Story time: children who lie and the parents who let them

Not all fairy tales come from books

We all like to tell stories. I grew up with stories all around me; my father is a prime example. At times, this causes problems: he is of the conviction that it doesn’t matter so much whether the story is true or not, as long as it is compelling and entertaining, usually at a tremendous emotional cost to whoever the story is about. In other words, he makes stuff up.

When I was a teenager and trying to get my driver’s license, I once took a drive with him sitting next to me. To say that I was a calm driver back then would be lying; I drove like a grandmother on Valium. However, in my father’s mind this particular experience has grown into a terrifying nightmare of ignored stop signs, maniacal speeding, and near accidents, that, to this day, cause him to wake up screaming in the middle of the night. He repeats the story every time I visit him, which is not only irritating, but also starting to get boring. Boring is bad. “Make up a new story,” I often tell him. “If you’re going to lie, at least show some originality.”

Although I agree with him that, when telling a story, it’s best to treat the truth as merely a starting point, I was a bit concerned when my seven-year-old daughter took up the same habit. Hearing her talk, one has to have a translator handy at all times. When she blames her brother for whatever terrible naughtiness has transpired, I have to assume she really means: “It was me. It was all me. I’m an awful child and I’m sorry.” When she answers with “I forgot,” what she really is trying to say is “I know you want me to flush the toilet, but I just can’t be bothered with your strange rules. Trust me, I have better things to do with my time; I still need to smear toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror and give my Barbies a bath in my brothers potty, so leave me alone, please.”
“It really happened, mom, honest,” means, “I’m lying through my teeth and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

When dealing with my daughter, so I remind her teachers, the truth never lies ‘somewhere in the middle’. Never. The truth lies somewhere east of Mars, and it can take many light years to get there. Roughly the same light years it takes to scrape that toothpaste off the mirror and disinfect those Barbies.

But then, as far as she’s concerned, finding the truth is the responsibility of the listener. This belief, of course, gets her firmly off the hook whenever she is caught in a lie. It also opens the door for her to be a creative listener. ‘Creative listening’ is something that is practiced by most seven-year-olds; it is also known as ‘not listening’, but that is a misnomer. They listen; they always listen, even when you don’t want them to. It’s just that there are many things parents say that need to be interpreted by them, translated, and edited; although there are exceptions, it doesn’t often happen that they can just take their parents’ words literally.

Tell them to go to their room, and they will sit down next to you, and stare, waiting for who knows what. Tell them to get their shoes on, ‘and- hurry-because-we-need-to-leave’, and they will happily settle in their rooms with a favorite toy. When you ask them what on earth they think they are doing, they’ll tell you that bear just broke his leg, and needs to be treated with utmost care, and ‘can you please help me put on a cast’, making you late and more annoyed than a tomcat in a room full of Chihuahua’s.

Tell them to dress warm and they’ll show up with a bathing suit and a tank top. Kids just don’t hear what we say; for a seven year old, communicating with a parent is like asking directions in the middle of Mongolia. They smile and nod, but what direction they’ll turn is guesswork at best.

The exception to the rule is when you accidentally use bad language, or when you tell your husband why there was a police car parked at your neighbor’s. They will hear you from three houses down. Stand right in front of them and tell them to clean their room, forget it. It’ll never happen. You might as well tell your computer to dance the tango and make you breakfast.

Rather than sinking in a pool of despair, and self-doubt, I have chosen to see all this as evidence of creativity. My daughter twists the truth? She must be inspired. When she doesn’t listen, it is because she is so intelligent that her brain is always otherwise occupied. If she does weird things, like sitting in her room completely naked except for a feather boa, she is expressing her flair for the dramatic; besides, lying and editing other people’s words prepare her for a career in creative writing. She could be a novelist, a screenwriter, a spin-doctor. Hell, she could be President someday. And any bad behavior can be turned into a great sounding anecdote for birthday parties and family reunions.

Oftentimes the things that make you secretly want to yell at your children in the heat of the moment make for the best story telling afterwards. Just think of that, next time one of your kids empties a bottle of hand lotion in your coat pocket. Write it down first, and then go yell at them.