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He used these to attack authority, make life go his way, and

further his cause of avoiding responsibility. In carrying his angelic qualities to an extreme, Rickey had stumbled upon the alter ego of any angel—the devil.

His shenanigans were most perplexing. He experi-mented with his mother's flowers by pouring hot grease on them: he'd heard that plants liked carbohydrates. He wanted to see if dogs landed on their feet like cats, so he tossed Bowser off the garage. He idolized Tarzan reruns on Saturday morning television and acted out his hero's role by jumping out of a tree one afternoon. Unfortunately, he landed on Mrs. Wilson, the bent-kneed octogenarian who lived down the street.

How can anyone stay angry at a kid who wants to make the jungle safe for humanity and ensure that plants have a balanced diet? Mrs. Sharp, that's who! She wasn't particu-larly upset about the limping dog or irate Mrs. Wilson. She was, however, reaching the end of her rope with Rickey's day-to-day irresponsibility.

I unlocked the secret of the angel baby routine during a brief visit with Rickey in my office.

After ten or fifteen minutes of happy talk, I grinned broadly and leaned forward. "You're really quite a kid, aren't you, Rickey?"

He was bubbling. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, you do some pretty weird things, you know. Like jumping on top of Mrs. Wilson."

"Oh, that was nothin'." Rickey was in total control. "She could have dodged me. Anyhow, I just barely touched her."

I decided to challenge his recollection. "Barely?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" I leaned a little closer. "Your mom said that Mrs. Wilson has a bruised leg. She's really hurt."

"I didn't mean to." Rickey started to squirm. "What else did my mom say?"

"Well, she told me that you make a lot of messes, that

THE PETER PAN SYNDROME

you're pretty lazy, and that you know how to get away with doing bad stuff."

" H u h ? "

"You know. When she catches you doing something wrong, you just look at her—you widen your eyes and pretend to be real innocent." I demonstrated the angel baby routine.

Seeing an adult reflect his own image caught Rickey off guard. He evidently sensed the same kind of attack that occurred when his mom or dad confronted him about mis-behavior. Within seconds of finishing my comment, I real-ized that I was being held captive by Rickey's eyes.

I was the target of an eleven-year-old's sophisticated whammy. It seemed an eternity before I realized what was happening. Rickey was doing to me what he did to other adults who confronted him. He was unleashing his devilish powers.

When I regained my balance, I did the only thing I could.

I continued to mirror his behavior. "Boy, you're really good at it."

Rickey didn't move. He continued to stare. I think I saw a small tear forming in his eye.

If I was to help him, I couldn't let his silent whammy work. So I pressed on, but gently. "It won't work with me, Rickey. I know you've learned that staring at adults like this makes them leave you alone. But that's not right. And it's not going to work now. I'm not going to leave you alone. You need my help. You need to learn another way to handle this."

I knew that Rickey would not want to lose face, so I gave him an easy out. "Tell you what. I'm going to get a drink of water and when I come back, we'll talk about it."

I was gone about a minute. When I returned, Rickey was sitting quietly in his chair with his head down. I re-initiated the confrontation but aimed it in a different direc-tion. With a wide smile and excitement in my voice, I said,

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"Boy, you are really good at it. You even had old Dr. Dan on the ropes for a few seconds. I bet you can really destroy Mom, can't you?"

His head moved up and down as his eyes remained glued to the floor.

"It's kind of fun, isn't it? You really drive them bonkers, don't you?" I was enticing him to tell me his secrets.

His eyes came off the floor and he gave me that what-makes-you-tick look.

I continued with zeal. "Well, you do, don't you?"

He tried to sound tough. "Don't I what?"

"Don't you drive your parents bonkers with that look of yours?"

"What's 'bonkers'?"

"Aw, c'mon," I said. "You know what I mean. You do something wrong, you get caught, your parents try to pun-ish you, and whammo, you whip the old evil eye on them, and—presto!—no more trouble. That drives parents bonk-ers. Right?"

Rickey wasn't sure what to do with me. His old trick hadn't worked. So, like most kids who try an ambush and fail, Rickey did the only other thing he knew. He told me the truth. "It works real good."

"And you're real proud of it, right?"

N o w it was his turn to grin. "Yeah."

It was my turn to get serious again. "But it doesn't al-ways feel good, does it?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, doesn't it scare you a little bit to keep doing dumb things?"

"Yeah."

"And don't you sometimes wish that your parents would make you pay for your mistakes?"

"Yeah."

"But you're sure not going to tell them, are you?"

Rickey brightened up. "Nope."

52 THE PETER PAN SYNDROME

I continued to lead him in what I considered to be a positive direction. "Well, guess who has to do it?"

We both looked at each other. I nodded my head and gave him that sorry-about-that look. "I have to."

He didn't give up immediately. "You don't have to."

"I do if I want to help you grow up to take more responsi-bility."

Rickey was feeling more secure as his devilishness re-turned. He gave me a half-baked whammy look and said,

"I don't have to like it, do I?"

There was no way Rickey was going to like learning responsibility. As I sat down with his parents, I knew that sooner or later he would join voices with other kids who've been frustrated and bellowed, "It's a wonder somebody doesn't kill Dr. Dan!"

S t e v e n

Steven Jolly was anything but jolly. He was nasty and rude, with a sarcastic tongue and a hair-trigger temper. He was a kid who had dived into the terrible twos and stayed there for ten years. There surely are children snottier than Steven, but I can't remember one. I tell Steven's story so that you'll understand the developmental history of the rage that is often a part of the Peter Pan Syndrome.

It must have taken Steven's parents many years to grow accustomed to their son's snottiness. There was no other explanation for the fact that they tolerated so much emo-tional abuse.

Sharon and Joe Jolly brought Steven to me because of a deterioration in his school performance. His adjustment at home had always been very poor, a fact his parents had learned to overlook. However, when the teachers expressed grave concern, his parents knew it was time to do more than ignore Steven's problems. It was Mrs. Jolly who had

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