We spent last week with three ten-year-olds and a younger sister. A few people have checked in tosee if I made it through in one piece! No problem at all. I was sad to come home. It was glorious.
Alongside the laughs, the grandchildren taught me a lot. Even though I remember being an elementary-age person, I can no longer feel what it was like very well. Nothing happened to arrest my development, so I seem to have cruised through fourth and fifth grade.
As a result of my benignly neglected memory, I almost forgot about the storytelling. As I saw the kids in action all week, I remembered I was also a typical, 10-year-old — full of stories I would like to tell, if anyone would listen.
Around my family table, a good story was prized when I was growing up. My mother was an especially avid and witty teller-of-tales, most of which were true. She was good at exaggeration, which is one of the ways we spice up our relationships, amuse our friends and make new ones [or so it is researched].
As a result, my siblings and I could reenact scenes from the DMV because our mother amusingly or angrily recast her day for us over dinner. We took her exaggerations even further and expanded them into imaginative fiction. For instance, “Mrs. Caputo,” one of her quirky co-workers, had an SNL-worthy storyline of her own, even though we never met her. My dad was quieter, but I still feel like his co-workers at the supply house were family-adjacent, even though I rarely saw them.
Stories make meaning
Ten-year-olds are in the psycho/spiritual development stage when people learn to make meaning. So elementary school children usually like stories and tend to be preoccupied with rules (especially those they violate — or when others violate the one they just made!). For instance, on the van ride home, there was an argument whether the oceans cover 75% of the Earth’s surface or two-thirds — and about “Why did you say 75% instead of ¾?” (BTW, Google says it is 71%, so they were both equally wrong, which would have been rather discouraging to know). They were aggressively using new skills to evaluate their previous, childish ways and compete, often loudly, for some respect at the adult table.
At this stage of development, we learn ways to make sense of the world and deal with it. We can now evaluate and criticize our previous stage of imagination and fantasy. The youngest of the four grandchildren we had last week was holding on to her past. So she demanded a stuffed unicorn as a souvenir. Alternatively, her older sister spent a good deal of time in withering criticism of unprovable facts — if you did not want to watch a movie, you’d better have a good reason! She also gave me a few disparaging looks once the thin plausibility wore off one of the unbelievable tall tales I find amusing to tell.
The gift of this stage is narrative. It feels powerful to form our own stories and re-tell old myths. Grasping our own meaning and influencing the meaning of a group experience can be intoxicating. During one lunch, two of them were telling stories about previous vacations. Each had an example to give. The conversation was beginning to shift when an unheard member stood up from his peanut butter and loudly said, “Stop! I am trying to tell you my story!” They politely turned and gave him his due. I was glad he had a place where he could expect someone would listen!
In the elementary years, there remains a quality of literalness to our stories. We are not fully ready to step outside the stories and reflect upon their meanings. Children take symbols and myths pretty much at face value, though they may be touched or moved by them at a deeper level. The faith of many people remains at this level all their lives. If you were watching the political conventions, I think your vestigial ten-year-old self was often touched as symbols evoked truths and plausible-sounding stories were told to fill the experience with meaning. Plus, the “fact-checkers” activated your own primitive fact-checker to ponder whether “Coach” Walz was lying or not [NPR expert].
The joy of storytelling
My glorious vacation happened right in the middle of this development stage. So a lot of LOUD narration of everything was going on, including most TV shows (only their tablets could stifle them, really). Early in the week, my grandchildren invented a game which reflected the new Time Bandits series for kids we found on Apple TV. (Caution: My wife found it almost intolerably boring).
The kids loved it. In the stories about the bandits, they bumped up against something magical and something factual at the same time – the same thing they were doing every day! In their derivative game, they let one of their squad be the director of an improv story. The director assigned each one a part, then he/she set the scene, and told them to act it out with further coaching. They did this at least once a day accompanied by gales of laughter.
What my wife and I did for four days was see what was happening at the DNC after the kids went to bed. Like it happened all day in our beach rental, there was a lot of storytelling going on every night at the convention. I realized at what level most of the DNC sessions were aimed: the ten-year-old level. Most speakers had a script about “Coach” Walz and “Comma-La” for the audience. They kept re-telling a story until we could all tell it. The candidates needed to be established at the level most of us are living. We make meaning with stories.
Unfortunately, adults can get stuck in such an elementary-school understanding of the world. No matter how many times Kamala says, “We need an adult in the room,” it is hard to be one if everything is aimed at our ten-year-old selves. Trump is called “weird” and so he refuses to say Vice President Harris’ name correctly. The whole convention chants it properly, so he literally says, “I’m not weird, they’re weird” [CNN]. That’s very elementary school stuff, and it appeals to vast swaths of the country.
A lot of the so-called “evangelicals” with the RNC seem to be Christians stuck in their ten-year-old stage of faith development. As a result, they are usually stubbornly self-centered — as in, “You ate the last donut!” (prepare to die) or “An embryo has human rights!” (prepare for prison). They often find themselves in trouble because they have not yet mastered living according to principles, even though they love them — as in, Papa has to tell them, “You never leave the door open, especially if the air conditioner is running” or “Israelis and Gazans both have terrible stories to tell and terrible leaders to endure.” As undeveloped adults, they are the “You’ll go to hell Christians” — very committed to the rules being followed (especially by someone else). The “We won’t go back” people holding USA signs at the DNC might not be much different.
If adults stuck at ten years old end up maturing into the next stage of development, their transition often occurs in a very dramatic way. The childish faith most of us experienced might suffice until our psychological patterns are disturbed or we experience an epiphany and meet Jesus in our twenties or have a spiritually-productive mid-life crisis. All our stages of development begin with baby steps, whether we are still babies or not. Some of us take first steps of adult faith when we are older. It can feel weird.
I wonder if we can effectively run a country, a church, or anything at a ten-year-old level. After all, those people can’t remember to pull the shower curtain shut before the bathroom floor is flooded! Is there an escape from immaturity prison? Is any transformation possible? Maybe, since the Time Bandits keep finding a portal episode after episode. And maybe, since both conventions kept promising an escape from the present, as well.
But as I watched Apple+ monetizing historical stereotypes and feeding them to us from their endless archive, and the DNC doing much the same, I had to wonder. It might be harder to get past our ten-year-old stage than I would like to think.
