Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell Page A

use of their own time, and had a well-developed sense of independence. But in practical terms, concerted cultivation has enormous advantages. The heavily scheduled middle-class child is exposed to a constantly shifting set of experiences. She learns teamwork and how to cope in highly structured settings. She is taught how to interact comfortably with adults, and to speak up when she needs to. In Lareau’s words, the middle-class children learn a sense of “entitlement.”
    That word, of course, has negative connotations these days. But Lareau means it in the best sense of the term: “They acted as though they had a right to pursue their own individual preferences and to actively manage interactions in institutional settings. They appeared comfortable in those settings; they were open to sharing information and asking for attention....It was common practice among middle-class children to shift interactions to suit their preferences.” They knew the rules. “Even in fourth grade, middle-class children appeared to be acting on their own behalf to gain advantages. They made special requests of teachers and doctors to adjust procedures to accommodate their desires.”
    By contrast, the working-class and poor children were characterized by “an emerging sense of distance, distrust, and constraint.” They didn’t know how to get their way, or how to “customize”—using Lareau’s wonderful term—whatever environment they were in, for their best purposes.
    In one telling scene, Lareau describes a visit to the doctor by Alex Williams, a nine-year-old boy, and his mother, Christina. The Williamses are wealthy professionals.
    “Alex, you should be thinking of questions you might want to ask the doctor,” Christina says in the car on the way to the doctor’s office. “You can ask him anything you want. Don’t be shy. You can ask anything.”
    Alex thinks for a minute, then says, “I have some bumps under my arms from my deodorant.” Christina: “Really? You mean from your new deodorant?” Alex: “Yes.” Christina: “Well, you should ask the doctor.”
    Alex’s mother, Lareau writes, “is teaching that he has the right to speak up”—that even though he’s going to be in a room with an older person and authority figure, it’s perfectly all right for him to assert himself. They meet the doctor, a genial man in his early forties. He tells Alex that he is in the ninety-fifth percentile in height. Alex then interrupts:
    A LEX : I’m in the what?
    D OCTOR : It means that you’re taller than more than ninety-five out of a hundred young men when they’re, uh, ten years old.
    A LEX : I’m not ten.
    D OCTOR : Well, they graphed you at ten. You’re—nine years and ten months. They—they usually take the closest year to that graph.
    Look at how easily Alex interrupts the doctor—“I’m not ten.” That’s entitlement: his mother permits that casual incivility because she wants him to learn to assert himself with people in positions of authority.
    T HE D OCTOR TURNS TO A LEX : Well, now the most important question. Do you have any questions you want to ask me before I do your physical?
    A LEX : Um...only one. I’ve been getting some bumps on my arms, right around here (indicates underarm).
    D OCTOR : Underneath?
    A LEX : Yeah.
    D OCTOR : Okay. I’ll have to take a look at those when I come in closer to do the checkup. And I’ll see what they are and what I can do. Do they hurt or itch?
    A LEX : No, they’re just there.
    D OCTOR : Okay, I’ll take a look at those bumps for you.
    This kind of interaction simply doesn’t happen with lower-class children, Lareau says. They would be quiet and submissive, with eyes turned away. Alex takes charge of the moment. “In remembering to raise the question he prepared in advance, he gains the doctor’s full attention and focuses it on an issue of his choosing,” Lareau writes.
    In so doing, he successfully shifts the balance of power away from the adults and toward