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In school, Ten likes firmness and objects to any upheaval in routine. He already has a fairly well developed sense of what is fair. "He is concerned when little children are pushed around (unless it is a sibling and he is doing it)," and he is apt to refuse an honor if he feels himself unworthy of it. He is truthful on the whole, "judges cheating and swearing as awful." But basically he is tolerant ("The shoulder shrugs are characteristic"), and believes that ten is the best of all possible ages. He is a child of the here and now: death and deity do not interest him very much. Says Ten of God: "I know He is whether I think about it or not."
The Menace. At eleven, the golden age comes to a shattering end. "There may well be," says Gesell & Co., "an odd, vague, uncomfortable feeling in the minds of the parents of Eleven-year-olds. It is as though some force of nature were grabbing hold of their offspring . . . When parents ... understand the laws of growth, they will come to know that a stage of turmoil inevitably follows a stage of calm."
Eleven seeths. He tends to "burst, to bounce, to throw himself around." He wriggles interminably, yells, "swoops through a room uttering threats." Even his temperature is wild: Eleven is forever too hot or too cold, is constantly opening and shutting windows. He argues, but cannot stand being argued with. To the bewilderment of his parents, he is devastatingly critical, now refers to "Mummy" as "She." He is impossible at bedtime ("He can be surrounded by clocks and watches but he never sees them"), and he not only hates work, but actively resists it.
He is beset by fears, will often peer under the bed before turning in. He hates to be alone, and when he is, he might pretend to be two people and even play a game of chess with himself. Unlike Ten, whose bursts of anger are quickly over, Eleven has learned to hold a grudge and to pout. He is jealous of his friends, and fiercely competitive: "Elevens are out to win."
In spite of his obstreperousness, he can sometimes be charming. His gaiety comes in waves; he can burst into raucous laughter over almost nothing. Otherwise—especially in school—"his ways and actions are a little reminiscent of those of the jungle." He fears being called "chicken" or "yellow," and if he has done something wrong, he is apt to deny it, though he might cross his fingers when he does. Indignant at cheating or stealing, he is nonetheless sorely tempted to cheat on an exam or if losing a game. The girls may go in for wholesale shoplifting. Why is Eleven at such odds with the world?
"Growth phenomena," answers Gesell. "There is something poignant about [Eleven's] bewildered, exclamatory question: 'What do you mean, "my rude outbuilt?" ' He is unaware of his rudeness."