David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Feb. 21, 2006

Erikson missed lots of crucial child stages

I'm not one to fly in the face of established psychoanalytical dogma, but I haven't read even one page about diaper sniffing. I'm not sure how much work Freud did in this area, but it wasn't enough.

My faithful readers (both of them) may recall that I'm currently working on my master's degree with an eye toward being an elementary school teacher. This semester I'm taking a child psychology class, and we've been discussing Erik Erikson's stages of psychosocial development. Erikson subscribed to many of Freud's theories and is generally considered a giant in psychology circles -- even though he doesn't enjoy single-word naming among the general populace like Freud does. If your name tag in Heaven is one word, you hit the big time. "Hi my name is ..." Einstein, Socrates, Lincoln, Churchill, DiMaggio, Michelangelo, Elvis. You get the idea. I suspect the same is true with the fire and brimstone set, too. Hitler probably doesn't even bother wearing a name tag.

Anyway, back to the two-word Erik Erikson. His development stages focus on conflicts that everyone contends with during a lifetime. He even named them with conflict in mind: "trust vs. mistrust," "autonomy vs. shame and doubt" and "initiative vs. guilt" are the first three of his eight stages. While he was undoubtedly a brilliant and insightful man, I, a stay-at-home dad who's been toiling away for nearly five years, think he glossed over some other crucial stages.
What about the "diaper-sniffing" stage? That's a big one that lasts a long, long time. With our kids being about 20 months apart, we've never had a break in the parade of dirty diapers, and I've been sniffing them during the entire five-year stretch. To a veteran nose like mine, a quick whiff determines if it's that time again. I'd say the first 1,000 or so diapers weren't too bad. It gets old after that.

What about the "driving around aimlessly while the baby naps in the backseat" stage? I've racked up a lot of mileage doing it. Sometimes a moving car is what a baby needs to get in a quality nap. If I could build a device to replicate the sensation of riding in a baby seat, I'd be a zillionaire. I don't do the snooze limo very often these days. My kids don't nap much anymore, and gas is too expensive. America's automakers need to develop a viable alternative-fuel vehicle if for no other reason than to provide parents with a surefire way to get a baby to sleep.

What about the "hurrying through meals at a restaurant" stage? My kids are pretty good at restaurants now, but there were a few years when going out to eat was like playing Russian roulette -- everything might turn out OK, but there was a fair chance that it all could go horribly, horribly wrong. As soon as the wife and I detected a sign that things were turning for the worst, we'd choke down our meals as quickly as we could shovel them into our mouths. That way, by the time the waiter returned with our check and the baby was in full meltdown mode, we could make our escape. We didn't do that very often. We learned our lesson quickly. Why dine out if you don't enjoy it? That's what well-paid babysitters and wonderful grandparents are for.

What about the "sentences you never thought you'd say out loud" stage? I hit that stage that first day in the maternity ward. "Why is the baby awake at 3:30 in the morning?" This stage has marched along uninterrupted ever since. "Phil, get your foot out of the macaroni." "Who ate this crayon?" "I'm tired of watching SpongeBob. Daddy wants to watch Franklin the Turtle." "No, you can't wear your underwear on the outside of your pants." "Why is the computer mouse in the toilet?" "I said DON'T lick the cat."

There's also the "reading the same book 18 times a day" phase. My kids have favorite books, and sometimes they want me to read them over and over and over again. I do my best to encourage their interest in books, but reading The Poky Little Puppy seven times in one sitting will drive a man to the edge of madness.

Sadly, Erik Erikson died in 1994, so I'll never have a chance to request that he expand his list of developmental stages. Then again, maybe I will. Perhaps when my time on Earth is over and if I'm fortunate enough to stretch out on that great big leather couch in the sky, I'll ask him. Maybe by then he will have only one word on his name tag.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net