Letters from Maine

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

Isolation in response to COVID-19 pandemic has driven many people to reestablish long forgotten connections between old friends and geographically distant relatives. Fed by the ease in which Zoom and other electronic miracles can bring once familiar voices and faces into our homes, we no longer need to wait until our high school or college reunions to reconnect.

The Class of 1962 at Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School has always attracted an unusually large number of attendees at its reunions, and its exuberant response to pandemic-fueled mini Zoom reunions is not surprising. With each virtual gathering we learn and relearn more about each other. I had always felt that because my birthday was in December that I was among the very youngest in my class. (New York’s school enrollment calendar cutoff is in December.) However, I recently learned that some of my classmates were even younger, having been born in the following spring.

This revelation prompted a discussion among the younger septuagenarians about whether we felt that our relative immaturity, at least as measured by the calendar, affected us. It was generally agreed that for the women, being younger seemed to present little problem. For, the men there were a few for whom immaturity put them at an athletic disadvantage. But, there was uniform agreement that social immaturity made dating an uncomfortable adventure. No one felt that his or her immaturity placed them at an academic disadvantage. Of course, all of these observations are heavily colored by the bias of those who have chosen to maintain contact with classmates.

A recent flurry of papers and commentaries about relative age at school entry and the diagnosis of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder prompted me to ask my Zoom mates if they could recall anyone whom they would label as having exhibited the behavior we have all come to associate with ADHD (Vuori M et al. Children’s relative age and ADHD medication use: A Finnish population-based study. Pediatrics 2020 Oct. doi: 10.1542/peds.2019-4046, and Butter EM. Keeping relative age effects and ADHD care in context. Pediatrics. 2020;146[4]:e2020022798).

We could all recall classmates who struggled academically and seemed to not be paying attention. However, when one includes the hyperactivity descriptor we couldn’t recall anyone whose in-classroom physical activity drew our attention. Of course, there were many shared anecdotes about note passing, spitball throwing, and out-of-class shenanigans. But, from the perspective of behavior that disrupted the classroom there were very few. And, not surprisingly, given the intervening 6 decades, none of us could make an association between immaturity and the behavior.

While I have very few memories of what happened when I was in grade school, many of my classmates have vivid recollections of events both mundane and dramatic even as far back as first and second grade. Why do none of them recall classmates whose behavior would in current terminology be labeled as ADHD?

Were most of us that age bouncing off the walls and so there were no outliers? Were the teachers more tolerant because they expected that many children, particularly the younger ones, would be more physically active? Or, maybe we arrived at school, even those who were chronologically less mature, having already been settled down by home environments that neither fostered nor tolerated hyperactivity?

If you ask a pediatrician over the age of 70 if he or she recalls being taught anything about ADHD in medical school or seeing any children in his or her first years of practice who would fit the current diagnostic criteria, you will see them simply shrug. ADHD was simply not on our radar in the 1970s and 1980s. And it’s not because radar hadn’t been invented. We pediatricians were paying attention, and I trust in my high school classmates’ observations. I am sure there were isolated cases that could easily have been labeled as ADHD if the term had existed. But, the volume of hyperactive children a pediatrician sees today in the course of a normal office day just didn’t exist.

I have trouble believing that this dramatic increase in frequency is the result of accumulating genetic damage from Teflon cookware or climate change or air pollution. Although I am open to any serious attempt to explain the phenomenon I think we should look first into the home environment in which children are being raised. Sleep schedules, activity, and amusement opportunities as well as discipline styles – just to name a few – are far different now than before the ADHD diagnosis overtook the landscape.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

It’s not unusual when I run into a former patient that I am addressed as “Doctor” Wilkoff. I guess that is to be expected because when I was in practice I seldom introduced myself as Will. However, I will admit now that I never quite felt comfortable with the “Doctor” label. Today, if you addressed me as “Doctor” I would correct you and refer to myself as the “ex-Doctor Wilkoff.”

The term doctor derived from the Latin word to teach and eventually morphed into an academic title. In common parlance it is sometimes used as verb meaning to treat, e.g., “he doctored the wound.” Regardless of what academic field we are talking about, the title “doctor” has become a term of respect for someone who has spent an unusually long time learning his or her subject or craft. The holder of a doctorate, particularly in medicine, receives a rank, earned or unearned, near the top of the social hierarchy.

When I look back at more than 50 years of doing pediatrics I’m not sure that “doctor” really captures what I was up to. I will grant you that it is nice that folks want to acknowledge all those years I spent in training. But I don’t think one could say that what I did as a primary care small town pediatrician fits in with the original definition “to teach.” I did spend a few hours teaching students every so often but my primary time was spent with patients and I don’t consider what I was doing with them as teaching. There just wasn’t enough time. I had to take as a given that families who came to see me already had a basic knowledge base either as the result of their schooling, family lore, or public service announcements from the American Academy of Pediatrics.

I certainly wasn’t doing much doctoring in the sense of treating or curing disease. If one removes administering immunizations and delivery room resuscitations, I saved very few lives.

So you may ask, if not as “doctor,” how would I prefer to be labeled? Good question, but easy for me to answer. The term “coach” quickly comes to mind. As someone who played a variety of team sports there is no term that I can think of that commands more respect than “Coach.” While the term doesn’t carry the burden of a particularly long educational journey it does imply the person is wise, observant, and experienced.

There is some teaching involved but primarily a coach is going to assess the players (or in this cases the families) he is presented with and then do the best he can to guide them toward good decisions they can make themselves given their specific situations. This requires spending most of one’s time getting to know each family and understanding their strengths and limitations. One can’t coach speed to an athlete who is slow footed. And, one isn’t going to get a family that is dominated by anxiety to become bold risk takers. The best you can do is to help them learn strategies to minimize their anxieties.

A good coach can help his players learn to set reasonable goals given their skill sets. And, a good pediatrician can coach his families how to adapt their strengths and weakness to the challenges of each of their children. For example, for a physician faced with a mother-infant dyad that is struggling with breastfeeding, once the education piece is in place, it is up to him or her to function as a coach and assist the team in setting a reasonable goal that can result in a win-win for the family.

A coach must be humble, putting his or her players’ needs first and flexible enough to adjust his or her goals to define success in terms for what is best for each individual team. “Coach” may not carry the ring of authority that can come with “Doctor” but it is a role equally as challenging and rewarding.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

Regardless of who received the most electoral votes it is pretty clear that each candidate has millions of supporters, and that they are separated by only a few percentage points. I guess one could argue that so many people being able to express their opinions is healthy. However, from my side of the divide I have difficulty understanding how so many of my fellow citizens could arrive at an opinion so diametrically opposed to my own.

Since the 2016 election I have tried to read as many articles as I could find in search of an explanation for that outcome and continuing partisan support. I have never had much interest in political science because it always sounded like an oxymoron. But I am willing to listen to anyone who claims to understand how so many other citizens can see the world so differently from the way I do. It simply may be that for whatever reason one person, in this case one man, has such charismatic power that his supporters willingly abandon the moral skeleton on which their lives had been draped. Or is this us versus them primarily a chasm between the elites and the nonelites?

I don’t know much about you but the fact that you are reading this column means that, like me, you are an elite. Even if you are a woman of color and the daughter of immigrants you have taken advantage of what opportunities you have been offered, stayed in school long enough to adopt a reverence for the scientific method, and have a job that pays well because you have acquired some expertise.

Tom Nichols, a political scientist teaching at Harvard Extension School, says that “expertise is a very exclusionary idea because it’s supposed to be: Not everybody gets a vote on how to fly the plane” (Why isn’t the right more afraid of COVID-19? by Christina Pazzanese, Harvard Gazette, Oct 30, 2020) This exclusivity may in part explain the cultural trend that has eroded faith in experts in general, but particularly around issues such as climate change. Ironically, although science continues to be held in esteem in our culture, many scientists have become targets for those citizens who wish to attack authority figures.

How is it that you and I as pediatricians have avoided those attacks and the derogatory label as “so-called experts”? We are scientists and elites. But, we have expertise in areas in which people often feel a critical need.

You may live and practice in a community where many of your patients’ families don’t share your political views. But you have probably been successful at maintaining a trusting relationship with them in large part because you have cast yourself in the role of an adviser and not a dictator. And, although at times it has been difficult, you have been careful to avoid sharing your advice in a manner that sounds condescending. You have succeeded in functioning as an expert while carefully disguising yourself as a nonelite.

However, you are skating on thin ice if you venture into topics that run counter to your patients’ religious beliefs. Theda Skocpol, professor of government and psychology at Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., has observed that studies have shown that while religious conservatives are aware of the science and don’t reject the finding, “they resent the use of experts as political authorities.” This may explain why all across this diverse country, our patients are eager for and accepting of our advice on all manners of health-related issues until we step into a swampy area that threatens their political views – such as vaccination or gun control.

With one misstep in the wrong direction, you can go from being a compassionate adviser to an elitist “so-called expert.”
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.

My little research project into proper injection technique got me thinking about how and when I learned to give shots. Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.

When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.

I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.

Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?

From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.

My little research project into proper injection technique got me thinking about how and when I learned to give shots. Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.

When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.

I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.

Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?

From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.

My little research project into proper injection technique got me thinking about how and when I learned to give shots. Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.

When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.

I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.

Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?

From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 pandemic continues to chug along, some communities feel it slowing to a pace at which they might feel comfortable about a return to, if not quite “business as usual,” at least “business as sort of normal-ish.” They are ready to accept a level of disease that signals they have reached a steady state. However, in other communities, the virus has picked up speed and is threatening to overwhelm the medical infrastructure. If you are in one of those fortunate and skillfully managed states in which folks are beginning to talk seriously, but with little evidence, that it is time to return to normal, it is probably far too early. Are there any metrics that could be applied to make the decision to ease restrictions more rational?

Courtesy Dr. William G. Wilkoff

Eons ago in pandemic terms, the World Health Organization in Thailand published a list of criteria to aid in determining when a community could consider lifting the limits that seemed to have been effective in halting transmission of the virus (“Transitioning to and maintaining a steady state of low-level or no transmission,” WHO, Thailand, 2020 Apr 18). While much more has been learned about the behavior of the virus since the spring of 2020, the criteria from the WHO in Thailand are worth considering.

Here is my summary of their criteria for returning to normalcy. First, virus transmission is controlled to the point that only sporadic cases and small clusters exist, and that all of these are traceable in origin. Second, health care and public health systems are in place with sufficient capacities to manage a shift from detection to treatment should the case load increase dramatically; this capacity should include detection, testing, isolation, and quarantine. Third, outbreaks in high-risk populations such as nursing homes have been minimized. Fourth, workplace prevention strategies are in place and have been demonstrated to be effective. Fifth, risk of imported cases is at manageable levels. Finally, communities are engaged.

It is hard to argue with the rationale behind each of these criteria. However, the United States is not Thailand, and just thinking about how this country would go about meeting those criteria provides a window into some of the reasons why we have done so poorly and will continue to be challenged in dealing with the pandemic.

First, notice that the criteria make no mention of a vaccine. One gets the sense that from the top down our country is banking too heavily on the effectiveness and widespread delivery of a vaccine. Even if and when a vaccine is developed and delivered, all of these criteria still must be met and kept in mind for a future pandemic.

Second, the criteria call for an effective health care system, but it is abundantly clear that the United States does not have a cohesive health care system and probably won’t for the foreseeable future. The best we can hope for is individual states cobbling together their own systems, which may in turn serve as examples for those states who haven’t had the foresight. We have had a public health system of sorts, but its credibility and effectiveness has been neutered to the point that again we must rely on each state’s ability to see through the haze and create it’s own systems for detection, testing, tracking, isolating, and quarantining – often with little help in materiel support from the federal government. The sliver of good news is that, after a bit of a stumbling start, detecting and limiting the importation of cases from abroad is being addressed.

We continue to hear and see evidence that there are segments of the population who are not engaged in the activities that we have learned are necessary to stabilize the pandemic. My sense is that those people represent a very small minority. But, it is probably large enough to make the route to a steady state on a national level long and painful. This unfortunately is to be expected in a country that was built on a framework of personal freedoms. The best you can hope for in achieving a steady state is to live in one of the states that seems to be achieving the fine balance between personal freedoms and the common good.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 pandemic continues to chug along, some communities feel it slowing to a pace at which they might feel comfortable about a return to, if not quite “business as usual,” at least “business as sort of normal-ish.” They are ready to accept a level of disease that signals they have reached a steady state. However, in other communities, the virus has picked up speed and is threatening to overwhelm the medical infrastructure. If you are in one of those fortunate and skillfully managed states in which folks are beginning to talk seriously, but with little evidence, that it is time to return to normal, it is probably far too early. Are there any metrics that could be applied to make the decision to ease restrictions more rational?

Courtesy Dr. William G. Wilkoff

Eons ago in pandemic terms, the World Health Organization in Thailand published a list of criteria to aid in determining when a community could consider lifting the limits that seemed to have been effective in halting transmission of the virus (“Transitioning to and maintaining a steady state of low-level or no transmission,” WHO, Thailand, 2020 Apr 18). While much more has been learned about the behavior of the virus since the spring of 2020, the criteria from the WHO in Thailand are worth considering.

Here is my summary of their criteria for returning to normalcy. First, virus transmission is controlled to the point that only sporadic cases and small clusters exist, and that all of these are traceable in origin. Second, health care and public health systems are in place with sufficient capacities to manage a shift from detection to treatment should the case load increase dramatically; this capacity should include detection, testing, isolation, and quarantine. Third, outbreaks in high-risk populations such as nursing homes have been minimized. Fourth, workplace prevention strategies are in place and have been demonstrated to be effective. Fifth, risk of imported cases is at manageable levels. Finally, communities are engaged.

It is hard to argue with the rationale behind each of these criteria. However, the United States is not Thailand, and just thinking about how this country would go about meeting those criteria provides a window into some of the reasons why we have done so poorly and will continue to be challenged in dealing with the pandemic.

First, notice that the criteria make no mention of a vaccine. One gets the sense that from the top down our country is banking too heavily on the effectiveness and widespread delivery of a vaccine. Even if and when a vaccine is developed and delivered, all of these criteria still must be met and kept in mind for a future pandemic.

Second, the criteria call for an effective health care system, but it is abundantly clear that the United States does not have a cohesive health care system and probably won’t for the foreseeable future. The best we can hope for is individual states cobbling together their own systems, which may in turn serve as examples for those states who haven’t had the foresight. We have had a public health system of sorts, but its credibility and effectiveness has been neutered to the point that again we must rely on each state’s ability to see through the haze and create it’s own systems for detection, testing, tracking, isolating, and quarantining – often with little help in materiel support from the federal government. The sliver of good news is that, after a bit of a stumbling start, detecting and limiting the importation of cases from abroad is being addressed.

We continue to hear and see evidence that there are segments of the population who are not engaged in the activities that we have learned are necessary to stabilize the pandemic. My sense is that those people represent a very small minority. But, it is probably large enough to make the route to a steady state on a national level long and painful. This unfortunately is to be expected in a country that was built on a framework of personal freedoms. The best you can hope for in achieving a steady state is to live in one of the states that seems to be achieving the fine balance between personal freedoms and the common good.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As the COVID-19 pandemic continues to chug along, some communities feel it slowing to a pace at which they might feel comfortable about a return to, if not quite “business as usual,” at least “business as sort of normal-ish.” They are ready to accept a level of disease that signals they have reached a steady state. However, in other communities, the virus has picked up speed and is threatening to overwhelm the medical infrastructure. If you are in one of those fortunate and skillfully managed states in which folks are beginning to talk seriously, but with little evidence, that it is time to return to normal, it is probably far too early. Are there any metrics that could be applied to make the decision to ease restrictions more rational?

Courtesy Dr. William G. Wilkoff

Eons ago in pandemic terms, the World Health Organization in Thailand published a list of criteria to aid in determining when a community could consider lifting the limits that seemed to have been effective in halting transmission of the virus (“Transitioning to and maintaining a steady state of low-level or no transmission,” WHO, Thailand, 2020 Apr 18). While much more has been learned about the behavior of the virus since the spring of 2020, the criteria from the WHO in Thailand are worth considering.

Here is my summary of their criteria for returning to normalcy. First, virus transmission is controlled to the point that only sporadic cases and small clusters exist, and that all of these are traceable in origin. Second, health care and public health systems are in place with sufficient capacities to manage a shift from detection to treatment should the case load increase dramatically; this capacity should include detection, testing, isolation, and quarantine. Third, outbreaks in high-risk populations such as nursing homes have been minimized. Fourth, workplace prevention strategies are in place and have been demonstrated to be effective. Fifth, risk of imported cases is at manageable levels. Finally, communities are engaged.

It is hard to argue with the rationale behind each of these criteria. However, the United States is not Thailand, and just thinking about how this country would go about meeting those criteria provides a window into some of the reasons why we have done so poorly and will continue to be challenged in dealing with the pandemic.

First, notice that the criteria make no mention of a vaccine. One gets the sense that from the top down our country is banking too heavily on the effectiveness and widespread delivery of a vaccine. Even if and when a vaccine is developed and delivered, all of these criteria still must be met and kept in mind for a future pandemic.

Second, the criteria call for an effective health care system, but it is abundantly clear that the United States does not have a cohesive health care system and probably won’t for the foreseeable future. The best we can hope for is individual states cobbling together their own systems, which may in turn serve as examples for those states who haven’t had the foresight. We have had a public health system of sorts, but its credibility and effectiveness has been neutered to the point that again we must rely on each state’s ability to see through the haze and create it’s own systems for detection, testing, tracking, isolating, and quarantining – often with little help in materiel support from the federal government. The sliver of good news is that, after a bit of a stumbling start, detecting and limiting the importation of cases from abroad is being addressed.

We continue to hear and see evidence that there are segments of the population who are not engaged in the activities that we have learned are necessary to stabilize the pandemic. My sense is that those people represent a very small minority. But, it is probably large enough to make the route to a steady state on a national level long and painful. This unfortunately is to be expected in a country that was built on a framework of personal freedoms. The best you can hope for in achieving a steady state is to live in one of the states that seems to be achieving the fine balance between personal freedoms and the common good.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

To say that the pandemic has dropped us into uncharted territory is an understatement of unmeasurable proportions. Every day we learn more about it, and every day that new information brings us new challenges. COVID-19 is playing by its own set of rules. To keep pace with it societies have been forced to adapt to them, and members of those societies have had to realize that these new rules must be obeyed or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

BananaStock/Thinkstock

I’m not sure exactly when it happened but gradually over my 7 and a half decades on this planet it appears that following the rules and understanding the value of “No” have become concepts to be ignored and left to gather dust in the attics and basements of our society. The tug of war between well-considered rules and the often misinterpreted concept of freedom has been ebbing and flowing since Eve plucked a forbidden apple off that tree.

In some parts of the world, the twin skills of saying and responding to “No” have become lost arts. I think it is not by chance that, of the four books I have written for parents, the one titled “How to Say No to Your Toddler” has become the most widely distributed, having been translated into Italian, Polish, and Russian. It is only slightly comforting to learn that at least some parents understand that creating rules can be important, but realize they aren’t quite sure how go about it.

As it has become clear that social distancing and mask wearing are associated with curtailing the spread of COVID-19, state and local governments have had to bone up on their long-forgotten No-saying skills. This relearning process has been particularly painful for school administrators who may have been warned that “You’ll never be able to get first and second graders to wear masks” or that “College students just won’t obey the rules.”

Both of these cautions are based on observations by educators with years of experience and certainly have a ring of truth to them. But could it be that these pessimistic predictions reflect a society in which parents and educators have lost the talent for crafting sensible rules and linking them to enforceable and rational consequences?

As colleges throughout the country have reopened using a variety of learning and residential strategies, there have been numerous incidents that validate the gloomy predictions of student misbehavior. Smaller schools seem to be having less difficulty, which is not surprising given their relative ease in fostering a sense of community. Many schools have been forced to rollback their plans for in-person learning because students have failed to follow some very simple but unpopular rules.

In a swift and decisive response to student misbehavior, Northeastern University in Boston dismissed 11 first-year students and will not refund their tuition when officials discovered a prohibited social gathering in one of the resident facilities (“Northeastern Dismisses 11 Students for Gathering in Violation of COVID-19 Policies,” by Ian Thomsen, News at Northwestern). This response seemed to have come as a surprise to many students and parents around the country who have become accustomed a diet of warnings and minor sanctions.

Whether this action by Northeastern will trigger similar responses by other universities remains to be seen. But we can hope that it sets an example of how learning about “No” can be an important part of one’s education.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

To say that the pandemic has dropped us into uncharted territory is an understatement of unmeasurable proportions. Every day we learn more about it, and every day that new information brings us new challenges. COVID-19 is playing by its own set of rules. To keep pace with it societies have been forced to adapt to them, and members of those societies have had to realize that these new rules must be obeyed or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

BananaStock/Thinkstock

I’m not sure exactly when it happened but gradually over my 7 and a half decades on this planet it appears that following the rules and understanding the value of “No” have become concepts to be ignored and left to gather dust in the attics and basements of our society. The tug of war between well-considered rules and the often misinterpreted concept of freedom has been ebbing and flowing since Eve plucked a forbidden apple off that tree.

In some parts of the world, the twin skills of saying and responding to “No” have become lost arts. I think it is not by chance that, of the four books I have written for parents, the one titled “How to Say No to Your Toddler” has become the most widely distributed, having been translated into Italian, Polish, and Russian. It is only slightly comforting to learn that at least some parents understand that creating rules can be important, but realize they aren’t quite sure how go about it.

As it has become clear that social distancing and mask wearing are associated with curtailing the spread of COVID-19, state and local governments have had to bone up on their long-forgotten No-saying skills. This relearning process has been particularly painful for school administrators who may have been warned that “You’ll never be able to get first and second graders to wear masks” or that “College students just won’t obey the rules.”

Both of these cautions are based on observations by educators with years of experience and certainly have a ring of truth to them. But could it be that these pessimistic predictions reflect a society in which parents and educators have lost the talent for crafting sensible rules and linking them to enforceable and rational consequences?

As colleges throughout the country have reopened using a variety of learning and residential strategies, there have been numerous incidents that validate the gloomy predictions of student misbehavior. Smaller schools seem to be having less difficulty, which is not surprising given their relative ease in fostering a sense of community. Many schools have been forced to rollback their plans for in-person learning because students have failed to follow some very simple but unpopular rules.

In a swift and decisive response to student misbehavior, Northeastern University in Boston dismissed 11 first-year students and will not refund their tuition when officials discovered a prohibited social gathering in one of the resident facilities (“Northeastern Dismisses 11 Students for Gathering in Violation of COVID-19 Policies,” by Ian Thomsen, News at Northwestern). This response seemed to have come as a surprise to many students and parents around the country who have become accustomed a diet of warnings and minor sanctions.

Whether this action by Northeastern will trigger similar responses by other universities remains to be seen. But we can hope that it sets an example of how learning about “No” can be an important part of one’s education.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

To say that the pandemic has dropped us into uncharted territory is an understatement of unmeasurable proportions. Every day we learn more about it, and every day that new information brings us new challenges. COVID-19 is playing by its own set of rules. To keep pace with it societies have been forced to adapt to them, and members of those societies have had to realize that these new rules must be obeyed or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

BananaStock/Thinkstock

I’m not sure exactly when it happened but gradually over my 7 and a half decades on this planet it appears that following the rules and understanding the value of “No” have become concepts to be ignored and left to gather dust in the attics and basements of our society. The tug of war between well-considered rules and the often misinterpreted concept of freedom has been ebbing and flowing since Eve plucked a forbidden apple off that tree.

In some parts of the world, the twin skills of saying and responding to “No” have become lost arts. I think it is not by chance that, of the four books I have written for parents, the one titled “How to Say No to Your Toddler” has become the most widely distributed, having been translated into Italian, Polish, and Russian. It is only slightly comforting to learn that at least some parents understand that creating rules can be important, but realize they aren’t quite sure how go about it.

As it has become clear that social distancing and mask wearing are associated with curtailing the spread of COVID-19, state and local governments have had to bone up on their long-forgotten No-saying skills. This relearning process has been particularly painful for school administrators who may have been warned that “You’ll never be able to get first and second graders to wear masks” or that “College students just won’t obey the rules.”

Both of these cautions are based on observations by educators with years of experience and certainly have a ring of truth to them. But could it be that these pessimistic predictions reflect a society in which parents and educators have lost the talent for crafting sensible rules and linking them to enforceable and rational consequences?

As colleges throughout the country have reopened using a variety of learning and residential strategies, there have been numerous incidents that validate the gloomy predictions of student misbehavior. Smaller schools seem to be having less difficulty, which is not surprising given their relative ease in fostering a sense of community. Many schools have been forced to rollback their plans for in-person learning because students have failed to follow some very simple but unpopular rules.

In a swift and decisive response to student misbehavior, Northeastern University in Boston dismissed 11 first-year students and will not refund their tuition when officials discovered a prohibited social gathering in one of the resident facilities (“Northeastern Dismisses 11 Students for Gathering in Violation of COVID-19 Policies,” by Ian Thomsen, News at Northwestern). This response seemed to have come as a surprise to many students and parents around the country who have become accustomed a diet of warnings and minor sanctions.

Whether this action by Northeastern will trigger similar responses by other universities remains to be seen. But we can hope that it sets an example of how learning about “No” can be an important part of one’s education.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

As we continue to stumble around trying to find our way out of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has become clear that the journey has been a never-ending continuum of exercises in risk/benefit assessment. The population always has sorted itself into a bell-shaped curve from those who are risk averse to those who revel in risk taking. And, of course, with a paucity of facts on which we can base our assessment of risk, the discussion often shifts to our gut feelings about the benefits.

Greg Pollock - Fotolia.com

When faced with the question of when it is time for children to return to in-person schooling, there seems to be reasonably good agreement about the benefits of face-to-face learning. The level of risk is still to be determined.

When it comes to the issue of when to return to competitive school sports, the risks are equally indeterminate but there is less agreement on the benefits. This lack of uniformity reflects a long-standing dichotomy between those parents and students with a passion for competitive sports and those who see them as nonessential. This existential tug-of-war has gone on in almost every school system I am aware of when the school budget comes up for a vote.

The debate about a return to competitive sports on a collegiate and professional level unfortunately is colored by enormous revenues from media contracts, which means that high school and middle schools can’t look to what are essentially businesses for guidance. Here in Maine, the organizations responsible for making decisions about school sports struggled for months in making their decision. The delay created confusion, fluctuating angst and disappointment, but the end product made some sense. Volleyball (indoor) and football were indefinitely delayed. Heavy breathing between competitors separated by a couple of feet and protected only by a flimsy net or helmet cage seems like a risk not worth taking – at least until we have more information.

Other sports were allowed to start with restrictions based on existing social distancing mandates which include no locker rooms and no fans. Some rules such as no throw-ins for soccer didn’t make sense given what we are learning about the virus. But, for the most part, the compromises should result in a chance to reap the benefits of competition for the students whose families are willing to expose them to the yet to be fully determined risks.

There has been some grumbling from parents who see the no-fans mandate as a step too far. Until we know more about the risk of group gatherings outdoors, having no fans, including parents and grandparents, makes sense. In fact, to me it is a step long overdue and a rare sliver of silver lining to the pandemic. Competitive youth sports are for the kids. They are not meant to be entertainment events. Too often children are exposed to parental pressure (voiced and unvoiced) about their “performance” on the field. Neither my younger sister nor I can remember our parents going to any of my away football games in high school or any of my lacrosse games in college. I never felt the loss.

Will I miss watching my grandchildren compete? Of course I will miss it badly. However, giving kids some space to learn and enjoy the competition for itself in an atmosphere free of parental over-involvement will be a breath of fresh air. Something we need badly during this pandemic.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

As we continue to stumble around trying to find our way out of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has become clear that the journey has been a never-ending continuum of exercises in risk/benefit assessment. The population always has sorted itself into a bell-shaped curve from those who are risk averse to those who revel in risk taking. And, of course, with a paucity of facts on which we can base our assessment of risk, the discussion often shifts to our gut feelings about the benefits.

Greg Pollock - Fotolia.com

When faced with the question of when it is time for children to return to in-person schooling, there seems to be reasonably good agreement about the benefits of face-to-face learning. The level of risk is still to be determined.

When it comes to the issue of when to return to competitive school sports, the risks are equally indeterminate but there is less agreement on the benefits. This lack of uniformity reflects a long-standing dichotomy between those parents and students with a passion for competitive sports and those who see them as nonessential. This existential tug-of-war has gone on in almost every school system I am aware of when the school budget comes up for a vote.

The debate about a return to competitive sports on a collegiate and professional level unfortunately is colored by enormous revenues from media contracts, which means that high school and middle schools can’t look to what are essentially businesses for guidance. Here in Maine, the organizations responsible for making decisions about school sports struggled for months in making their decision. The delay created confusion, fluctuating angst and disappointment, but the end product made some sense. Volleyball (indoor) and football were indefinitely delayed. Heavy breathing between competitors separated by a couple of feet and protected only by a flimsy net or helmet cage seems like a risk not worth taking – at least until we have more information.

Other sports were allowed to start with restrictions based on existing social distancing mandates which include no locker rooms and no fans. Some rules such as no throw-ins for soccer didn’t make sense given what we are learning about the virus. But, for the most part, the compromises should result in a chance to reap the benefits of competition for the students whose families are willing to expose them to the yet to be fully determined risks.

There has been some grumbling from parents who see the no-fans mandate as a step too far. Until we know more about the risk of group gatherings outdoors, having no fans, including parents and grandparents, makes sense. In fact, to me it is a step long overdue and a rare sliver of silver lining to the pandemic. Competitive youth sports are for the kids. They are not meant to be entertainment events. Too often children are exposed to parental pressure (voiced and unvoiced) about their “performance” on the field. Neither my younger sister nor I can remember our parents going to any of my away football games in high school or any of my lacrosse games in college. I never felt the loss.

Will I miss watching my grandchildren compete? Of course I will miss it badly. However, giving kids some space to learn and enjoy the competition for itself in an atmosphere free of parental over-involvement will be a breath of fresh air. Something we need badly during this pandemic.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

As we continue to stumble around trying to find our way out of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has become clear that the journey has been a never-ending continuum of exercises in risk/benefit assessment. The population always has sorted itself into a bell-shaped curve from those who are risk averse to those who revel in risk taking. And, of course, with a paucity of facts on which we can base our assessment of risk, the discussion often shifts to our gut feelings about the benefits.

Greg Pollock - Fotolia.com

When faced with the question of when it is time for children to return to in-person schooling, there seems to be reasonably good agreement about the benefits of face-to-face learning. The level of risk is still to be determined.

When it comes to the issue of when to return to competitive school sports, the risks are equally indeterminate but there is less agreement on the benefits. This lack of uniformity reflects a long-standing dichotomy between those parents and students with a passion for competitive sports and those who see them as nonessential. This existential tug-of-war has gone on in almost every school system I am aware of when the school budget comes up for a vote.

The debate about a return to competitive sports on a collegiate and professional level unfortunately is colored by enormous revenues from media contracts, which means that high school and middle schools can’t look to what are essentially businesses for guidance. Here in Maine, the organizations responsible for making decisions about school sports struggled for months in making their decision. The delay created confusion, fluctuating angst and disappointment, but the end product made some sense. Volleyball (indoor) and football were indefinitely delayed. Heavy breathing between competitors separated by a couple of feet and protected only by a flimsy net or helmet cage seems like a risk not worth taking – at least until we have more information.

Other sports were allowed to start with restrictions based on existing social distancing mandates which include no locker rooms and no fans. Some rules such as no throw-ins for soccer didn’t make sense given what we are learning about the virus. But, for the most part, the compromises should result in a chance to reap the benefits of competition for the students whose families are willing to expose them to the yet to be fully determined risks.

There has been some grumbling from parents who see the no-fans mandate as a step too far. Until we know more about the risk of group gatherings outdoors, having no fans, including parents and grandparents, makes sense. In fact, to me it is a step long overdue and a rare sliver of silver lining to the pandemic. Competitive youth sports are for the kids. They are not meant to be entertainment events. Too often children are exposed to parental pressure (voiced and unvoiced) about their “performance” on the field. Neither my younger sister nor I can remember our parents going to any of my away football games in high school or any of my lacrosse games in college. I never felt the loss.

Will I miss watching my grandchildren compete? Of course I will miss it badly. However, giving kids some space to learn and enjoy the competition for itself in an atmosphere free of parental over-involvement will be a breath of fresh air. Something we need badly during this pandemic.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously wrote a column in which I discussed the possible relationship between television viewing and the risk of developing depression. In that column I mentioned that, while there is widespread suspicion that depression may have a genetic component, I was unaware of any strong evidence that this is the case. This week I encountered another study in the American Journal of Psychiatry that suggests that the environment in which a child is raised can play a significant role in whether he or she will develop depression.

Imagesbybarbara/E+

All of the children in the study had been born to families in which at least one biological parent had been diagnosed with major depression. There were nearly 700 full sibships and 2,600 half sibships studied. The researchers found that children who had been adopted away and raised in families that had been selected for having high-quality childrearing standards were significantly less likely to develop depression (23% for full siblings, 19% for half siblings) than their siblings who had remained in the home of their biological parents. It is interesting that this protective effect of the adoptive home “disappeared when an adoptive parent or stepsibling had major depression or the adoptive home was disrupted by parental death or divorce.”

It is unlikely that this study ever will be replicated because of the unique manner in which these Swedish adoptions were managed and recorded. However, the results appear to make a strong statement that, at least when it comes to depression, nurture has at least as strong an effect as nature and probably even more of an influence than genetics.

Are you surprised by the results of this study? Or, like me, have you always suspected that a child growing up in a household with a depressed, missing, or divorced parent was at increased risk of becoming depressed, particularly they had a genetic vulnerability? How will you change your approach to families with a depressed parent or ones that are navigating through the stormy waters of even an amicable divorce? Will you be more diligent about screening children in these families for depression? Should the agencies that are responsible for managing adoption and foster home placement include this new information in their screening criteria?

It would be very interesting to see a similar study performed using families in which a biological parent had been diagnosed with anxiety or an attention-deficit disorder. Could it mean that we should be considering depression and these conditions as contagious disorders? The results from such studies might help provide clarity to why we are seeing more children with mental health complaints. They might explain why pediatricians are seeing an increasing frequency of mental health complaints in our offices. It may not be too far-fetched to use epidemiologic terms when we are talking about depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Should we be considering these conditions to be contagious under certain circumstances?

Since the human genome has been sequenced I sense that our attention has become overfocused on using what we are learning about our DNA to explain what makes us sick. It may be time to swing the pendulum back a few degrees and remind ourselves of the power of the family environment.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously wrote a column in which I discussed the possible relationship between television viewing and the risk of developing depression. In that column I mentioned that, while there is widespread suspicion that depression may have a genetic component, I was unaware of any strong evidence that this is the case. This week I encountered another study in the American Journal of Psychiatry that suggests that the environment in which a child is raised can play a significant role in whether he or she will develop depression.

Imagesbybarbara/E+

All of the children in the study had been born to families in which at least one biological parent had been diagnosed with major depression. There were nearly 700 full sibships and 2,600 half sibships studied. The researchers found that children who had been adopted away and raised in families that had been selected for having high-quality childrearing standards were significantly less likely to develop depression (23% for full siblings, 19% for half siblings) than their siblings who had remained in the home of their biological parents. It is interesting that this protective effect of the adoptive home “disappeared when an adoptive parent or stepsibling had major depression or the adoptive home was disrupted by parental death or divorce.”

It is unlikely that this study ever will be replicated because of the unique manner in which these Swedish adoptions were managed and recorded. However, the results appear to make a strong statement that, at least when it comes to depression, nurture has at least as strong an effect as nature and probably even more of an influence than genetics.

Are you surprised by the results of this study? Or, like me, have you always suspected that a child growing up in a household with a depressed, missing, or divorced parent was at increased risk of becoming depressed, particularly they had a genetic vulnerability? How will you change your approach to families with a depressed parent or ones that are navigating through the stormy waters of even an amicable divorce? Will you be more diligent about screening children in these families for depression? Should the agencies that are responsible for managing adoption and foster home placement include this new information in their screening criteria?

It would be very interesting to see a similar study performed using families in which a biological parent had been diagnosed with anxiety or an attention-deficit disorder. Could it mean that we should be considering depression and these conditions as contagious disorders? The results from such studies might help provide clarity to why we are seeing more children with mental health complaints. They might explain why pediatricians are seeing an increasing frequency of mental health complaints in our offices. It may not be too far-fetched to use epidemiologic terms when we are talking about depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Should we be considering these conditions to be contagious under certain circumstances?

Since the human genome has been sequenced I sense that our attention has become overfocused on using what we are learning about our DNA to explain what makes us sick. It may be time to swing the pendulum back a few degrees and remind ourselves of the power of the family environment.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously wrote a column in which I discussed the possible relationship between television viewing and the risk of developing depression. In that column I mentioned that, while there is widespread suspicion that depression may have a genetic component, I was unaware of any strong evidence that this is the case. This week I encountered another study in the American Journal of Psychiatry that suggests that the environment in which a child is raised can play a significant role in whether he or she will develop depression.

Imagesbybarbara/E+

All of the children in the study had been born to families in which at least one biological parent had been diagnosed with major depression. There were nearly 700 full sibships and 2,600 half sibships studied. The researchers found that children who had been adopted away and raised in families that had been selected for having high-quality childrearing standards were significantly less likely to develop depression (23% for full siblings, 19% for half siblings) than their siblings who had remained in the home of their biological parents. It is interesting that this protective effect of the adoptive home “disappeared when an adoptive parent or stepsibling had major depression or the adoptive home was disrupted by parental death or divorce.”

It is unlikely that this study ever will be replicated because of the unique manner in which these Swedish adoptions were managed and recorded. However, the results appear to make a strong statement that, at least when it comes to depression, nurture has at least as strong an effect as nature and probably even more of an influence than genetics.

Are you surprised by the results of this study? Or, like me, have you always suspected that a child growing up in a household with a depressed, missing, or divorced parent was at increased risk of becoming depressed, particularly they had a genetic vulnerability? How will you change your approach to families with a depressed parent or ones that are navigating through the stormy waters of even an amicable divorce? Will you be more diligent about screening children in these families for depression? Should the agencies that are responsible for managing adoption and foster home placement include this new information in their screening criteria?

It would be very interesting to see a similar study performed using families in which a biological parent had been diagnosed with anxiety or an attention-deficit disorder. Could it mean that we should be considering depression and these conditions as contagious disorders? The results from such studies might help provide clarity to why we are seeing more children with mental health complaints. They might explain why pediatricians are seeing an increasing frequency of mental health complaints in our offices. It may not be too far-fetched to use epidemiologic terms when we are talking about depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Should we be considering these conditions to be contagious under certain circumstances?

Since the human genome has been sequenced I sense that our attention has become overfocused on using what we are learning about our DNA to explain what makes us sick. It may be time to swing the pendulum back a few degrees and remind ourselves of the power of the family environment.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

While anxiety was at the top of my list of emotional states that generated office visits in my pediatric practice, depression always ran a close second. Not infrequently, patients would report symptoms that suggested they were harboring both morbidities.

LumineImages/iStock/Getty Images

Although some families appear to be prone to depression, I’m not aware that a definable genetic basis has been discovered. Like me, you may have wondered what factors determine whether an individual will become depressed or merely be unhappy when things aren’t going well. We all have known people who have weathered disappointment and life-altering calamities without even a hint of being depressed. On the other hand you probably have met numerous patients and acquaintances who have become significantly depressed as the result of simply worrying that some disaster might befall them.

Is this variable vulnerability to depression the result of some as yet undiscovered neurotransmitter? Or are there certain lifestyle features that make individuals more prone to depression? Or ... could it be both? In other words are there behaviors that can tweak a person’s telomeres in such a way that triggers a biochemical cascade that results in depression?

A recent paper in the American Journal of Psychiatry doesn’t drill down through the genetic and biochemical strata, but it does suggest that there are “modifiable” behaviors that may contribute to depression. The researchers based at Harvard Medical School in Boston accessed a database of more than 100,000 adults in the United Kingdom. With use of a two-stage method that included a strategy similar to that employed for identifying genetic risk factors for disease, the researchers scanned a large number of factors that they considered modifiable, searching for those that might be associated with the development of depression.

Not surprisingly, they discovered that those respondents who more frequently confided in others and more frequently visited with family and friends were less likely to become depressed. Of course, this protective effect of social connection can cut both ways during the pandemic. During this pandemic if those people you confide in are not currently in your “bubble,” you may have a problem. This may explain why, despite warnings of their dangers, bars continue to be so attractive. It’s probably not just the alcohol but it’s the bartenders and patrons who are willing to listen that patrons seek out. It would be helpful if more people felt comfortable sharing their feelings with members of their family bubble. But you and I know that many families don’t come even close to matching the Brady Bunch image of a functionality.

Somewhat surprisingly to the Harvard researchers was their finding that time watching television also was a significant risk factor for the development of depression. Their data did not allow them to determine whether this observation was linked to the sedentary nature of television watching or the content of the shows being viewed. I suspect that content is not the problem. But in addition to being a sedentary activity, television watching often is isolating. When television was first introduced to the mass market, families grouped around the household’s lone set, much as families did back when radios became popular. In their infancy radio listening and television viewing were social activities rich with discussion and shared emotions.

However, as televisions became less expensive and no longer required large pieces of furniture to house them, television viewing became a more solitary and individual activity. Televisions became obligatory furnishings of every bedroom, and parents and children could withdraw to their own spaces and be entertained free of any opportunity or obligation to interact with the rest of family.

This new research into the risk factors for depression suggests that again we should be strongly discouraging parents from allowing their children to have a television or electronic viewing device in their bedrooms without any way of monitoring their usage. At least among children, television watching should be a modifiable behavior.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

While anxiety was at the top of my list of emotional states that generated office visits in my pediatric practice, depression always ran a close second. Not infrequently, patients would report symptoms that suggested they were harboring both morbidities.

LumineImages/iStock/Getty Images

Although some families appear to be prone to depression, I’m not aware that a definable genetic basis has been discovered. Like me, you may have wondered what factors determine whether an individual will become depressed or merely be unhappy when things aren’t going well. We all have known people who have weathered disappointment and life-altering calamities without even a hint of being depressed. On the other hand you probably have met numerous patients and acquaintances who have become significantly depressed as the result of simply worrying that some disaster might befall them.

Is this variable vulnerability to depression the result of some as yet undiscovered neurotransmitter? Or are there certain lifestyle features that make individuals more prone to depression? Or ... could it be both? In other words are there behaviors that can tweak a person’s telomeres in such a way that triggers a biochemical cascade that results in depression?

A recent paper in the American Journal of Psychiatry doesn’t drill down through the genetic and biochemical strata, but it does suggest that there are “modifiable” behaviors that may contribute to depression. The researchers based at Harvard Medical School in Boston accessed a database of more than 100,000 adults in the United Kingdom. With use of a two-stage method that included a strategy similar to that employed for identifying genetic risk factors for disease, the researchers scanned a large number of factors that they considered modifiable, searching for those that might be associated with the development of depression.

Not surprisingly, they discovered that those respondents who more frequently confided in others and more frequently visited with family and friends were less likely to become depressed. Of course, this protective effect of social connection can cut both ways during the pandemic. During this pandemic if those people you confide in are not currently in your “bubble,” you may have a problem. This may explain why, despite warnings of their dangers, bars continue to be so attractive. It’s probably not just the alcohol but it’s the bartenders and patrons who are willing to listen that patrons seek out. It would be helpful if more people felt comfortable sharing their feelings with members of their family bubble. But you and I know that many families don’t come even close to matching the Brady Bunch image of a functionality.

Somewhat surprisingly to the Harvard researchers was their finding that time watching television also was a significant risk factor for the development of depression. Their data did not allow them to determine whether this observation was linked to the sedentary nature of television watching or the content of the shows being viewed. I suspect that content is not the problem. But in addition to being a sedentary activity, television watching often is isolating. When television was first introduced to the mass market, families grouped around the household’s lone set, much as families did back when radios became popular. In their infancy radio listening and television viewing were social activities rich with discussion and shared emotions.

However, as televisions became less expensive and no longer required large pieces of furniture to house them, television viewing became a more solitary and individual activity. Televisions became obligatory furnishings of every bedroom, and parents and children could withdraw to their own spaces and be entertained free of any opportunity or obligation to interact with the rest of family.

This new research into the risk factors for depression suggests that again we should be strongly discouraging parents from allowing their children to have a television or electronic viewing device in their bedrooms without any way of monitoring their usage. At least among children, television watching should be a modifiable behavior.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

While anxiety was at the top of my list of emotional states that generated office visits in my pediatric practice, depression always ran a close second. Not infrequently, patients would report symptoms that suggested they were harboring both morbidities.

LumineImages/iStock/Getty Images

Although some families appear to be prone to depression, I’m not aware that a definable genetic basis has been discovered. Like me, you may have wondered what factors determine whether an individual will become depressed or merely be unhappy when things aren’t going well. We all have known people who have weathered disappointment and life-altering calamities without even a hint of being depressed. On the other hand you probably have met numerous patients and acquaintances who have become significantly depressed as the result of simply worrying that some disaster might befall them.

Is this variable vulnerability to depression the result of some as yet undiscovered neurotransmitter? Or are there certain lifestyle features that make individuals more prone to depression? Or ... could it be both? In other words are there behaviors that can tweak a person’s telomeres in such a way that triggers a biochemical cascade that results in depression?

A recent paper in the American Journal of Psychiatry doesn’t drill down through the genetic and biochemical strata, but it does suggest that there are “modifiable” behaviors that may contribute to depression. The researchers based at Harvard Medical School in Boston accessed a database of more than 100,000 adults in the United Kingdom. With use of a two-stage method that included a strategy similar to that employed for identifying genetic risk factors for disease, the researchers scanned a large number of factors that they considered modifiable, searching for those that might be associated with the development of depression.

Not surprisingly, they discovered that those respondents who more frequently confided in others and more frequently visited with family and friends were less likely to become depressed. Of course, this protective effect of social connection can cut both ways during the pandemic. During this pandemic if those people you confide in are not currently in your “bubble,” you may have a problem. This may explain why, despite warnings of their dangers, bars continue to be so attractive. It’s probably not just the alcohol but it’s the bartenders and patrons who are willing to listen that patrons seek out. It would be helpful if more people felt comfortable sharing their feelings with members of their family bubble. But you and I know that many families don’t come even close to matching the Brady Bunch image of a functionality.

Somewhat surprisingly to the Harvard researchers was their finding that time watching television also was a significant risk factor for the development of depression. Their data did not allow them to determine whether this observation was linked to the sedentary nature of television watching or the content of the shows being viewed. I suspect that content is not the problem. But in addition to being a sedentary activity, television watching often is isolating. When television was first introduced to the mass market, families grouped around the household’s lone set, much as families did back when radios became popular. In their infancy radio listening and television viewing were social activities rich with discussion and shared emotions.

However, as televisions became less expensive and no longer required large pieces of furniture to house them, television viewing became a more solitary and individual activity. Televisions became obligatory furnishings of every bedroom, and parents and children could withdraw to their own spaces and be entertained free of any opportunity or obligation to interact with the rest of family.

This new research into the risk factors for depression suggests that again we should be strongly discouraging parents from allowing their children to have a television or electronic viewing device in their bedrooms without any way of monitoring their usage. At least among children, television watching should be a modifiable behavior.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].

I had been in practice only 6 or 7 years when I got the itch to do some writing. I had been exchanging letters with my father since I left for college. He was a professional writer but I had never done more than was required to get through school. What motivated me to sit down at the keyboard of his old hand-me-down portable typewriter was my frustration with grandmothers, as nearly every day I found myself struggling to counter some grandmother’s well-intentioned but somewhat off-the-mark childrearing advice.

supersizer/Getty Images

Occasionally this would be during a face-to-face encounter with a grandmother who had tagged along to the well-baby visit. More often, I was trying to arm a mother or father with the “facts” (at least as I understood them) that they could carry home and use to defend my position as the child care expert for the family.

These were not knock-down-drag-out disagreements but I always felt badly that I might be tarnishing a grandmother’s reputation. Grandfathers seemed to have learned it was best to keep silent on childrearing. I knew from my own family that most grandmothers had years of experience raising children that, if properly delivered, could make childrearing a more positive experience for new parents. My father, whose mother was widowed when he was an infant, was raised by his grandmother. However, too often I found that grandmotherly advice came packaged with just enough old wives’ tales and factually incorrect medical information to be dangerous.

The title of my opus would be “The Good Grandmother Handbook” and it would be an effort to update grandmothers with the latest information on childrearing from a recently trained and cocky board-certified pediatrician with only 6 years’ practice under his belt. The book would reassure grandmothers that, although some of the things they had done as parents are now frowned upon, most of what they did has stood the test of time and probably is worth sharing.

The final chapter of the book would be about grandparent etiquette. How to deal with the fact that there is another set of grandparents who have opinions and would like to have time with their grandchildren. When and how to give advice: Basically, only if asked or you feel your grandchild’s life is at stake. And, finally, how to deal with the disappointment of not being asked for advice and not being involved.

Not surprisingly that sophomoric and condescending effort never got further than the first draft. It reflected my early experiences in a minimally diverse and relatively affluent community. As my world view broadened, I realized that for many families it’s not a question of how to deal with a grandmother’s unsolicited advice. There are numerous grandparents who have been forced to become safe havens in which a family in distress can ride out the turbulent economic times and societal upheaval. In many cases, grandmothers are essential workers – not just occasional babysitters – but surrogate parents.

A Pediatrics article estimates that 2% of children in this country are being raised by their grandparents. And, it turns out that grandparents are doing a surprisingly good job. The researchers concluded that: “Despite caring for children with greater developmental problems and poorer temperament grandparent caregivers seem to cope with parenting about as well as parents.”

As pediatricians we must continue to reach out to grandmothers and grandfathers who are caring for some of our most challenged patients. They need our medical advice but even more they need our compassion and emotional support. Over the last 5 decades I’ve come to learn that, although there are some grandmothers who can be meddlesome dispensers of old wives’ tales, many are the backbone of families in need.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I had been in practice only 6 or 7 years when I got the itch to do some writing. I had been exchanging letters with my father since I left for college. He was a professional writer but I had never done more than was required to get through school. What motivated me to sit down at the keyboard of his old hand-me-down portable typewriter was my frustration with grandmothers, as nearly every day I found myself struggling to counter some grandmother’s well-intentioned but somewhat off-the-mark childrearing advice.

supersizer/Getty Images

Occasionally this would be during a face-to-face encounter with a grandmother who had tagged along to the well-baby visit. More often, I was trying to arm a mother or father with the “facts” (at least as I understood them) that they could carry home and use to defend my position as the child care expert for the family.

These were not knock-down-drag-out disagreements but I always felt badly that I might be tarnishing a grandmother’s reputation. Grandfathers seemed to have learned it was best to keep silent on childrearing. I knew from my own family that most grandmothers had years of experience raising children that, if properly delivered, could make childrearing a more positive experience for new parents. My father, whose mother was widowed when he was an infant, was raised by his grandmother. However, too often I found that grandmotherly advice came packaged with just enough old wives’ tales and factually incorrect medical information to be dangerous.

The title of my opus would be “The Good Grandmother Handbook” and it would be an effort to update grandmothers with the latest information on childrearing from a recently trained and cocky board-certified pediatrician with only 6 years’ practice under his belt. The book would reassure grandmothers that, although some of the things they had done as parents are now frowned upon, most of what they did has stood the test of time and probably is worth sharing.

The final chapter of the book would be about grandparent etiquette. How to deal with the fact that there is another set of grandparents who have opinions and would like to have time with their grandchildren. When and how to give advice: Basically, only if asked or you feel your grandchild’s life is at stake. And, finally, how to deal with the disappointment of not being asked for advice and not being involved.

Not surprisingly that sophomoric and condescending effort never got further than the first draft. It reflected my early experiences in a minimally diverse and relatively affluent community. As my world view broadened, I realized that for many families it’s not a question of how to deal with a grandmother’s unsolicited advice. There are numerous grandparents who have been forced to become safe havens in which a family in distress can ride out the turbulent economic times and societal upheaval. In many cases, grandmothers are essential workers – not just occasional babysitters – but surrogate parents.

A Pediatrics article estimates that 2% of children in this country are being raised by their grandparents. And, it turns out that grandparents are doing a surprisingly good job. The researchers concluded that: “Despite caring for children with greater developmental problems and poorer temperament grandparent caregivers seem to cope with parenting about as well as parents.”

As pediatricians we must continue to reach out to grandmothers and grandfathers who are caring for some of our most challenged patients. They need our medical advice but even more they need our compassion and emotional support. Over the last 5 decades I’ve come to learn that, although there are some grandmothers who can be meddlesome dispensers of old wives’ tales, many are the backbone of families in need.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I had been in practice only 6 or 7 years when I got the itch to do some writing. I had been exchanging letters with my father since I left for college. He was a professional writer but I had never done more than was required to get through school. What motivated me to sit down at the keyboard of his old hand-me-down portable typewriter was my frustration with grandmothers, as nearly every day I found myself struggling to counter some grandmother’s well-intentioned but somewhat off-the-mark childrearing advice.

supersizer/Getty Images

Occasionally this would be during a face-to-face encounter with a grandmother who had tagged along to the well-baby visit. More often, I was trying to arm a mother or father with the “facts” (at least as I understood them) that they could carry home and use to defend my position as the child care expert for the family.

These were not knock-down-drag-out disagreements but I always felt badly that I might be tarnishing a grandmother’s reputation. Grandfathers seemed to have learned it was best to keep silent on childrearing. I knew from my own family that most grandmothers had years of experience raising children that, if properly delivered, could make childrearing a more positive experience for new parents. My father, whose mother was widowed when he was an infant, was raised by his grandmother. However, too often I found that grandmotherly advice came packaged with just enough old wives’ tales and factually incorrect medical information to be dangerous.

The title of my opus would be “The Good Grandmother Handbook” and it would be an effort to update grandmothers with the latest information on childrearing from a recently trained and cocky board-certified pediatrician with only 6 years’ practice under his belt. The book would reassure grandmothers that, although some of the things they had done as parents are now frowned upon, most of what they did has stood the test of time and probably is worth sharing.

The final chapter of the book would be about grandparent etiquette. How to deal with the fact that there is another set of grandparents who have opinions and would like to have time with their grandchildren. When and how to give advice: Basically, only if asked or you feel your grandchild’s life is at stake. And, finally, how to deal with the disappointment of not being asked for advice and not being involved.

Not surprisingly that sophomoric and condescending effort never got further than the first draft. It reflected my early experiences in a minimally diverse and relatively affluent community. As my world view broadened, I realized that for many families it’s not a question of how to deal with a grandmother’s unsolicited advice. There are numerous grandparents who have been forced to become safe havens in which a family in distress can ride out the turbulent economic times and societal upheaval. In many cases, grandmothers are essential workers – not just occasional babysitters – but surrogate parents.

A Pediatrics article estimates that 2% of children in this country are being raised by their grandparents. And, it turns out that grandparents are doing a surprisingly good job. The researchers concluded that: “Despite caring for children with greater developmental problems and poorer temperament grandparent caregivers seem to cope with parenting about as well as parents.”

As pediatricians we must continue to reach out to grandmothers and grandfathers who are caring for some of our most challenged patients. They need our medical advice but even more they need our compassion and emotional support. Over the last 5 decades I’ve come to learn that, although there are some grandmothers who can be meddlesome dispensers of old wives’ tales, many are the backbone of families in need.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].