Let us now turn to children of two and a half and three years old, who touch everything, but especially those objects which they evidently prefer, the most simple objects, as, for example, a square block of paper, a square inkstand, or a round, shiny bell. All things which “are not meant for them.”

Then the mother comes and takes them away; half caressing, and at the same time tapping the little hands, she calls out, “Don’t touch! naughty!” I once was present at one of these many family scenes, which pass unnoticed. The father, who was a doctor, was sitting at the writing-table; the mother was holding in her arms a very small child, who was stretching out its little hands to the various objects upon the table. The doctor said, “That child is incorrigibly naughty, although it is so young. However much its mother and I try to cure it of this fault of touching my things, we never succeed.” “Naughty! naughty!” repeated the mother, holding its little hands tightly, while the child threw itself back, howling, and throwing its feet about as if it wished to kick.

When children are three or four years older, the struggle becomes more severe: they want to do things. Those who observe them carefully discover that they have some “tendency.” They wish to imitate what their mother does, if their mother is a housewife. They willingly follow her into the kitchen, they wish to share her work, to touch her things, and they try furtively to knead and cook and wash clothes, and sweep the floor. The mother feels wearied by them; she keeps on repeating, “Be quiet; leave it alone. Don’t tease me. Go away.” Then the child makes a great noise, throws himself on the ground, and kicks; but then he begins again to do as much as he can without being seen, as quickly as possible; and by trying to wash things in a hurry, gives himself a bath; trying to conceal some contraband ragout, he makes the floor dirty. The mother’s anger, cries, and reproofs increase; and the child reacts with naughtiness and tears; but begins again almost at once.

Where the mother does not do her own work, the child, if intelligent, is still more unfortunate. He looks for something which he cannot find, and cries for no reason, he flies into a passion for which no one can account; some fathers lament this, almost with despair. “My child is very intelligent, but so naughty! nothing will satisfy him. It is no use to buy toys for him, he is really overdone with them; nothing is of any use.”

The mother asks anxiously, “What do you advise me to do when the child is naughty? and when he gets into passions? He is so naughty; he never keeps still; I cannot contend with him any more.”

It is rare to hear a mother say, “My baby is good- it is always asleep.” Who has not heard some poor mother shout in a threatening voice to the crying babe in her arms, “Be quiet, be quiet, I tell you!” and then, naturally the child is frightened, and redoubles its cries.

This is the first contest of the man who enters the world: he has to struggle with his parents, with those who have given him life. And this occurs because his infant life is “different” from that of his parents; the child has to form himself, whereas his parents are already formed. The child must move about a great deal, to coordinate his movements, which are not yet under control; the parents, on the other hand, have their voluntary mobility organized, and can control their movements; perhaps also they are often tired after their work. The child’s senses are not yet fully developed; his powers of accommodation are insufficient, and need help from touching and feeling, in order to take account of objects as well as of spaces; and his eyes are rectified by the experience of his hands. The parents, on the contrary, have developed senses, and have already corrected the primitive illusions of these; their powers of accommodation are perfect, if they have not spoilt them by abuse; in every way cerebral activity leads the senses to receive an exact impression; they have no need to touch. Children are anxious to get knowledge of the external world; their parents know it too well already.

Therefore they do not understand each other.

Parents want their children to do as they do, and any diversity is called “naughtiness.” Think of the mother who drags her child along with her; he has to run while she walks; his legs are short, while hers are long; weak, while hers are strong, he has to bear the weight of his body and his disproportionately large head, while the mother has a head and body which are proportionally lighter and smaller. The child is tired and stands and cries, and the mother exclaims, “Come on, you naughty little thing! I won’t have any nonsense. Do you want me to carry you, lazybones? No, I won’t give in to you.”

Or again, we see mothers who, when their children sit down on the ground, or lay themselves flat on their stomachs with their feet in the air, and support themselves on their elbows, while they look round them, call out, “Off the ground! You are making yourself dirty, naughty child.”

All this may be translated in this way: “The child is different from the adult. The formation of his body is such that his head and his body are enormously large in comparison with his small, slender legs, because they are the part which will grow most. Hence the child cannot endure walking, and prefers to lie at full length, which is the most healthy position for him. He has a wonderful tendency towards development; he gets his first ideas of external life and assists his senses of sight and hearing by touching, in order to realize the forms of objects and distance. He moves continually, because he must coordinate and adapt his mobility. Hence he moves a great deal, walks very little, throws himself on the ground, and touches everything, and these are signs that he is alive, and that he is growing.” No – all this is looked upon as naughtiness.

Excerpted from Pg 132-133 ‘Spontaneous Activity in Education’ by Maria Montessori