How I stopped sucking my thumb and developed food issues - thanks, Heinrich Hoffmann!
The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb
One day, Mamma said, "Conrad dear,
I must go out and leave you here.
But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
Don't suck your thumb while I'm away.
The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys that suck their thumbs.
And ere they dream what he's about
He takes his great sharp scissors
And cuts their thumbs clean off, - and then
You know, they never grow again.”
Mamma had scarcely turn'd her back,
The thumb was in, alack! alack!
The door flew open, in he ran,
The great, long, red-legged scissorman.
Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb.Snip! Snap! Snip! the scissors go;
And Conrad cries out - Oh! Oh! Oh!
Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast;
That both his thumbs are off at last.
Mamma comes home; there Conrad stands,
And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;-
"Ah!" said Mamma "I knew he'd come
To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb."
This poem and its gruesome illustrations come from Struwwelpeter, Heinrich Hoffmann’s set of German morality tales, first published in the 1840s. (If you’re brave enough, click here to see the rest of the images.) The Story of Little Suck-a-thumb and its eight companions in the volume featured large in my childhood. While most of my literary friends were English - Toad of Toad Hall, Pooh, Dick Wittington, Paddington, Alice, Mary Poppins, the kids from Narnia — this one was the lone European book on the shelf. I’ve been thinking about its impact on me. Conrad’s fate with the great, long, red-legged scissorman motivated me to stop thumb-sucking but it’s more than that. Like so many things we encounter in our junior years, Hoffmann’s dark stories have helped shape the senior me.
Some of his lessons were ahead of their time. “The Story of the Inky Boys” tells of Agrippa who overhears three boys teasing a racialized peer. To teach them a lesson, Agrippa dips them in black ink. Some are straight-up cautionary tales - Harriet learns not to play with matches the hard way. Others convey the message not to go out in storms; to pay attention to your surroundings, to sit straight in your chair, and so on.
For my father, these poetic snippets were fun to read. Just like when he used a scary voice and recited Macbeth’s “Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble; fire burn and caldron bubble,” Struwwelpeter made me giggle when he launched in - but they also matched his parenting style. He’d often say, “Those who ask don’t get - those who don’t ask, don’t want.” I realized early on to get anything accomplished in the Chandler house, I had to make it happen myself. This approach has served me well in life, as it did dad. But it’s isolating.
My mother appreciated Hoffmann’s stories because they affirmed her view that the world is full of things to worry about. It was best to hedge your bets and not suck your thumb, not go out into storms, not play with matches, even if by doing so, you missed out. With her influence and these stories of dire consequences, I’m a risk averse adult - afraid to do things, horribilising - a great attribute for a lawyer.
The pandemic has been ripe with opportunities to consider risk and hold back from participating. I’ve written about this before but it bears repeating that I struggled with irrational worries in the early COVID period. I am all about worse case scenarios: I don’t walk behind a car with its backup lights on. “What if he doesn’t see me?” If there’s an off leash dog ahead on the horizon, I’ll change course with mine to avoid a dog brawl. I’m not good at pandemic sidewalk chicken - I’ll cross the street before the other person even knows we’re playing. Worse cases happen - they certainly do for Hoffmann’s characters. Struwwelpeter has kept me safe.
In my COVID bubble for one, I’ve mustered all my father’s independent spirit. I have kept to myself, developing more and more self-sufficiency. My sourdough starter has taken on its own persona in my fridge lending its leavening to a limitless supply of bagels, bread, and buns.
Food has been my constant pre-occupation during the last 70 weeks. Always concerned about not wasting food, it has risen to the point of quiet obsession during COVID. I have bought food curb-side every four weeks with produce delivered biweekly. I have made some magnificent meals and others of questionable composition, sometimes using food very close to being “off”, solely to avoid throwing anything out.
Indeed, while I can link Conrad’s bloody thumblessness to my giving up the habit, it’s another of Hoffmann’s stories that has affected me more subconsciously. I see my father grinning while reciting from memory another Hoffmann classic that begins: “Augustus was a chubby lad, fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had.”
I leave you with the full text. (Spoiler alert - it ends badly.)
The Story of Augustus who would not have any Soup
Augustus was a chubby lad;
Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had;
And everybody saw with joy
The plump and hearty healthy boy.
He ate and drank as he was told,
And never let his soup get cold.
But one day, one cold winter's day,
He threw away the spoon and screamed:
"O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup to-day:
I will not, will not eat my soup!
I will not eat it, no!”
Next day! now look, the picture shows
How lank and lean Augustus grows!
Yet, though he feels so weak and ill,
The naughty fellow cries out still
"Not any soup for me, I say!
O take the nasty soup away!
I will not, will not eat my soup!
I will not eat it, no!”
The third day comes. O what a sin!
To make himself so pale and thin.
Yet, when the-soup is put on table,
He screams, as loud as he is able
"Not any soup for me, I say!
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup to-day!”
Look at him, now the fourth day's come!
He scarce outweighs a sugar-plum;
He's like a little bit of thread;
And on the fifth day he was-dead.
Bon appetit folks. Let your fate not be Augustus’. I know mine won’t.
