city	public
school?	One	answer	is	to	visit	the	Augusta	Lewis	Troup	Middle	School
in	New	Haven,	which	is	as	far	from	the	Nueva	School	socially	and


economically	as	it	is	geographically.
To	be	sure,	the	atmosphere	at	Troup	has	much	of	the	same
excitement	about	learning—the	school	is	also	known	as	the	Troup
Magnet	Academy	of	Science	and	is	one	of	two	such	schools	in	the
district	that	are	designed	to	draw	fifth-	to	eighth-grade	students	from
all	over	New	Haven	to	an	enriched	science	curriculum.	Students	there
can	ask	questions	about	the	physics	of	outer	space	through	a	satellite-
dish	hookup	to	astronauts	in	Houston	or	program	their	computers	to
play	music.	But	despite	these	academic	amenities,	as	in	many	cities,
white	flight	to	the	New	Haven	suburbs	and	to	private	schools	has	left
Troup’s	enrollment	about	95	percent	black	and	Hispanic.
Just	a	few	short	blocks	from	the	Yale	campus—and	again	a	distant
universe—Troup	is	in	a	decaying	working-class	neighborhood	that,	in
the	1950s,	had	twenty	thousand	people	employed	in	nearby	factories,
from	Olin	Brass	Mills	to	Winchester	Arms.	Today	that	job	base	has
shrunk	to	under	three	thousand,	shrinking	with	it	the	economic
horizons	of	the	families	who	live	there.	New	Haven,	like	so	many
other	New	England	manufacturing	cities,	has	sunk	into	a	pit	of


poverty,	drugs,	and	violence.
It	was	in	response	to	the	urgencies	of	this	urban	nightmare	that	in
the	1980s	a	group	of	Yale	psychologists	and	educators	designed	the
Social	Competence	Program,	a	set	of	courses	that	covers	virtually	the
same	terrain	as	the	Nueva	School’s	Self	Science	curriculum.	But	at
Troup	the	connection	to	the	topics	is	often	more	direct	and	raw.	It	is
no	mere	academic	exercise	when,	in
the	eighth-grade	sex	education
class,	students	learn	how	personal	decision-making	can	help	them
avoid	diseases	such	as	AIDS.	New	Haven	has	the	highest	proportion	of
women	with	AIDS	in	the	United	States;	a	number	of	the	mothers	who
send	their	children	to	Troup	have	the	disease—and	so	do	some	of	the
students	there.	Despite	the	enriched	curriculum,	students	at	Troup
struggle	with	all	the	problems	of	the	inner	city;	many	children	have
home	situations	so	chaotic,	if	not	horrific,	they	just	cannot	manage	to
get	to	school	some	days.
As	in	all	New	Haven	schools,	the	most	prominent	sign	that	greets	a
visitor	is	in	the	familiar	form	of	a	yellow	diamond-shaped	traffic	sign,
but	reads	“Drug-Free	Zone.”	At	the	door	is	Mary	Ellen	Collins,	the
school’s	facilitator—an	all-purpose	ombudsman	who	sees	to	special


problems	as	they	surface,	and	whose	role	includes	helping	teachers
with	the	demands	of	the	social	competence	curriculum.	If	a	teacher	is
unsure	of	how	to	teach	a	lesson,	Collins	will	come	to	the	class	to	show
how.
“I	taught	in	this	school	for	twenty	years,”	Collins	says,	greeting	me.
“Look	at	this	neighborhood—I	can’t	see	only	teaching	academic	skills
anymore,	with	the	problems	these	kids	face	just	in	living.	Take	the
kids	here	who	are	struggling	because	they	have	AIDS	themselves	or
it’s	in	their	homes—I’m	not	sure	they’d	say	it	during	the	discussion	on
AIDS,	but	once	a	kid	knows	a	teacher	will	listen	to	an	emotional
problem,	not	just	academic	ones,	the	avenue	is	open	to	have	that
conversation.”
On	the	third	floor	of	the	old	brick	school	Joyce	Andrews	is	leading
her	fifth	graders	through	the	social	competence	class	they	get	three
times	a	week.	Andrews,	like	all	the	other	fifth-grade	teachers,	went	to
a	special	summer	course	in	how	to	teach	it,	but	her	exuberance
suggests	the	topics	in	social	competence	come	naturally	to	her.
Today’s	lesson	is	on	identifying	feelings;	being	able	to	name
feelings,	and	so	better	distinguish	between	them,	is	a	key	emotional


skill.	Last	night’s	assignment	was	to	bring	in	pictures	of	a	person’s
face	from	a	magazine,	name	which	emotion	the	face	displays,	and


explain	how	to	tell	the	person	has	those	feelings.	After	collecting	the
assignment,	Andrews	lists	the	feelings	on	the	board—sadness,	worry,
excitement,	happiness,	and	so	on—and	launches	into	a	fast-paced
repartee	with	the	eighteen	students	who	managed	to	get	to	school	that
day.	Sitting	in	four-desk	clusters,	the	students	excitedly	raise	their
hands	high,	straining	to	catch	her	eye	so	they	can	give	their	answer.
As	she	adds
frustrated
	to	the	list	on	the	board,	Andrews	asks,	“How
many	people	ever	felt	frustrated?”	Every	hand	goes	up.
“How	do	you	feel	when	you’re	frustrated?”
The	answers	come	in	a	cascade:	“Tired.”	“Confused.”	“You	can’t
think	right.”	“Anxious.”
As
aggravated
	is	added	to	the	list,	Joyce	says,	“I	know	that	one—
when	does	a	teacher	feel	aggravated?”
“When	everyone	is	talking,”	a	girl	offers,	smiling.
Without	missing	a	beat,	Andrews	passes	out	a	mimeographed
worksheet.	In	one	column	are	faces	of	boys	and	girls,	each	displaying
one	of	the	six	basic	emotions—happy,	sad,	angry,	surprised,	afraid,
disgusted—and	a	description	of	the	facial	muscle	activity	underlying
each,	for	example:
A
FRAID:


each,	for	example:
A
FRAID:
•	The	mouth	is	open	and	drawn	back.
•	The	eyes	are	open	and	the	inner	corners	go	up.
•	The	eyebrows	are	raised	and	drawn	together.
•	There	are	wrinkles	in	the	middle	of	the	forehead.
3
While	they	read	through	the	sheet,	expressions	of	fear,	anger,
surprise,	or	disgust	float	over	the	faces	of	the	kids	in	Andrews’s	class
as	they	imitate	the	pictures	and	follow	the	facial-muscle	recipes	for
each	emotion.	This	lesson	comes	straight	from	Paul	Ekman’s	research
on	facial	expression;	as	such,	it	is	taught	in	most	every	college
introductory	psychology	course—and	rarely,	if	ever,	in	grade	school.
This	elementary	lesson	in	connecting	a	name	with	a	feeling,	and	the
feeling	with	the	facial	expression	that	matches	it,	might	seem	so
obvious	that	it	need	not	be	taught	at	all.	Yet	it	may	serve	as	an
antidote	to	surprisingly	common	lapses	in	emotional	literacy.
Schoolyard	bullies,	remember,	often	strike	out	in	anger	because	they
misinterpret	neutral	messages	and	expressions	as	hostile,	and	girls


who	develop	eating	disorders	fail	to	distinguish	anger	from	anxiety
from	hunger.
EMOTIONAL	LITERACY	IN	DISGUISE
With	the	curriculum	already	besieged	by	a	proliferation	of	new	topics
and	agendas,	some	teachers	who	understandably	feel	overburdened
resist	taking	extra	time	from	the	basics	for	yet	another	course.	So	an
emerging	strategy	in	emotional	education	is	not	to	create	a	new	class,
but	to	blend	lessons	on	feelings	and	relationships	with	other	topics
already	taught.	Emotional	lessons	can	merge	naturally	into	reading
and	writing,	health,	science,	social	studies,
and	other	standard	courses
as	well.	While	in	the	New	Haven	schools	Life	Skills	is	a	separate	topic
in	some	grades,	in	other	years	the	social	development	curriculum
blends	into	courses	such	as	reading	or	health.	Some	of	the	lessons	are
even	taught	as	part	of	math	class—notably	basic	study	skills	such	as
how	to	put	aside	distractions,	motivate	yourself	to	study,	and	manage
your	impulses	so	you	can	attend	to	learning.
Some	programs	in	emotional	and	social	skills	take	no	curriculum	or
class	time	as	a	separate	subject	at	all,	but	instead	infiltrate	their
lessons	into	the	very	fabric	of	school	life.	One	model	for	this	approach
—essentially,	an	invisible	emotional	and	social	competence	course—is


—essentially,	an	invisible	emotional	and	social	competence	course—is
the	Child	Development	Project,	created	by	a	team	directed	by
psychologist	Eric	Schaps.	The	project,	based	in	Oakland,	California,	is
currently	being	tried	in	a	handful	of	schools	across	the	nation,	most	in
neighborhoods	that	share	many	of	the	troubles	of	New	Haven’s
decaying	core.
4
The	project	offers	a	prepackaged	set	of	materials	that	fit	into
existing	courses.	Thus	first	graders	in	their	reading	class	get	a	story,
“Frog	and	Toad	Are	Friends,”	in	which	Frog,	eager	to	play	with	his
hibernating	friend	Toad,	plays	a	trick	on	him	to	get	him	up	early.	The
story	is	used	as	a	platform	for	a	class	discussion	about	friendship,	and
issues	such	as	how	people	feel	when	someone	plays	a	trick	on	them.	A
succession	of	adventures	brings	up	topics	such	as	self-consciousness,
being	aware	of	a	friend’s	needs,	what	it	feels	like	to	be	teased,	and
sharing	feelings	with	friends.	A	set	curriculum	plan	offers	increasingly
sophisticated	stories	as	children	go	through	the	elementary	and
middle-school	grades,	giving	teachers	entry	points	to	discuss	topics
such	as	empathy,	perspective-taking,	and	caring.


Another	way	emotional	lessons	are	woven	into	the	fabric	of	existing
school	life	is	through	helping	teachers	rethink	how	to	discipline
students	who	misbehave.	The	assumption	in	the	Child	Development
program	is	that	such	moments	are	ripe	opportunities	to	teach	children
skills	that	are	lacking—impulse	control,	explaining	their	feelings,
resolving	conflicts—and	that	there	are	better	ways	to	discipline	than
coercion.	A	teacher	seeing	three	first	graders	pushing	to	be	the	first	in
the	lunchroom	line	might	suggest	that	they	each	guess	a	number,	and
let	the	winner	go	first.	The	immediate	lesson	is	that	there	are
impartial,	fair	ways	to	settle	such	pint-size	disputes,	while	the	deeper
teaching	is	that	disputes	can	be	negotiated.	And	since	that	is	an
approach	those	children	can	take	with	them	to	settle	other	similar
disputes	(“Me	first!”	is,	after	all,	epidemic	in	lower	grades—if	not
through	much	of	life,	in	one	form	or	another)	it	has	a	more	positive
message	than	the	ubiquitous,	authoritarian	“Stop	that!”
THE	EMOTIONAL	TIMETABLE
“My	friends	Alice	and	Lynn	won’t	play	with	me.”
That	poignant	grievance	is	from	a	third-grade	girl	at	John	Muir
Elementary	School	in	Seattle.	The	anonymous	sender	put	it	in	the
“mailbox”	in	her	classroom—actually	a	specially	painted	cardboard


“mailbox”	in	her	classroom—actually	a	specially	painted	cardboard
box—where	she	and	her	classmates	are	encouraged	to	write	in	their
complaints	and	problems	so	the	whole	class	can	talk	about	them	and
try	to	think	of	ways	to	deal	with	them.	The	discussion	will	not
mention	the	names	of	those	involved;	instead	the	teacher	points	out
that	all	children	share	such	problems	from	time	to	time,	and	they	all
need	to	learn	how	to	handle	them.	As	they	talk	about	how	it	feels	to
be	left	out,	or	what	they	might	do	to	be	included,	they	have	the
chance	to	try	out	new	solutions	to	these	quandaries—a	corrective	for
the	one-track	thinking	that	sees	conflict	as	the	only	route	to	solving
disagreements.
The	mailbox	allows	flexibility	as	to	exactly	which	crises	and	issues
will	become	the	subject	of	the	class,	for	a	too-rigid	agenda	can	be	out
of	step	with	the	fluid	realities	of	childhood.	As	children	change	and
grow	the	preoccupation	of	the	hour	changes	accordingly.	To	be	most
effective,	emotional	lessons	must	be	pegged	to	the	development	of	the
child,	and	repeated	at	different	ages	in	ways	that	fit	a	child’s	changing
understanding	and	challenges.