Pondering the Lame in Children's Classics

That's the lame in children's classics. Not "lame children's classics." Since I sprained my ankle badly recently, I have been reflecting on how most of my understanding of the experience of being unable to walk was shaped by children's classics. No physical disability is more common in children's literature, it seems. Why?

In the nineteenth century, the chances of children becoming lame was increased by greater incidences of paralytic diseases and lack of knowledge on physiology and therapy. So it was probably more common for children to be lame or paralyzed than it is today, just as it was more common for them to lose their parents or die themselves, which are also common tropes in children's classics.

Children experienced other forms of disability, of course. But I think the idea of being lame or paralyzed is the most pathetic for active young children. Hence the number of stories exploring the experience.

Like most children, the first lame child in literature I met was the nameless one in The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Pitiful as he was, he turned out to be important for his glimpse of the world in the mountain made it clear that the adults, not the children, of Hamelin were being punished. Anyone can sympathize with the misery of the poor child at being left behind by his companions, as he must so often have. And to lose out on such a prize! Though, as a character in The Story Girl said, "But think how glad his mother must have been."

Then there was Klara in Heidi. It's never clear what was wrong with her, only that she had been ill and was too weak to walk. So the fact that she grows strong in the Alps until she can is plausible enough with her newly awakened desire to explore the outdoors as her motivation.

Colin Craven in The Secret Garden is a similar case. He becomes an invalid mainly because of his father's neurotic fear that he will be a hunchback like himself. Mr. Craven is forgivable only because of his deep grief over his wife's death and the lack of medical knowledge in his time. Like Klara, he is invigorated by being outdoors and motivated by the desire to play outside with other children.

A little less believable is the story of Katy in What Katy Did. I appreciate how tomboyish Katy's injury led to her using her creativity in acts of kindness rather than mischief, but it seems unbelievable that she just spontaneously gets better. Though I guess back injuries do sometimes with bed rest. It is kind of moralistic but the book's saving grace is that Katy is a likeable character, maintaining a lively spirit even when she reforms.

Pollyanna in her eponymous book is too, but I have come to have issues with Pollyanna. At first I wanted my daughter to read her, then scanning the book again, I changed my mind. My daughter is sensitive and can get sulky and whiny over a lot of things, so you can see why I thought it might be good for her to be infected with Pollyanna's positive spirit. But rereading the portions from Pollyanna's viewpoint changed my mind. In parts written from adults' points of view she is charming, and you can see how her naive optimism changes their own cynical outlook in life. But when you read how she struggles to deny to herself that her aunt is unkind, then you can see the problem with her father's "glad game"--a game he makes her play to find something to be glad about every situation and she applies even to becoming a paraplegic. I don't think it should go so far as to make her deny being sad or hurt. Looking for something positive in every situation doesn't mean you should go so far as to be glad every time. Denying your true feelings and your gut instinct about people isn't healthy or wise. In the sequel, Pollyanna as a teen applies understanding rather than denial in her dealings with people and that sits better with me than the glad game and her at times annoying blind naivete! I think the first book is better reserved for those who are mature enough to balance both the flaws and virtues of the glad game.

Crucita in the Childcraft anthology Children Everywhere has an inspiring positive attitude as she is realistically portrayed suffering paralysis from polio and slowly teaching herself to walk again, even as she focuses on doing useful things with her hands. Another polio survivor is Mercy in The Witch of Blackbird Pond. She is a secondary character, but a memorable one, warm, sympathetic and wise.

Perhaps the best portrayal in classic children's lit of a lame child is The Little Lame Prince. It describes how the prince copes with his disability and his feelings at watching an able-bodied boy, and though it is a fairy tale, he is never cured. He is, however, given a flying cloak which he only uses in secret. He becomes a respected king despite his inability to walk, making this quite an empowering tale. While there are still no flying cloaks, there are more means for disabled children to get about now, and so there is no reason why they can't achieve as much as the young prince did.

So much has been done with this trope that it's no wonder that it is little used now. Freak the Mighty features a character in a wheelchair with other problems, but he's shown to be smart and brave. Lois Lowry's Sam books feature a character in a wheelchair as an ordinary kid in every way. These are two positive and empowering ways to present a child who can't walk. More portrayals of this sort would probably not be groundbreaking, but would still be welcome.