Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1944)

Would you tell your children to laugh, make up their own minds, have secrets? Here's one dad's views BY DON AlklECHE Ronnie and Donnie, the eldest, military geniuses Tommie, the studious one of the Ameche quartette WHEN I use the word “commandments” in the title of this article, I do so for want of a better one to describe the means of pointing out a pattern of life and character which I hope my children will follow. For I do not believe any human being has the right to give commandments to another under normal times and circumstances. Parents can only plan for their children, hope for them, pray for them, counsel and guide them. This, rather than an arbitrary laying down of commandments, is what Honore and I try to do for our sons when we say: THEY must laugh. This may seem a trivial thing to put first in the raising of children. But it isn’t. For the spirit of joyousness, the quality of being merry about things is the most important one we can wish for those we love. The very sound of laughter is a heartening, healthy thing in your house, or mine — or in the house of life. After all, what distinguishes a happy from an unhappy person, an extrovert from an introvert, is the ability to laugh— at himself as well as at, or with, others. I feel sorry for people who can’t laugh and I mistrust them a little, too. There is something slightly warped, I believe, about those who do not relish the laughter-provoking aspects of life and living, the antics of their friends — and of themselves. Nor am I referring to a sense of humor. That is important, too. But a sense of humor can sometimes be an ironic thing, even cynical. No, I mean laughter — spontaneous, ribsplitting honest-to-goodness laughs. Honore and I go out of our way to make our children laugh. We encourage in them the habit of laughing by pointing out to them things that are amusing, saying, “That’s good for a laugh.” We often clown, make zanies of ourselves in order to get the laughs. And we laugh with them. THEY must move often. By this I mean that I hope they will not live all through their childhoods in this one farmhouse we call home, in this one town or even in this one state or country. Basically, I am all for the “old homestead” idea. There is something rooted and substantial about the ancestral home in which you were born, and your children after you and their children after them. Children need a base, a sense of permanence, a sense of security. But it can be carried too far — and too long. I believe that roots struck too deeply in one soil bleed when they must come up. I believe that one environment, without variation, from infancy to maturity, makes it difficult, painful and sometimes downright impossible for people to adjust to change when it comes, as come it must, especially in our world today. For life, tomorrow, is going to be a very flexible thing, with all the nations of the world practically our next-door neighbors. After the war, England will be an overnight trip. A week-end jaunt to China may not be a dream. It is not possible for Honore and myself, or for most families, to gypsy about from place to place in order to make it easy for our youngsters to adjust. But we are sending the two older boys, Donnie, aged ten, and Ronnie, aged seven, away to boarding school. Military school. Later, we hope to send them to Eastern or midWestern colleges and for as many visits and trips, far from home, as possible. Our hope is that if they move about often enough they will be at home, not only in their immediate neighborhood, but in the world. ( Continued on page 95) Lonnie, last but not least of the energetic Ameches 45