Unequal Childhoods

by Annette Lareau

  Mr. Tallinger is eager for the practice to end:

  When we get back the boys are taking a break. Don says, “Is it over? We can’t be that lucky.”

  The impact of children’s activities takes its toll on parents’ patience as well as their time. For example, on a June afternoon at the beginning of summer vacation, Mr. Tallinger comes home from work to take Garrett to his soccer game. Garrett is not ready to go, and his lackadaisical approach to getting ready irks his father:

  Don says, “Get your soccer stuff—you’re going to a soccer game!” Garrett comes into the den with white short leggings on underneath a long green soccer shirt; he’s number 16. He sits on an armchair catty-corner from the television and languidly watches the World Cup game. He slowly, abstractedly, pulls on shin guards, then long socks. His eyes are riveted to the TV screen. Don comes in: “Go get your other stuff.” Garrett says he can’t find his shorts. Don: “Did you look in your drawer?” Garrett nods. . . . He gets up to look for his shorts, comes back into the den a few minutes later. I ask, “Any luck yet?” Garrett shakes his head. Don is rustling around elsewhere in the house. Don comes in, says to Garrett, “Well, Garrett, aren’t you wearing shoes?” (Don leaves and returns a short time later): “Garrett, we HAVE to go! Move! We’re late!” He says this shortly, abruptly. He comes back in a minute and drops Garrett’s shiny green shorts on his lap without a word.

  This pressured search for a pair of shiny green soccer shorts is a typical event in the Tallinger household. Also typical is the solution—a parent ultimately finds the missing object, while continuing to prod the child to hurry. The fact that today’s frenzied schedule will be matched or exceeded by the next day’s is also par:

  DON (describing their day on Saturday): Tomorrow is really nuts. We have a soccer game, then a baseball game, then another soccer game.

  The Tallingers’ commitment to concerted cultivation creates additional labor for them when, as happens every few days, activities conflict. For example, Garrett is on several soccer teams—the “A” traveling team of the private Forest soccer club, the Township soccer team, and the Intercounty soccer team. On Sunday, May 22, Garrett and a friend on his team wait in the car to be driven to the first practice for the Intercounty soccer program. Mr. Tallinger and the friend’s father (Bill) discuss a looming conflict:

  Don adds, “I see we have a conflict with soccer practice and tryouts.” Bill says, “The Intercounty seems more pressing since they haven’t had much chance to work together.” Don says, “Yeah, but if you don’t try out, you don’t get on the team.” Bill says, “That’s true. I’ll talk to [the tryout coach] about it.” He pauses and then, turning to walk down the step, looks back and says, “Maybe (winking) we can get special dispensation.” He laughs and Don smiles.

  Sometimes, the Tallingers resolve potential scheduling conflicts by adjusting their own work schedules. That they do so reluctantly is clear from Mr. Tallinger’s observation that “there’s something arrogant about soccer. I mean, they just assume that you have the time, that you can get off work, to lug your kids to games. What if you worked at a job that paid an hourly wage?” Other times, Garrett must skip one activity to attend another. For example, the night of the school concert, he makes it to swim practice but not to a soccer game. On Father’s Day, Garrett cannot play in the father-child special golf tournament at the country club because, as he explains, “I have two soccers and a baseball game” that day. Spencer does play in the tournament, however. Thus, even on Father’s Day, the family goes in different directions.

  The fact that in families like the Tallingers conflicts between activities are inevitable doesn’t necessarily reduce the tension or frustration they produce. Last-minute changes, whether in the timing of children’s events, or weather-related adjustments in school openings or closings, or hastily scheduled work meetings for either Mr. or Ms. Tallinger (or both), sometimes threaten to topple the whole architecture of the family’s master schedule. For example, on Wednesday, May 18, Garrett is told at his Intercounty soccer practice that a game has been scheduled for the coming Sunday. Neither parent is home; a high-school boy is baby-sitting. Mr. Tallinger comes home from work at 9:30, and Ms. Tallinger arrives about ten minutes later and begins preparing to take the baby-sitter home. As they all stand in the kitchen, Mr. Tallinger tells his wife the news:

  Don said to Louise, “He has a game on the twenty-second.” He showed her the soccer calendar. Louise replied, “It wasn’t scheduled.” Don sounded upset. He said, “I know. It changed.” Louise walked over to the kitchen calendar hanging on the wall next to the telephone. She said, “What time is it at?” Don, without looking at the paper, said, “Four.” Louise said, “So he could make it.” Don, sounding more frustrated than I have ever heard him, said to the baby-sitter, “He has two soccer games, a baseball game, and a graduation party on the same day.” Louise said (looking at the location), “It’s too far away.”

  Conflicts like these escalate the “invisible labor” parents undertake as they keep the children fed, the house organized, and the different deadlines of multiple schedules reconciled. As the number of women working outside the home continues to grow, so too does the already formidable pressure on parents, particularly mothers. Arlie Hochschild has termed the work of women in taking care of the home “the second shift.” She and others also have shown that despite increases in the amount of time men contribute to household work and child care, they still concentrate their home efforts on outdoor work (e.g., mowing the lawn, painting, or repairing the house). Mr. Tallinger was a very involved father and often played ball with the children outside. However, as in many families, when she was present, Ms. Tallinger took a leadership role in cooking, clothing, and coordinating the children’s lives. He helped her.

  Women’s work at home, on the other hand, continues to be inside and deadline oriented (e.g., making meals, getting children ready for child care or school, and putting children to bed). Although researchers have documented many aspects of “invisible labor” at home, existing studies do not examine the impact of children’s activities on those who work “the second shift.” Unlike mealtimes or bedtimes, organized activities for children usually have starting and stopping times that are rigidly enforced. Parents are expected to deliver and pick up their children punctually. Safety concerns drive most of these rules and parents try very hard to comply. Over and over again, in our observations, parents showed up within a minute or two of when the activity let out. Regularly meeting those often arbitrarily set deadlines can take an emotional as well as a physical toll.

  Mr. and Ms. Tallinger manage the pace of family life differently. For example, one weekday afternoon, Mr. Tallinger drives hurriedly up the driveway at 5:40 P.M. He jumps from the car, searches for his keys, opens the front door, and, almost immediately, sternly tells the boys to do their homework. When Ms. Tallinger arrives home, around 6:00 P.M., she seems more relaxed than her husband. Even when she is clearly under pressure, with multiple questions from the children and looming deadlines, Ms. Tallinger is typically less tense than Mr. Tallinger when she is alone with the children.

  Moreover, pressures related to family life are not borne equally by Mr. Tallinger and Ms. Tallinger. Although Mr. Tallinger participates actively in his children’s lives, his job keeps him away from home two to three days per week. When she worked full time, Ms. Tallinger typically assumed more of a leadership role in monitoring, feeding, and helping the children with daily life tasks. Still, Mr. Tallinger was an unusually competent father and played an active role in child care when Ms. Tallinger traveled for work.

  It is also Ms. Tallinger who makes the career adjustments when faced with family conflicts. Near the end of the study, Ms. Tallinger decided to quit her job. Looking for an opportunity closer to home, so that she could be around as an “anchor” for the children, she eventually took a job as a high-level manager for a local nonprofit organization, one with minimal travel requirements. She describes this acti
on as a decision to “put my career on the shelf.”

  Still, in some areas of home labor, Mr. Tallinger contributes far more than what we observed among fathers in other middle-class homes. He regularly and competently gets the children off to school on mornings when his wife has an early meeting or is out of town. One morning when Ms. Tallinger leaves early, he stays behind to take the children to school and to attend “Donuts with Dad,” an event sponsored by the parent-teachers organization. The boys are in the basement, playing. They have stuffed pillows under their shirts to make themselves look more like hockey goalies:

  All of a sudden [Don] calls down from upstairs in a semi-mad voice, “Spencer—did you feed Ivan and Farley? Garrett did you feed the fish?” Spencer says, “I fed Ivan.” Both move quickly to head up the stairs; they walk up with the fat pillows under their chests. As they start to move, [Don] calls down, “Feed Farley. And Garrett—feed the fish.” I follow them upstairs. Garrett goes in the den to feed the fish.

  After Garrett feeds the fish, he walks into the kitchen (with the fat pillow still under his shirt) and stands near the table. His father is shuffling papers; the all-news radio station is playing loudly. Mr. Tallinger (not commenting on the pillow) begins a series of reminders:

  [Don] says, “You are going to take the bus?” Garrett says, “Yes.” “. . . What time does the bus come? . . . Do you have a key?” Garrett nods but looks in his backpack. [Don] nods and then says, “Don’t miss the bus.”

  During this interaction, Mr. Tallinger appears rushed and irritable as he tries to remember various tasks. Sam and Spencer whine and complain as they wait by the front door for their father to take them to school. Their father, passing through the hallway, stops to reprimand Sam. “Sam! Cut it out,” he orders.

  In the families we observed, fathers were neither as knowledgeable of nor as involved in child care as Mr. Tallinger. But even he did not seem to define children’s home-related responsibilities as labor that was equally his. When both parents were present, most family labor fell to Ms. Tallinger. She was the one who found and ironed the boys’ pants the day of the piano recital and who arranged the recital refreshments (strawberries and poppy seed muffins), who bought the children’s teachers Christmas and end-of-year gifts, and who wrote the teachers notes to thank them for their efforts during the year. Significantly, this pattern of gendered labor met the expectations of both children and school personnel: Mothers, not fathers, were expected to sign permission slips and help children with routine life tasks.

  A CULTIVATED CHILDHOOD: GARRETT’S VIEW

  Garrett is not an especially demonstrative child, but it is clear that he enjoys his activities, particularly those related to sports, and thinks that without them, his life would be “boring.” Unlike Tyrec Taylor, a working-class boy who is discussed in the next chapter, Garrett does not complain about having to go to practices or games. If he has to miss a game, he is visibly disappointed. During an interview, Garrett reports that he especially enjoys competitive games. About basketball, for example, he notes that he likes “defense . . . pushing guys around.” Forest traveling soccer and Intercounty soccer, where the teams are skillful and there are “bigger fields, bigger goals,” rank high with him. By contrast, gym class soccer “gets boring after awhile.” When asked by the interviewer, Garrett admits that days when he has two soccer games and a baseball game or three other activities are “tiring,” but he notes, “It’s not too much.” Reflecting, he amends, “Not for me. Maybe for my dad [because] he has to take me and he has to watch me in the heat . . . He has to take me back and forth.”

  Garrett anticipates unusual soccer events such as a trip to another state for a tournament, with enthusiasm. On the Wednesday night before the weekend trip, when he is in bed and under the covers and his mother is wishing him good night, Garrett says excitedly: “Two more days ‘til we go!” Similarly, Garrett is excited when he gets his new Intercounty soccer uniform emblazoned with the word “SELECT.” He begins investigating the new clothes as soon as he and his father get in the car at the end of practice.

  Don and Garrett put on their seat belts. Garrett immediately opened the bag and looked at the stuff. He took a green nylon jacket that said SELECT out of the bag. Garrett said, “I think I’m going to wear this.” Don said, “That’s what it’s for.” Garrett seemed excited by the jacket. He then peered into the bag (a brown paper bag) and said there are two shirts, pants (which were actually bright green shorts) and two pairs of socks. Garrett listed aloud everything in the bag. He sounded excited.

  Once home, he immediately shows the uniform to his mother and siblings. Such displays of pleasure and enthusiasm for his activities are genuine, but they are also selective. For example, although Garrett is put on the all-star team in baseball, he reports that “I wasn’t [as] excited [as] I was when I found out I made Intercounty and the Forest traveling team.” But, he also explains, “baseball’s like my fourth sport,” ranking behind his two soccer teams and basketball. The number of major events in Garrett’s life seems to dull their individual importance. For example, the spring concert at school, in which he plays saxophone in a trio, generates little interest for Garrett. In the working-class families we observed, comparable school events were the subject of extensive discussion and anticipation. Similarly, events that working-class and poor children find exciting—like having pizza, a bakery cake, or a party with extended family relatives—do not appear to matter to Garrett.

  Some days, Garrett is exhausted and moody:

  Garrett was in a bad mood . . . He got dropped off by Brian’s dad at 8:20 P.M. He went inside. He didn’t say hello to anyone. He didn’t say anything to me when I commented on how he got his hair chopped off. He seemed quiet, remote. He basically said nothing the whole night. Don came home at 9:30 P.M. Don came in and said [to the baby-sitter], “Hi Frankie. It’s good to see you.” Frankie stood up and he and Don shook hands. Don then said, “Hi, Garrett.” Garrett did not answer. Don said, “Hi, Garrett.” Garrett looked at Don and said, “Hi.” Don asked, “How are you, Garrett?” Garrett replied, “Okay.” Don turned and went into the kitchen.

  We observed similar exhaustion among other middle-class children. Alexander Williams, a Black middle-class boy, looked worn out as he traveled from after-school care to Friday night choir; a Black middle-class girl, Stacey Marshall, fell asleep under the hair dryer on a Saturday afternoon. We did not see comparable signs of exhaustion in the working-class and poor children. If anything, adults commented on these youngsters’ boundless energy.

  A CULTIVATED CHILDHOOD: SPENCER’S AND SAM’S VIEWS

  The organization of middle-class family life around individual children’s activities shapes the experience of all family members, including siblings who are not themselves involved in a given activity. Both Spencer and Sam—but especially Sam—spend large portions of their leisure time traveling to and/or from the sites of Garrett’s activities and watching these events (or simply waiting for them to end). Sam’s afternoons are hostage to his brother’s schedule. He comes home briefly from day care, has a snack, and then gets back in the car with a parent and goes to one of Garrett’s activities. Once there, he usually wanders around, asks for snacks, sometimes plays with other children, asks for more snacks, and waits for the game or practice to end. Not surprisingly, his interest and patience usually run out long before the activity is over. It is common for Sam to have four or five episodes a week of crying, whining, and complaining (this behavior is especially likely when he is hungry or tired).

  Sometimes, however, his unhappiness escalates to a level that causes him to “fall apart,” as his mother puts it. He whines loudly and interrupts often, if he doesn’t like what is happening and, on occasion, will kick, scream, and cry. For example, the night Garrett performs at his school’s spring music concert, Sam lasts about one half hour and then begins to unravel. He tests his mother’s patience by refusing to sit still; then, he brings his outstretched feet just inches shy of the b
ack of a woman seated in the row ahead:

  His mother grabs his upper arm (looking angry) and says, “Watch your feet—you almost hit her! Sit still!” He sits for a few seconds and then moves his feet again. Again she grabs his arm and whispers, “Sit!”

  A pattern of “falling apart” seems to occur a few times each month. Mr. Tallinger takes a direct approach, telling Sam to “cut it out.” Ms. Tallinger usually responds to Sam’s outbursts with warmth and tolerance, and she encourages his brothers to be empathetic (with only limited success).

  Sam, at four years old, has few activities other than going to day care. Spencer, on the other hand, has a schedule that includes piano, Cub Scouts, soccer, and baseball. Still, he too spends more time than he would like as a spectator. Spencer doesn’t “fall apart” like Sam, but he does communicate his frustration. His father is aware, for example, that “he does get angry that we always have to go to Garrett’s games.” In fact, watching Garrett perform is an integral part of Spencer’s life. At the school’s Donuts for Dad event, Spencer leads his father over to show him a picture that he had drawn. Spencer explains that the picture, which shows children on a field and figures to the side, watching, represents him and his family. The picture is titled, “Watching Soccer.” Mr. Tallinger, affectionately running his hand over the top of his son’s head, remarks, “We do that a lot.”

  The flip side of watching, of course, is performing. Here, too, Spencer must adjust to standards set by Garrett. Although he plays baseball and soccer, Spencer seems less interested—and talented—in sports than his older brother. From his parents’ perspective, this is a problem. On several occasions, Mr. and Ms. Tallinger (separately) mention their concern over Spencer’s relative lack of interest in sports.