Dibs: In Search of Self

by Virginia M. Axline

He said, “That’s right!” His voice had a soft, gentle quality. He walked down the hall, opened the door of his room, then looked back. I waved. The expression on his face was interesting. He looked surprised — almost pleased. He walked into his room and closed the door firmly behind him. It was the first time Dibs had ever gone any place alone.

If Dibs was an emotionally deprived child — and indications were that he was — to attempt to develop an emotional attachment at this point might seem to be satisfying a deep need of the child, but it would create a problem that must of necessity ultimately be resolved by him.

I had respect for his inner strength and capacity. He was a child of great courage.

“No lock door! No lock door! No! No! No!” The voice trailed off into silence. Apparently, Dibs was not going to join us for tea.

The drawing room didn’t look as though a child had ever spent five minutes there.

In fact, there were no signs that anyone really lived in this house.

It was incredible. Here she was, in the best scientific manner, offering me some data to study. Not a child in trouble. Not her son. Some raw data. And she made it very clear that she did not expect any changes in the data. At least, no changes for the better. I listened as she told me very briefly the vital statistics of Dibs. His date of birth. The slow progress. The obvious retardation. The possibility of organic involvement. She sat in her chair, almost without moving. Tense. Terribly controlled.

Occasionally, she bit her lip nervously.

She had precise, intelligent speech. She seemed to be putting up a brave front; but, in all probability, she

was as deeply and tragically unhappy as Dibs.

This was obviously a disturbing arrangement. She tried again.

Trying to buy the researcher. Possibly so the data and report are in her favor

She held the slip of paper gingerly. She moistened her lips. This was certainly a far cry from the usual initial interview with a mother.

Again she is trying to buy the researcher

I had done it now. I was way out on the limb and she could cut it off with the speed of an electric saw. I felt strongly that if we weathered this little controversy, we would have achieved something of importance in building up the necessary initial responsibility for the mother. She had probably often been able to pay her way out of taking this much involved responsibility for Dibs. I decided that it was important to eliminate this factor as best I could at this time. She was very quiet for a few minutes. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She was looking down at them.

I remembered Dibs, throwing himself face down, prone on the floor — rigid, quiet. Again, I thought that she was as sad and remote as her son.

Finally she glanced at me, looked away quickly, avoided my eyes.

She seems to be a bad mom and uninvolved

She glanced at me again. She looked terrified at the thought of any interviewing for herself.

Uninvolved and seeing not to care about their son

Dorothy was mentioned only as a vital statistic and “a perfect child.” Dibs’ mother had shown more fear, anxiety, and panic in this interview than Dibs had shown in his first session.

Dibs would be far more responsive than his mother ever could be. Dibs had protested the locking of doors, but some very important doors in her life had already been securely locked. It was almost too late for her to protest. As a matter of fact, in this brief interview she had been desperately trying to lock another door. As I took my departure, she came to the door with me.

She was really desperate. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

I felt the oppressive weight of that troubled family. I thought of Dibs and his beautifully equipped playroom. I did not have to enter that playroom to be reasonably certain that everything money

could buy was there. And I was absolutely certain that there was a solid, highly polished door, too. And a sturdy lock that was too often locked securely.

Certainly, there were no glib answers to explain the dynamics of the family relationships here. What must this woman really think and feel about Dibs and the part she played in his young life to be so terrorized at the prospect of being interviewed and questioned about the situation?

Then one morning I received the signed release slip from the parents, giving me permission to record the sessions. There was a brief note stating their willingness to cooperate in our study of the child

Several of us sighed with relief. Apparently this family did not make such decisions lightly.

Dibs arrived at the Center promptly with his mother. She told the receptionist she would return for him in one hour and left him in the waiting room.

Dibs reached out and silently took my hand. We walked down the hall to the playroom.

“That’s right,” he said haltingly.

Maybe imagery about how dibs situation will get better

When we got into the playroom, Dibs walked slowly around, touching the materials, naming the items with the same questioning inflection he had used on the first visit to the other playroom.

Then he varied it a little. “Is this a car? This is a car. Is this sand? This is sand. Is this paint? It is paint.”

Come back this later for evaluation

“That’s right,” he said, almost in a whisper.

He stood there, plucking idly and restlessly at his coat sleeves. He began to whimper. He stood in front of me, hanging his head, whimpering.

“That’s right,” he said. There was a sob in his voice as he replied.

Take note of what the researcher does to help Dibs build independence

Helping Dibs become independent

He did not reply. He walked over to the easel and looked at the paints. He stood there for a long time. Then he named the colors on the easel. Slowly he re-arranged them. He placed the red, yellow, and blue on the shelf of the easel. Carefully, he moved them apart and in the appropriate spaces added other colors to give the six full-strength colors of the spectrum. Then he set the tertiary colors in the correct places, added the black and white, and had on the edge of the easel the full color and color value scale. He did this silently, slowly, carefully.

Interesting

“Favor Ruhl paints,” he said. “Red. Favor Ruhl paints. Yellow. Favor Ruhl paints. Blue. Favor Ruhl paints. Black.”

This was a partial answer to one question. He was obviously reading the labels. They were indeed, Favor Ruhl paints. And the colors were correctly arranged and named.

He is 5 and can read

Then he sat down at the table and reached for the box of crayons. He read the name on the box. Then he took out the red crayon and printed in neat, block letters, “RED.”

full-colored sequence, in a circle.

As he printed them out he spelled them, naming each letter as he printed it.

He is five an can write as well

“And you are making a color wheel, aren’t you?”

Dibs is educar in the ways of art it appears