Dibs: In Search of Self

by Virginia M. Axline

When he first began to be a member of our group, he moved closer to me, took my hand, talked very briefly to me. I was careful to accept only as much as he wanted to give; I never pushed him. I made it a point to acknowledge in a friendly way everything he did and said to encourage him to do more. And then, of course, the other children were so busy going about their own business that they accepted whatever Dibs did without question. Gradually Dibs started to follow directions and he was able to produce whatever instructions called for in a superior way. Then he would go over to the easel and paint. That was the first thing he did. He would concentrate on his work as though he were producing a masterpiece.”

But why did Dibs paint such pictures when he was capable of far more complex art? These could be the paintings of any child of his age — but an odd contribution from a child whose “at home” drawings and paintings were so far beyond his age ability.

Mixed feelings struggled within me. Those simple little paintings. Those simple little sentences. Why was Dibs undercutting his ability? Or were these signs of Dibs’ adjustment to a group of his own age?

Dibs’ social progress was the most important factor in his development now.

We are glad for every little step he takes and we feel that he enjoys being a member of the group.

When she brings him or comes for him she has a more accepting, pleasant, happy attitude toward Dibs. He takes her hand and goes with her quite willingly. He is a very interesting child!”

But socially and emotionally, Dibs was achieving new horizons for himself. They were fundamental to his total development. I

Such superior intelligence creates serious problems of personal and social adjustments. It is necessary to meet all the child’s basic needs and to provide appropriate, balanced outlets for the superior intelligence.

The atmosphere around him should be relaxed, optimistic, sensitive.

‘I am the wind. I blow. I blow. I climb. I climb. I climb the hills and I move the clouds. I bend the trees and I move the grass. No one can stop the wind. I am the wind, a friendly wind, a wind you cannot see. But I am the wind.’ He seemed to be unaware of his audience. The children were surprised and delighted. Needless to say, so were we. We thought then that Dibs had at last found himself and was now one of the group.”

His search for self was a tedious, troubled experience that brought him increasing awareness of his feelings and attitudes and relationships with those around him.

“This is Dibs talking,” he said. “Listen to me, recorder. You will catch and hold my voice. I am Dibs talking. I am Dibs. This is me.” He clicked it off, rewound it, and listened to the recording. He snapped it off and grinned at me. “That was my voice,” he said. “I talked and it recorded me. I’ll make a long recording and we’ll keep it forever and ever. This will be just for us.”

“That is too much noise. Be quiet when you are in the house. Oh, it is Papa. What do you mean by slamming that door, Papa? You are stupid and careless. I don’t want you around me when you act like that. I don’t care what you want. I’ll make you go

in your room and I’ll lock you up so we don’t have to listen to a screaming, stupid man!”

“Papa doesn’t like to be sent to his room,” he told me. “He doesn’t like to be called stupid.”

“Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a big house with his

mother and father and sister. And one day the father came home and went to his study and the boy went in without knocking. ‘You are a mean man,’ the boy cried. ‘I hate you! I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!’ And the father began to cry. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I ever did. Please don’t hate me!’ But the little boy said to him, ‘I am going to punish you, you stupid, stupid man. I don’t want you around any more. I want to get rid of you.”

“This is only make-believe,” he said. “I’m just making up a story about Papa. I made a blotter for him at school. And I tied it with a red ribbon. Then I made an ashtray out of clay and baked it and painted it and I gave it to Papa.” “You made some gifts for Papa? And this story is just make-believe?” I remarked. “Yes. But let’s listen to it.”

Then he added to his recording, “This is Dibs talking. I hate my father. He is mean to me. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want me around. I’ll tell you who he is and you look out for him.

He is a

mean, very, very m...

“He is a very busy man. He wants everything quiet. He does not like the boy. The boy does not like him.”

“He isn’t mean to me any more,” he said. “But he used to be mean to me. Maybe he even likes me now.” Back to his recording he went. “I hate you, Papa!” he shouted. “I hate you! Don’t you ever lock me up again or I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you anyhow! For all the mean things you did to me!”

We went down to the playroom and Dibs jumped into the sandbox and began to dig a deep hole in the sand. Then he went over to the doll house and got the father doll. “Do

you have anything to say?” he demanded of the doll. “Are you sorry for all the mean angry things you said?” He shook the doll, threw it around in the sandbox, hit it with the shovel. “I’m going to make a prison for you with a big lock on the door,” he said. “You’ll be sorry for all the mean things you did.” He got the blocks and began to line the hole with the blocks, building the prison for the father doll. He worked quickly and efficiently. “Please don’t do this to me,” he cried out for the father doll. “I’m sorry I ever hurt you. Please give me another chance.” “I will punish you for everything you have ever done!” Dibs cried out. He put the father doll down in the sand and came over to me. “I used to be afraid of Papa,” he said. “He used to be very mean to me.”

“He isn’t mean to me any more,” Dibs said. “But I am going to punish him anyhow!” “Even though he isn’t mean to you now, you still want to punish him?” I said. “Yes,” Dibs answered. “I’ll punish him.”

“Who will take care of you?” he cried. Dibs looked at me. “That is the father,” he said. “He says he is sorry. Who will buy you things and take care of you? I am your father! Please don’t hurt me. I am sorry for all I ever did to you! Oh, I am so sorry. Please, Dibs, please forgive me! I am so sorry.” He continued to shovel on the sand and the father doll was buried in his prison.

“He is my father,” he said. “He takes care of me. But I am punishing him for all the things he did to me that made me sad and unhappy.”

‘I love you, Dibs. Please help me. I need you.’ So the little boy unlocks the prison and lets his father out.” Dibs carefully picked out the father doll. He held the father doll and the boy doll in his hands and studied them quietly. He took them back to the doll house and placed them side by side on a bench.

“I talked to Papa today,” he said, quietly.

“Well, he was in the breakfast room finishing up his coffee and reading the morning paper. I walked right up to him and I said, ‘Good morning, Papa. You have a nice time today.’ And he put down his paper and he said to me, ‘Good morning, Dibs. You have a nice time, too.’ And I did. I had a real good time today.”

“Papa took us out to the beach on Sunday in the car. We went way out on Long Island and I saw the ocean. Papa and I walked out to the edge of the water and he told me all about the ocean and the tides and the differences between oceans, lakes, rivers, brooks, and ponds. Then I started to build a sand castle and he asked if he could help me and I gave him my shovel and we took turns. I went in wading, but it was cold and I didn’t stay in long. We had a picnic lunch in the car. We had a happy time and Mother just smiled and smiled.”

“It was nice. A very nice trip out to the beach and back. And there were no angry words. Not any.”

Dibs smiled. “Today I talked to Papa,” he said with a happy, relieved smile.

Note 📝

“I expect to like my vacation this year. And Grandmother plans to spend the summer with us this year instead of her usual vacation time. I like that idea.”

“Well, here is sister,” he exclaimed, as though he had never seen the doll before. “Isn’t she a brat of a thing? I’m going to get rid of her. I’ll get her to eat some nice rice pudding only I will have poison in it and I’ll poison her and she’ll go away to stay forever and ever.”

Messed up thing to say

“Sometimes she screams and scratches and hurts me and I’m afraid of her.

Sometimes I hit and scratch her. But she isn’t home very much. Pretty soon though, she’ll be home and she’ll be with us for the summer. She’s five now.”

But not much any more. She is going to come home to live next year. She’ll go to the same school I go to next year.”

“Well, I don’t care,” Dibs said. “I think I’m glad she’s coming home to stay. She must have been very lonesome away at school.

“Yes. I really am,” Dibs replied. “She doesn’t bother me like she used to. When I am playing with my blocks and trains and cars and erector set, she sometimes comes over and plays with me. She hands me a block or a piece of the erector set. She doesn’t try to knock down everything I build any more. Then sometimes I play with her. Sunday I read her a story. It was a new book Papa brought home for me.

Papa said he was in a bookstore and he saw this new book for children and he thought I would like it. I did like it.”

“This is poison for the sister,” he said. “She’ll think it is cereal and she’ll eat it and then that will be the end of her.”

“What have you done to the boy?” he demanded of this doll. “What have you done to him? You are stupid and I have told you the same thing over and over and over again. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” He carried the mother doll over to the sandbox. “You build me a mountain!” he demanded. “You stay right there and you build it and you do it right. The boy will stand guard to see that you do it right. You better be careful because I am watching you every minute. Oh God! Oh God! Why is he like this? What have I done to deserve it? You build that mountain and don’t you tell me you can’t do it. I’ll show you how. I’ll show you again and again and again. And you must do it!”

He dropped the mother doll down in the sand and went over to the window. “It’s too hard to do,” he said. “Nobody can build a mountain. But I’ll make her do it. She’ll have to build the mountain and do it right. There is a right way and a wrong way to do things. And you will do it the right way!” He

wandered over to the table and picked up the nursing bottle. He sucked on it for a long time, while he looked at me solemnly. “I’m just a baby,” he said. “I can’t do anything at all. Somebody has to take care of me and I’ll be baby. Baby don’t have to be afraid. Grandmother take care of baby.”

softly. “I don’t want anybody blown away.”

“Why don’t you build that mountain?” Dibs shouted again. “Why don’t you do what you are told? If you scream and cry, I’ll lock you in your room.” He looked at me. “She tries and tries and tries. She is afraid, because she does not like to be locked away in her room. She calls for me to help her.” He was standing over the sandbox, looking down at the mother doll.

He went over to the doll he had identified as the sister. He cuddled her in his arms. “Have you been afraid, poor little sister?” he said gently. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you the baby bottle and it will comfort you.” He held the bottle to the doll’s lips and rocked the doll gently in his arms. “Poor little sister. I’ll take care of you. I’ll let you come to my party. Nobody will ever hurt you.”