“I was raised in development centers.”
“Take a look at yourself in the mirror.”
The child grew in no particularly spectacular fashion. He crawled at a reasonable age, tried to stand, burned his fingers a few times, tried to swallow the usual quota of unswallowable objects.
Mordan seemed satisfied. So did Phyllis. Felix had no criteria.
At nine months Theobald attempted a few words, then shut up for a long time. At fourteen months he began speaking in sentences, short and of his own structure, but sentences. The subjects of his conversation, or, rather, his statements, were consistently egocentric. Normal again-no one expects an infant to write essays on the beauties of altruism.
“That,” remarked Hamilton to Mordan one day, hooking a thumb toward where Theobald sat naked in the grass, trying to remove the ears from an unco-operative and slightly indignant puppy, “is your superchild, is he not?”
“Mm, yes.”
“When does he start doing his miracles?”
“He won’t do miracles. He is not unique in any one respect; he is simply the best we can conceive in every respect. He is uniformly normal, in the best sense of the word-optimum, rather.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m glad he doesn’t have tentacles growing out of his ears, or a bulging forehead, or something like that. Come here, son.”
Theobald ignored him. He could be deaf when he chose; he seemed to find it particularly difficult to hear the word “No.” Hamilton got up, went over and picked him up. He had no useful purpose in mind; he just wanted to cuddle the child for a while for his own amusement. Theobald resisted being separated from the pup for a moment, then accepted the change. He could soak up a great deal of petting-when it suited him. If it really did not suit him he could be extremely unco-operative.
Even to the extent of biting. He and his father had put in a difficult and instructive half hour in his fifteenth month settling the matter, beyond cautioning Felix to be careful not to damage the brat Phyllis had let them have it out. Theobald did not bite anymore, but Felix had a permanent, small, ragged scar on his left thumb.
Hamilton was almost inordinately fond of the child, although he was belligerently off-hand in his manner. It hurt him that the child did not really seem to care anything about him and would as readily accept petting and endearments from “Uncle Claude” — or a total stranger-if he happened to be in the mood to accept anything of the sort.
On Mordan’s advice and by Phyllis’s decision (Felix was not offered a vote in the matter-she was quite capable of reminding him that she, and not he, was a psycho-pediatrician) Theobald was not taught to read any earlier than the usual age of thirty months, although experimental testing showed that he could comprehend the basic idea of abstracted symbols a little earlier than that. She used the standard extensionalized technique of getting a child to comprehend symbolic grouping-by-abstracted-characteristics while emphasizing individual differences. Theobald was rather bored with the matter and appeared to make no progress-at all for the first three weeks. Then he seemed suddenly to get the idea that there might be something in it for him-apparently by recognising his own name on a stat which Felix had transmitted from his office, for shortly thereafter he took the lead in his own instruction and displayed the concentrated interest he was capable of.
Nine weeks after the instruction began it was finished. Reading was an acquired art: further instruction would merely have gotten in his way. Phyllis let him be and restricted her efforts in the matter to seeing to it that only such reading matter was left in his reach as she wished him to attempt. Otherwise he would have read anything he could lay hands on; as it was she had to steal scrolls from him when she wanted him to exercise or eat.
Felix worried about the child’s obsession with printed matter. Phyllis told him not to. “It will wear off. We’ve suddenly extended his psycho field; he’s got to explore it for a while.”
“It didn’t with me. I still read when I should be doing something else. It’s a vice.”