Julia Gippenreiter, the most widely read psychologist in the post-Soviet space, has released a new book - it is suggested that you read it with your children. Using examples from fairy tales and life stories, a child from 4 to 8 years old will understand what kindness, honesty, empathy, and other moral concepts are. If you have been planning to talk to your child about bad and good behavior for a long time, but did not know how to start, the book offers an approximate thread of conversation, questions and tasks. One of the chapters is devoted to the sense of justice.
In R. Kipling's fairy tale "The Jungle Book", baby Mowgli found himself in the wild jungle. Do you remember how it was? The child wandered into the wolves alone at night, completely naked and helpless. But he was not at all afraid, he began to play with the wolf cubs, warmed up to the she-wolf, and began to suck her milk together with the wolf cubs.
Suddenly, the bloodthirsty tiger Sherkhan appeared and demanded that the baby be given to him: “The human cub belongs to me!” - the tiger growled, sticking his head into the wolves’ den. But Mother Wolf with burning green eyes jumped towards him and also growled in response: “No! The human cub is mine! He will stay with me, and no one will touch him!” The evil Shere Khan chickened out and backed away, he knew that when it comes to protecting her cubs, the Wolf Mother is ready for anything!
The wolves left Mowgli in their lair and raised him, although because of this Shere Khan became their fierce enemy! Why do you think they did this?
(be silent, let the child speak, you can write something down together)
Yes, you are right. And let's add: this was required by the law of supreme justice.
Look, a cub came to their lair - weak and gullible, and the honor of the Wolves demanded that he be protected, even if he had to fight tooth and nail!
Fighting for justice takes courage. You need to be strong and courageous, because evil also has power, like Shere Khan, and evil does not retreat voluntarily!
Do you have to fight for justice in life? One girl told this story.
“There was a boy in our class - so thin, polite. From the first grade he wore glasses because he couldn’t see very well. His name was Kolya, but the guys immediately nicknamed him “The Glass Boy.” During recess he didn’t run, but rather stood somewhere- somewhere at the window and read a book. Then he told interestingly what he had read, some of the guys loved to listen to him.
And there were also ringleaders in the class - guys who violated discipline, teased, and became hooligans. They often pestered Kolya: either they would take away the book, then they would hide his backpack, or during recess they would swoop in and knock him down! They attacked for no reason. But somehow he endured it, didn’t even complain...
One day a new boy appeared in the class. He looked at Kolya’s bullying and said: “Stop touching him!” I will be friends with him, I like him! And whoever starts to offend him will have to deal with me!“.
The ringleaders got angry and one even attacked him with a battering ram, and the new guy twisted his arms so much that he didn’t even have time to twitch! Since then, no one has touched Kolya."
Wonderful story, isn't it? How bravely this newcomer acted! He said straight to the bullies’ faces: “Enough!”
When you learn about such cases, your soul becomes lighter! Is it true?
Justice loves to live in the family. Parents usually make sure that no one gets anything more all the time, so that no one is offended. Children get used to it and then try to share everything themselves. honestly. For example, candy or ice cream.
It is also important to divide housework fairly: someone sets the table, someone washes the dishes, someone sweeps the floor, and someone sits with the baby... When you have a big family, it’s so good: you agree and you work alone "team". But a team of three or even two people, for example, you and your mother, can also work well together.
For a family to be friendly, you need to be able to negotiate. Children in some families are used to arguing about every issue: who should sit at the table next to their mother, who should sit by the window on the train, what program to watch on TV, what ice cream to choose... Instead, you can simply agree.
When they agree honestly, there is no need to argue!
I'd really like to know what you're talking about we have to negotiate at home with parents, brother or sister, other children: in the yard, school or kindergarten, so to be honest? Here are some hint pictures.
Agreed with parents (about what? Did you manage to fulfill it?)
I negotiated with my brother/sister (what happened?)
I agreed with a friend, with the guys
Negotiated with the teacher, teacher, coach, etc.
When there are older and younger children in a family, you often hear: “Well, why is it possible for him, but not for me?”. Here's a little story.
One two and a half year old girl had a brother. She suddenly began asking her mother to wrap her in the same blanket, rock her in her arms and let her drink from a bottle. “I’m still little too!” - she said.
But then she stopped being interested in her younger brother. She began to look towards her older brother and say:
“Why do I need to sleep during the day, but he doesn’t have to sleep?”
“Why do I have to go to bed at nine in the evening, but he can go to bed at ten?!”
Yes, it is difficult to see that the elder can do more. But more is asked of him. He has responsibilities that you don't have. For example, an older brother takes his younger brother to kindergarten, but it’s funny to imagine that the younger brother takes his older brother to school!
So we have to divide “not equally!”, not equally, but fairly.
Or, for example, in a game: if you need to throw a dice, then the younger one can do the same thing as the older one. And if, for example, they are playing chess, and one child is noticeably stronger, then it is fair that he starts the game without some piece, for example, a knight. It's called "even the odds."
Leveling the odds means making it fair so that everyone can win.
Author 
Julia Gippenreiterpsychologist, specialist in experimental psychology
Comment on the article "How to teach children about justice"
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The student body, despite everyone’s personal interests, is a rather amorphous mass. It is not easy to motivate her to participate in public events. Political activists and agitators of various stripes are racking their brains over this problem. Whether they are paid money for the fact that hundreds of people break away from their studies and go out into the squares with other people’s words and slogans, or whether they are such lively people, I don’t know. I try to stay away from them: the abnormal shine in my eyes is alarming.
In 2003, after the US attack on Iraq, these ideological guys began to incite students of our university - and the group where I was a supervisor - to brand the Pentagon on the main square of Voronezh with disgrace. I became annoyed that responsibility for foreign policy miscalculations was being shifted onto the shoulders of, essentially, children; If the grown men in the government are afraid to smash their fists on the negotiating table, then there is no need to make buffoons out of provincial students. It's unfair and ugly. But, at the same time, I saw that my “sponsored” wanted to do good: they woke up beautiful impulses from the soul . And I decided to help them - and those who really needed help. In short, instead of a rally “Shame on the Bush Administration!” we went to a children's boarding school.
I called the boarding school administration; my guys hung a colorful poster next to the schedule with an appeal to help the kids. Many responded - both students and teachers. We drove to the children in three cars, carrying gifts. It was both joyful and scary.
We showed up at the door of the boarding school at the agreed time, but they didn’t let us in right away: “Wait.” Shifting sadly under the windows, we noticed the UAZ ambulance around the corner. I had never seen such a rarity before: the car was beat up and beat up. How soon are such monsters released onto city streets? Soon, however, everything was explained.
The doors swung open, and a crowd rolled out into the courtyard like a dirty, holey ball: orderlies in smocks of indescribable colors, stern cleaners with mop sticks, disheveled teachers. In the very center of this tangle was a 13-14 year old teenager, who apparently caused all the fuss to flare up. He was wearing the same dirty robe as the orderlies, only with long sleeves crossed over and tied behind his back: a straitjacket. He hobbled sinusoidally on bent legs, his rolled eyes did not focus on anything. “They chased him through the corridors for half an hour until they injected him,” one cleaning lady groaned to another, “now he’s back in the mental hospital for two months.” So this is where the broken-down UAZ comes from: the “fool” is outside our city. Nah...
A young patient was stuffed into psychosis, which did not want to start for a long time. When the yard was empty, they finally paid attention to us: very serious guys with big bags. “Oh, did you come with gifts? Come in! " We entered without much joy - with fear.
We were led through long corridors into a large empty hall: “Wait, the younger group will be brought in now. You’re here for the kids, aren’t you?”
We heard HOW the kids were being led: first a child's squeak and squeal, and then an obscene swearing in a rough female voice. On the way, they explained to the children in swear words: DO NOT TAKE GIFTS IN YOUR HANDS - the teachers will then distribute everything themselves!
A motley flock of twenty 5-7 year old siskins appeared in the hall. Seeing me in the inevitable tie-and-suit uniform and the smartly dressed grown-up kids, the kids immediately became confused and, like puppies, huddled tightly together. There is curiosity and anxiety in the eyes. I have never seen such truly instinctive behavior in little people. Only the teacher, a fat, red-cheeked woman, was not at a loss:
“So, what did you bring us?”
And then, without introducing us, forgetting about the children, she reached into our bags: “Yeah, this is food, these are stationery, these are toys,” very good, - and here are the clothes.” She began to take out one thing after another, looked at it, and suddenly with undisguised disappointment: “Didn’t they tell you that we only accept new things for our children? We love them!" - the last phrase with an obvious challenge. “Yes, this is from our younger brothers and sisters, everything is unworn and washed, like new. Look how your children are dressed! Surely this won’t suit them?!” - my students were indignant. “Okay, we’ll figure it out,” the aunt grumbled. Indeed, the children were dressed terribly, like in films about the Great Patriotic War.
The reason for the teacher’s red cheeks was immediately apparent: she reeked of fumes a mile away. We grumbled in bewilderment, she suddenly became embarrassed and went to get her replacement - a thin, friendly woman. In her presence, the children relaxed and we began to get to know each other. To destroy the barrier of understanding, I took off my tie and put it in my pocket; the kids became bolder. But still, their wariness did not completely go away: as soon as we approached them with a general question, they immediately huddled together in a flock, searching each other’s eyes with their eyes. Silly wolf cubs...
Remembering the overheard order don't take gifts
, we immediately began to almost forcefully stick toys into the children’s hands: it was clear that then THESE children would not get them. Judging by the fuss that began, how the boys grabbed dolls and the girls grabbed cars, I realized that the kids were not spoiled with toys. They clutched the plush animals to their chests, lisping touchingly with them - perhaps only today having found THEIR OWN friend... Some of them were going to the nursery - to hide an unexpected treasure under the pillow. And one five-year-old boy sat down on the floor and began to concentrate on hammering police cars against each other, saying: “Death! Death! Death!"
To the question why are you doing this?- he answered: “So that all the cops die inside!”
We were dumbfounded... “What do you want,” sighed the thin teacher, “he was born in prison. Most here have parents - some refused, some are in prison. And our boarding school is a real colony, only there is no barbed wire.” My heart sank...
Another shock for us was the “sweet table” arranged for the little ones. The children didn’t know how to eat bananas, but they tried to make them out of marshmallows. We explained what and how, it turned out to be delicious, I liked it.
Then - the performance. My guys staged a performance and involved the children in it. Seven years have passed, but I still remember the puppyish delight with which the little one played at the theater! There is hardly a greater meaning in life than SUCH the sparkle of children's eyes!
I got into a conversation with the teacher. “Yes, children are different,” she complained, “some are very difficult, unyielding, and there are others who are so intelligent and talented that they are simply taken aback. For example, Sonya and Misha are just kids, but they can already read fluently and reason just like adults. And, most importantly, they are kind and love everyone.” I looked at the red-haired girl with huge brown eyes and the puny dark-haired boy: “What will happen to them after boarding school?”
“What will happen,” she answered, “at best, a vocational school, after all, we have an incomplete school. It's a shame for the smart kids - there is no way for them at all. It's not fair." “Unfair,” I agree. Immediately a plan for at least partial correction of this injustice matures in my head.
Having played enough and fed the kids, we say goodbye. We promise to come. One of the boys can’t stand it and asks me: “Uncle, are they your children?” This is about students. We laugh: the “kids” are only seven years younger than the “daddy.”
Yes, I say, my children are students.
-Who are these students? - I see that no one knows, and everyone is interested.
- These are guys who finished school and continue to study.
- Is it possible to study further?
- Of course, you can. To know more, to work at an interesting job.
A moment's silence. The bugs are figuring something out. One suddenly summarizes:
“So they are very rich.”
I'm amazed: "Why?"
- Because you can’t just study after school.
Let's go out. It’s kind of painful in my soul.
On the street I put on a tie: right now I’m going back to work to carry out my plan. Our university has specialized classes in the city. We need to convince the management to take the smart kids from the boarding school there too. At least one or two a year. I'm driving full of determination.
But I negotiate quickly and fail miserably. Education at universities and specialized classes is paid, and there are so many applicants. Why take a chance with an unknown, freebie contingent?
This means that that child was right: they can’t just study after school. Eh, I wish I could adopt you, little one, but I myself was huddled in a dorm...
We went to see the children many more times – at the call of our hearts. Then I decided to change my life - and stopped being a teacher. Nowadays I rarely wear ties: I’m fed up with them. I visited the boarding school again with my now former students. I would like to believe that the tradition has taken root, and other students will continue to visit the children without me. From those MY, third-year students, even then, after the first trip, I received a New Year’s card with the signature: “Your children.”
Of course, guys, you are my children.
I remember you all!
- 2 -
The train slowly, like a ship, departs from the platform. There are almost five hours of travel ahead. I usually while away the commute by reading. Just now I opened the newspaper, but I can’t read it because of the annoying rumble from behind. Some guy is going bankrupt, he's making a fuss about the government that brought everyone down to the handle, bugs the insolent oligarchs, complains about the hardships of his life. A couple of female voices readily agree: “Don’t talk!” Having inflamed himself to the point of catharsis, the man utters: “It’s just injustice! There is no place for a decent person anywhere!” I turn around with curiosity: I have never seen a decent person, SO publicly certifying himself.
A man like a man, about forty or under forty. Thin, high cheekbones, reddish mustache and stubble. The knitted cap was bunched up on his protruding ears. The eyes are small and sad: he seems to feel sorry for himself. But something familiar... No, it can’t be. But decent person He also looks at me carefully and, meeting my gaze, quickly turns away - and again, with intense and strained inspiration, he speaks. That means he is Ushasty. Found out...
In the fifth grade, I once had an argument with my classmate: he called me insulting names. We decided to meet one-on-one after class. We studied in the second shift, winter, after the sixth period it was dark outside the window. In a remote school yard, a surprise awaited me: instead of the offender, five high school students with aluminum ski poles moved towards me. “This is not fair, you bastards!” - I just shouted, flying, like Sergei Bubka, over a hefty fence. Suddenly So I wanted to live that I took this height and sprinted a kilometer home. It turned out that my offender was his own man in the school gang.
My quiet life ended, and humiliation and fear began. At school, every day I received slaps on the head from high school students, and after classes I hid and made my way home through the black courtyards that I had never visited. It was said: “If we catch you, we’ll kill you.” Ushasty, who was three years older than me and a head taller, sneered the most. I was an excellent student and intellectual - it’s usually through such people that all sorts of rubbish assert themselves. This gang always walked around the school and around the city in a group. And the light became not pleasant to me.
The worst thing about fear is its extent. Prolonged fear is overwhelming and reeks of doom. My phobia, fortunately, did not last forever. In the middle of the lesson, I, the duty officer, was sent to the teachers' room to get a magazine. I walked down the empty stairs, humming Figaro's aria “The boy is frisky, curly...” In word "enamored" Someone's heel hit me on the back of my head, and I fell head over heels. I didn’t have to lie around for long: two archangel They grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me up into the attic. They wrung their hands. And then Ushasty appeared. “Hold tight and don’t hit me in the face,” he commanded, “or else they’ll drag you down later.” “Let me go, it’s not fair - three against one, it’s not fair!” - I struggled. “Unfair? - Ushasty grinned, spat in my face and punched me in the stomach with all his might, “Is this fairer?” My vision darkened, my ears were blocked, and nausea set in - from pain and humiliation. “Hold tight!” - he barked again - I kept kicking and twisting - and with his heavy boots he began to hit my legs, my shin bones. He beat for a long time. When the archangels released me, I fell down as if I had been knocked down. Having dumped me in a pile of lime and finally threatening to kill me if I told anyone, the trio ran away. Their faces were sweaty, brutal, sadistic.
I barely made it home because of the extreme pain. Late in the evening my father returned from work. It was stupid to hide anything. He didn’t bother going on and on: “Tomorrow we’ll go to school together.”
He dragged me by the arm to school. We walked slowly—our swollen, broken legs hurt—and were late for class. In the deserted corridor we came across... Eared! And what a frightened face, God, how fast he runs! But not faster than his father. My father pinned him in a corner and I hobbled away. Ushasty was already whining (he was as tall as his father!): “I didn’t want to... It’s them... they...” I expected my father to go crazy with his lectures - he’s a master at this - but he said only one word: “Bastard.” Then he nodded to me. I understood everything. He spat in Ushastomy’s eye and hit him in the ribs a couple of times: HE DID NOT RESIST, EVEN SHOWED A TEAR, - hitting him was somehow disgusting.
That's how it ended.
Nowadays I occasionally meet members of that old school gang, who, of course, hardly recognize me. They all look the same: prematurely aged, unkempt, degraded - in a word, pathetic.
I wonder if these people think decent people, like Ushasty, that life has treated them unfairly? Who do they blame for this injustice?
Added 06/19/2010 15:49
A Tale of Justice
The bunny was lying on the grass and basking in the sun, but then a bee flew up and began collecting nectar from the flowers next to the hare. The hare did not like that his peace was disturbed, and he began to chase the bee.
The fox saw this and was indignant that the hare offended those who were weaker than him. Out of a sense of justice, she attacked the hare and began to beat him. The bee flew away safely.
The wolf, who saw how the fox dealt with the hare, also became indignant at the fact that the weak were being offended. He grabbed the fox by the scruff of the neck and began hitting it with his paws. The hare ran away in joy.
The bear, who noticed the fuss between the wolf and the fox, was also outraged that the weak were being offended, and decided to take revenge on the wolf. He pressed him to the ground and began to trample him with his feet. The fox freed himself from the wolf's clutches and quickly disappeared into the forest.
The bees flying by were also inflamed with a sense of defense of justice. They attacked the bear and began to bite him, as a result of which the bear left the wolf, who, taking the opportunity, quickly disappeared.
Justice eventually triumphed: the bitten and angry bear tore up and broke into pieces the beehive, then in turn killed everyone he came across: a hare, a fox and a wolf. Without discerning who is right and who is wrong.
Moral: revenge, of course, is an interesting activity, but there will always be someone who will avenge those who were revenged.
