Argue with Me!
Written By Jay Heinrichs
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Admittedly, a toddler might find it difficult to apply logos, ethos, and pathos and read a playmate's feelings strategically, but as with every other useful skill, you have to start young. Instead of "Use your words," I would say, "See if you can talk him into it." When my children made an honest attempt to persuade me to let them watch television, for instance, I gave in whenever possible: The win felt doubly rewarding to them. They got to watch their show, and they enjoyed having earned it. My kids grew so fond of debate, in fact, that they disputed the TV itself.
"Why should I eat candy that talks?"
"A doll that goes to the bathroom? I have a brother who does that." It was as if I'd given them advertising immunization shots.
I tried to use all three forms of argument on George when, at the age of 7, he insisted on wearing shorts to school in the middle of winter. First I laid some ethos on him with my stern fatherly character: "You have to wear pants because I am your father and I told you to." But he just looked at me with tears in his eyes.
Next I tried logos: "Pants will keep your legs from chapping," I said reasonably. "You'll feel a lot better."
"But I want to wear shorts."
So I resorted to pathos. I pulled up my pant legs and pranced around. "Doh-de-doh, look at me, here I go off to work wearing shorts.
Don't I look stupid?"
"Yes," he said, continuing to pull his shorts on.
"So why do you insist on wearing shorts yourself?"
"Because I don't look stupid. And they're my legs. I don't mind if they get chapped."
Oh, my. He had done me one better with ethos (I don't look stupid), logos (They're my legs — you don't have standing in this case), and pathos (Stop worrying — I'll deal with the pain issue). He was also making his first genuine attempt to argue instead of cry. I couldn't possibly let him lose this one.
"All right," I said. "You can wear shorts in school if your mother and I can clear it with your teacher and the principal. But you have to wear snow pants outside. Deal?"
"Deal." He happily fetched his snow pants, and I called the school. A few weeks later the principal declared George's birthday Shorts Day, and she even showed up in culottes. It was mid-February. We all had reached a comfortable — rhetorically comfortable, at least — kind of consensus, a belief in our decision by the group or community.
Indeed, as my children get older and more persuasive, I find myself losing more arguments than I win. They drive me crazy. They do me proud.
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