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How To Win Friends And Influence People :: Carnegie Dale Breckenridge
Страница: 50 из 194His parents used the usual method. They scolded and nagged. "Mother wants you to eat this and that." "Father wants you to grow up to be a big man."
Did the boy pay any attention to these pleas? Just about as much as you pay to one fleck of sand on a sandy beach.
No one with a trace of horse sense would expect a child three years old to react to the viewpoint of a father thirty years old. Yet that was precisely what that father had expected. It was absurd. He finally saw that. So he said to himself: "What does that boy want? How can I tie up what I want to what he wants?"
It was easy for the father when he starting thinking about it. His boy had a tricycle that he loved to ride up and down the sidewalk in front of the house in Brooklyn. A few doors down the street lived a bully - a bigger boy who would pull the little boy off his tricycle and ride it himself.
Naturally, the little boy would run screaming to his mother, and she would have to come out and take the bully off the tricycle and put her little boy on again, This happened almost every day.
What did the little boy want? It didn't take a Sherlock Holmes to answer that one. His pride, his anger, his desire for a feeling of importance - all the strongest emotions in his makeup - goaded him to get revenge, to smash the bully in the nose. And when his father explained that the boy would be able to wallop the daylights out of the bigger kid someday if he would only eat the things his mother wanted him to eat - when his father promised him that - there was no longer any problem of dietetics. That boy would have eaten spinach, sauerkraut, salt mackerel - anything in order to be big enough to whip the bully who had humiliated him so often.
After solving that problem, the parents tackled another: the little boy had the unholy habit of wetting his bed.
He slept with his grandmother. In the morning, his grandmother would wake up and feel the sheet and say: "Look, Johnny, what you did again last night."
He would say: "No, I didn't do it. You did it."
Scolding, spanking, shaming him, reiterating that the parents didn't want him to do it - none of these things kept the bed dry. So the parents asked: "How can we make this boy want to stop wetting his bed?"
What were his wants? First, he wanted to wear pajamas like Daddy instead of wearing a nightgown like Grandmother. Grandmother was getting fed up with his nocturnal iniquities, so she gladly offered to buy him a pair of pajamas if he would reform. Second, he wanted a bed of his own. Grandma didn't object.
Did the boy pay any attention to these pleas? Just about as much as you pay to one fleck of sand on a sandy beach.
No one with a trace of horse sense would expect a child three years old to react to the viewpoint of a father thirty years old. Yet that was precisely what that father had expected. It was absurd. He finally saw that. So he said to himself: "What does that boy want? How can I tie up what I want to what he wants?"
It was easy for the father when he starting thinking about it. His boy had a tricycle that he loved to ride up and down the sidewalk in front of the house in Brooklyn. A few doors down the street lived a bully - a bigger boy who would pull the little boy off his tricycle and ride it himself.
Naturally, the little boy would run screaming to his mother, and she would have to come out and take the bully off the tricycle and put her little boy on again, This happened almost every day.
What did the little boy want? It didn't take a Sherlock Holmes to answer that one. His pride, his anger, his desire for a feeling of importance - all the strongest emotions in his makeup - goaded him to get revenge, to smash the bully in the nose. And when his father explained that the boy would be able to wallop the daylights out of the bigger kid someday if he would only eat the things his mother wanted him to eat - when his father promised him that - there was no longer any problem of dietetics. That boy would have eaten spinach, sauerkraut, salt mackerel - anything in order to be big enough to whip the bully who had humiliated him so often.
After solving that problem, the parents tackled another: the little boy had the unholy habit of wetting his bed.
He slept with his grandmother. In the morning, his grandmother would wake up and feel the sheet and say: "Look, Johnny, what you did again last night."
He would say: "No, I didn't do it. You did it."
Scolding, spanking, shaming him, reiterating that the parents didn't want him to do it - none of these things kept the bed dry. So the parents asked: "How can we make this boy want to stop wetting his bed?"
What were his wants? First, he wanted to wear pajamas like Daddy instead of wearing a nightgown like Grandmother. Grandmother was getting fed up with his nocturnal iniquities, so she gladly offered to buy him a pair of pajamas if he would reform. Second, he wanted a bed of his own. Grandma didn't object.