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Exactly what you think it is
Ever since we became parents, my husband and I have slowly become used to the impossible claims uttered by our children. There was Isabella’s recent announcement that, when she opens her eyes really wide, she can see through solid objects, or our son stating that, yes, he can fly. Nothing makes us blink anymore.
There are monsters in the closet, and stuffed animals can speak, but not when we’re in the room. Our son Mendel can change himself –at will- into a dinosaur; it’s not really him who kicks my seat when I’m driving, it’s a ferocious T-Rex that’s out to devour me. It’s no use arguing with them; when you’re little, the world is full of unanswered questions and nothing is impossible. It is only as we get older that we often come to the misguided conclusion: miracles have an expiration date, and making stuff up is a bad, bad thing.
To be honest, Mendel isn’t exactly lying; he’s just displacing blame. I guess when you are only four years old, it’s tough to admit to those little imperfections in your character. Besides, Mendel’s feelings are easily hurt, and he doesn’t have skin thick enough to handle the fall out of naughty behavior the way Isabella does. Put him in time out and he responds as if you’ve renounced him, tell him he ‘did a very bad thing’ and he’ll fall apart. “When you call me naughty, you make my heart hurt”, he told me recently- cue the dramatic clutching at the chest and the wavering voice tone. “Good,” I said, “it’s called a conscience”.
Conscience, shmonscience. Mendel isn’t having it; so he’s come up with a different approach. One of his imaginary friends has been designated as the bad guy. His name is Jaffy; we’re thinking that might be short for ‘Giraffe’. Although Jaffy could talk to us directly, he doesn’t want to. He is easily bored, likes to make big messes and has a lousy attitude. He also has the uncanny ability to never be around when we discover evidence of his destruction. “Jaffy did it”, Mendel says, when I find a roll of toilet paper with toothpaste spread on the side, “Jaffy is very naughty.”
“Can you ask Jaffy to clean it up?” I ask, hoping for a miracle of my own. Maybe Mendel will clean up after his friend, to make him seem more real? But no: “Jaffy doesn’t feel like it.”
“Please tell Jaffy not to do this again,” I tell him. That’s an easy promise to make, because bad behavior takes many shapes, and Mendel is pretty sure that next time, Jaffy will come up with something else. Jaffy promising to leave the toothpaste alone is like a dieter giving up only one type of chocolate; you just switch brands, and voilà. Mission accomplished.
What this split personality thing means in the long run, I don’t know. I’m sure child psychologists have plenty to say about the need to project blame on an invisible giraffe; I happen to think it’s quite normal. I even think adults would do it if we could get away with it. Of course it’s no fun to realize you’ve done something wrong, and of course he doesn’t want to take responsibility. It’s much easier to blame the giraffe for that big chunk of wall paper that’s missing from the bathroom. “Jaffy did it” has become code for “it was me,” which is strangely convenient. At least we know who’s the guilty party. After all, things could be worse: he could be blaming it all on his sister.
For more information about kids and imagination, visit Whole Family, or Metafilter, or check out Five ways to spark the imagination
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