In a Family Way: Little Lies
November 11, 2009 by Erika Stutzman
Filed under In a Family Way, Relationships
A study in the Journal of Moral Education in late September caused a minor kerfuffle between parenting experts:
The study, funded by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, found that parents lie to children, and lie a lot. Some of the lies are white lies — “You did such a good job cleaning your room” when it’s still a mess — and some were definitely not.
Example: “The police are going to get you if you don’t stop crying now.” Some experts said the fibs are no big deal if the overall effect is raising children in a protective environment — one that is safe for them, even if they don’t know the truth about what is outside their parents’ boundaries. Others were aghast at the study, said it could hinder cause-and-effect learning, and wondered what kind of values parents are passing along to their little kiddies.
Because children don’t lie, goes the convention. Rumor has it, children are honest and lying is learned behavior.
Poppycock.
For the record, I don’t lie to my children. (Nor do I share the entire truth: The image of a serial killer stares at us from the morning newspaper. “Who’s that?” she asks. “Oh, it’s a stranger, named Scott,” I say. “I have an uncle named Scott!” she shouts, pirouetting away from me.)
Choosing not to lie to my children isn’t all about my values, though. It’s because it’s too easy to get caught. “You SAID ‘Dora the Explorer’ wasn’t on TV right now. BUT LOOK!!! LOOK!!!”
But in defense of parents who do lie, and the shameful role models they are, where did this reputation for honesty in children begin? Because they’re blunt? “Mommy, you still look like you have a baby in your tummy, and you already had the baby!” Honestly?
Fact is: Kids lie, and lie like rugs. I know a boy in Gunbarrel who claims his favorite dish is monkey soup. They don’t even sell monkey soup in Gunbarrel.
We bought ski passes for the winter, and my wide-eyed, honest daughter tells me tales about last ski season, when instead of learning to ski during ski school, they went up into the clouds. To hang out. Clouds are not cold, or wet, or fluffy. They are warm and gooey.
She tells her teacher all about her five brothers and her cat. Lies, lies. Her favorite sense is the sense of smell (this is actually true.) Her favorite smell: Dragons.
In truth, there will come a time when she’s going to forget about her imaginary brothers and the made-up cat. Years from now, she won’t remember the gooey warmth of clouds, or be able to recall the delicious scent of dragons. I’ll remind her.
Because, and this is the absolute truth, I’m going to miss all of them.
– By Erika Stutzman
Sweet column. Love it