Teaching Kids the White Lies

The holiday season is the best time to train children on the skill of lying. The "little white lie" is one of the most useful tools to be added to each kids' belt.

With the hope, joy, happiness, and merriment of the season, also come presents. Many, many presents come for children. Some of these presents are perfect. Some will be loved for years to come. Some will become the basis of cherished holiday memories.

However, that leaves the handful of presents that are... not. A lot of people have the greatest intentions for their gifts, but some people just mess it up. This does not make the gift-giver a bad person. It just makes that person a bad gift-giver.

Because the season suggests love and joy as themes, we are forced to go along with these bad gifts. We need to thank gracefully and appreciatively. It is easy for adults to do this; for the kids, it is a skill that must be taught.

Eleven months out of the year, we teach the children to be truthful. We bombard the kids with fortune-cookie wisdom like honesty is the best policy, don't tell lies, and the truth never hurt anyone. December changes everything.

Once the turkey is gone, the leaves are off the trees, and the frost is on the lawns, the rules change. In December, the truth does hurt people. One one hand, children should be kind to others and not hurt people's feelings. On the other hand, they should not lie. Both of these ideals cannot coexist in December. This dilemma leads to a justification of lying.

Lying is the safest, nicest thing a person can do. These are not the overt lies that exist on the same plane of stealing and cheating; these are the little lies that allow society to function.

These are the lies that allow men to answer the "Does this make me look fat?" questions. These are the lies that let people answer a boss's "Isn't this a great place to work?" questions. These are the lies that let wives tell husbands how good they are at fixing things around the house. These are the lies that keep people talking to each other.

Kids need this skill, and they need it in December.

The first step is to be able to smile when opening one of these bad-gifts. It cannot be the kind of smile that looks like you've swallowed a lemon. It has to be a real-looking smile. Teach the kids to say a knock-knock joke while opening the present so they will have a smile on their faces.


Part of the trick is to teach kids a code-word like awesome, but tell them it means "no good." For example, when trying auntie's soup, the child will immediately say, "This is awesome!" Because the child has "honestly" expressed him or herself using this code-word, he or she will smile naturally.

To sell the deception, the kid needs to say how wonderful the present is. This where drills come in handy. Kids were able to memorize the alphabet, and they have been able to memorize the goofy songs from TV, so they will be able to memorize, "This is awesome!"

As a result, kids will have learned the subtle deceptions necessary for keeping relationships together, staying employed, and getting more gifts in the future.

The consequences of no more punishments

Nobody gets punished anymore.  The word punishment is not even in kids' vocabulary anymore.

I'm not sure when we lost punishments altogether, but teenagers don't seem to know or use the word.  The shift must have started ten to fifteen years ago when people decided that it was more important to massage children's egos while disciplining them.

The unintended "consequence" has been a bastardization of the English language.  Students are getting ready for college by writing essays that describe the Salem Witch trials as women who received consequences because others thought they were witches.

Saddam Hussein received a consequence for his actions as an Iraqi dictator.

OJ Simpson was able to kill two people without receiving consequences.

Where have all the punishments gone?  Have we parented the word out of the language?

The other thing we seem to have parented away is the ability to send a kid to the office for being bad.

As a teacher, there are some students who make it impossible for the others in the room to learn, so they need to get kicked out.  Last week I did that, but was later informed that I had given the child a time-out.

Sometimes the connotation of the word is appropriate for the situation.  Children don't need everything wrapped up with a ribbon - if they are bad, they can be punished.  If needed, they can be kicked out or suspended.

We're not doing anyone any favors by coddling them.  Let a consequence be a punishment.  Kids need to feel bad for what they do if they are to emotionally connect their actions to the results.

Competition

I took my daughter to her first Giants game at four months old, and the only reason it wasn’t sooner is because she was born in December. I’ve now become obsessed with trying to get my daughter to become a star softball player before her third birthday.  So it is for dads everywhere.

However, my dream started to die when my friend’s son (same age) was hitting balls with his little T-Ball bat.  It was a funny scene: the bat was as tall as he, and pitched balls were being smacked all over. It was an impressive, horrible sight.  My daughter had already fallen behind. To twist the knife deeper, this other kid can throw and catch.

My daughter was of course oblivious to the fact that she’d been shown-up by this pip-squeak. Who cares if she knows her ABCs when other kids are working on their curveballs?  The only solution was to get better.  I stuffed her little hand into her pink glove, and we played catch.  Three minutes later she was looking for bugs in the grass.

Okay, so maybe she’s not going to be an all-pro.  I guess the point is that she has fun playing.  But doesn't everyone secretly mock this attitude?  I remember going to my niece’s volleyball game years ago and I was appalled that they were not keeping score. Why play if there’s no winner?

We're biologically hard-wired to be competitive and want to win.  What would Vegas be without winners and losers?  Isn’t playing for fun the sporting equivalent of Communism?  Keeping score is patriotic. It’s the American way of life.

Yes, kids need to build their self-esteem.  Losing can hurt.  I'd argue that learning to deal with loss and failure is part of maturing.  What are we doing if we raise a generation of kids who’ve never lost? How will these kids deal with the first F, the first break-up, and the first lay-off?  Those are all unpleasant things that nobody wants for kids, but they are all very common; we need face the ugly things just like we face the nice things.

I know there’s a line between too easy and too hard, but society has been hanging out on the easy side of that line.  In some ways, winning is easier than the alternative.  Dealing with a loss builds character; character defines you as a person. If my daughter can’t throw the ball straight, I can tell her that she’s doing great or I can tell her to try again.  It is possible to encourage a child without patronizing him or her.

We need to find that line and toe it carefully. I’m going to err on the side of competition, but I will always support, encourage, and love my daughter.

Maybe my attitude on this is what will lead to me getting kicked out of soccer games, but I’ll be keeping score and rooting hard. And as much as I want my daughter to win every time, I’ll be sure to teach her how to deal with a loss.

Artwork Anguish

  I seem to have lost my refrigerator. It used to be in my kitchen, but it's been replaced with a gallery for my daughter's artwork.

  Like all parents, the first "work of art" that I hung on the refrigerator was a source of pride, worthy of being shown off to anyone who came within twenty feet of the front door. Until then, nobody had probably seen such a masterful stroke of green fingerpaint. It was an instant classic - it's probably still on the refrigerator to this day.

  Unfortunately, I couldn't tell for sure - there are layers and layers of papers coating the fridge. It's like an old bathroom that's been covered over and over in wallpaper. No amount of chemicals would be able to burn through that coating.

  Over the years, the refrigerator has collected the finest trophies of my child's activities. There are swimming ribbons, homework assignments, pictures, paintings, and even photos from her little toy camera. It's become a mess. The fridge door groans when opening from having to support so much extra weight on the front.

  The simple and obvious solution is to get rid of this stuff. It hasn't been so simple. When I was a younger and more ambitious father, I scanned some of the artwork into the computer. This worked until the tonnage of work to scan exceeded what I could store on my hard drive. Plus, scanning things like that was kind of a tedious job.

  Around that time, my daughter figured out how to put things onto the refrigerator herself. Foolishly I reinforced this behavior by approving and beaming with pride at her ingenuity. Now she thinks that her job is to come home from preschool and put up her work.

  Once, I tried to get rid of a stack of papers before she could put them up anywhere. Only hours after I thought I had gotten away with it, she asked me why her papers were in the recycling bin.

  A better man would have used that moment as a chance to tell her that we couldn't keep everything.

  A lesser man could have told her it's because we don't love her, and if she keeps whining about it, she's next.

  I chose the wimpy way - I told her it must have been a mistake, and I helped her hang stuff on the fridge.
Either of the other two options would have worked so much better.

  Now the art collection has spread to my workplace. I have the most random collection of things adorning my walls. Now she prints pictures off the internet for me to hang in my classroom. It's not even stuff she has worked on! Just because she knows how to print something on the computer does not make it worthy of display. However, as soon as I got home the other day, she asked why I forgot to bring one such item to school.

  I'm stuck because I hate that look of disappointment. I want to keep her excited and proud of her work. I just need her to be proud without me having to show it off to my colleague and students.

  I have some thoughts on how to fix this problem without making her cry. Option one is to take away her crayons and pencils. Option two is to tape her fingers together so she can't write anymore. Obviously option one is no good because she could still print things. And the second isn't very practical because re-taping her hands each morning would take up too much time in the morning routine.

  I could just talk to her about this...

  Maybe it's time to buy a new refrigerator instead.

Dropping off a kid with a fever

I know I'm not the only one who has cheated and knowingly dropped off a kid with a fever.  Yeah, I know what the rules are, but there are times when people need to dump the kid and get on with their day.

Generally, daycares and schools don't want kids with fevers over 100 degrees.  Some places make you wait a full 24 hours after the fever is under before the child is allowed back.

Unfortunately, this does not always fit into a busy schedule.

I know why they don't want my sick kid there, but there are times when I have things that I need to do.  It's actually pretty easy to mask the fever.  A couple of children's tylenols will get the fever to dip enough to get through drop off.

After you pull away from the school, it will take quite a while for the caregivers to identify the illness and call you back to pick up the kid again.  Usually, it will be enough time to take care of whatever urgent thing you need to get done (working out, buying groceries, playing golf...).

Kindergarten is a lot easier than daycare for this.  They actually had thermometers in the daycare classroom, so you had to be a bit quicker on drop-off.  Those are the days when the kid could not go straight to a caregiver for a hug on arrival.  The friendly hello hug is where the caregivers figure out the elevated temperature before you can even sign in the kid.  If that happens, you get trapped - that thermometer would be in the mouth before you could escape, and you'd be leaving with the sick kid.

That's the advantage of kindergarten - there are fewer caregivers.  There's less chance for someone to discover the scheme until it is too late.

The most impressive deception I ever pulled was when my daughter was only two years-old.  On the way in to daycare, she threw up in the car, all over her jacket.

I pulled over and assessed the situation.  The jacket would not make it to school, but the rest of the outfit could be salvaged.  I went to work with baby-wipes doing a thorough clean-up of the area.  The next step was to get the kid to drink some water to cleanse the mouth.  The final step was some cologne that I had left in my glovebox.

Moments later, the kid was dropped off at school, and I was on my way to my appointment.  My day was saved, and my kid was fine.  Nobody was harmed, and she made it through the whole day.  No harm, no foul.


For one thing, that 100 degrees is kind of an arbitrary number.  The doctor doesn't even worry if the fever is that mild.  I can imagine the nurse on the phone covering the receiver and laughing when I call in a 100 degree fever.  Yeah, the kid is sick, but the following advice almost always follows: take children's tylenol and call back if the fever gets higher.

That degree of non-concern has relaxed my concern over a fever.  The nurse often asks questions about how the kid is acting - is she lethargic or acting normally?  Usually when sick, my kid is loving life and in a great mood - she's getting extra attention, TV time, and crackers on the couch.  So when I call in a fever, I usually report a very happy young child.

In the end, I use my best judgement of my kid before dropping her off.  If she's obviously sick, she'll stay home.  But if she's happy and in a good mood, there's no reason to let a slight fever keep her out of school.

Common sense wins over a number on a thermometer every time.

** Obviously I am NOT a doctor, so it would be extremely unwise for you take this as medical advice.  In fact, don't take this as medical advice - take it as advice on how to ignore medical advice. **

Those judging eyes of other parents

At the park today, my kid was trying to do the monkey bars by herself.  She has the strength and coordination, but she lacks the confidence.  So I pushed her to get past her fears.

When I say I pushed her, I mean I was strongly encouraging her to do better.  Okay, I was loudly telling her to move her hand to the next bar, but the point is that she was getting some coaching from her dad.

Of course, this coaching did not go unnoticed by some of the moms at the playground.  I definitely saw the eyes roll as I told my own kid to stop being scared and get to the next bar.

One mom went so far as to take her own kid and hold her as she swung across the monkey bars.  Yeah, I get it, you were trying to show me how to get my kid to the other side.  Well guess what mom, that doesn't count.

Here's the deal.  I know my kid's limits.  She's my daughter.  She's physically able to do the monkey bars.  And furthermore, she wants to get across the bars alone.  So I don't need your judging eyes on me as I help to coax her out of her fear.

If a child wants to be pushed or coached or encouraged, then as a parent, you need to do that for him or her.  It is easier to help a child instead of letting them be uncomfortable.  It is a natural instinct.  But kids need to learn to push past their perceived boundaries to grow.  I want my child to achieve - the way to do that is to help her past her fear.

So when I'm at the park, and my daughter is hanging halfway across the monkey bars with me strongly telling her to move her right hand to the next bar, you need to see that for what it is - good coaching.

As it turned out, she fell.  Then she looked up at me, laughing, and said, "I can't help it - this is so much fun!"

The curse of winning

The carnival is a dangerous place to bring a young child, and it's even worse for parents.

I used to think that not winning a little stuffed piece of cotton was the worst thing that could happen to a child.  I’ve learned a lesson: winning is even worse.

My child dragged me through the carnival over the weekend, and she won a little pink bear.  It was pretty impressive, and I was beaming with pride at my daughter's immense skill.  Then she pointed at another game that involved throwing ping-pong balls into water.  I knew she could do this.

She couldn't.  After two dollars and ten throws, there was no hope.  But then, the nice man at the booth gave my daughter one more throw and he made sure that it landed in water.  Winner!  Next thing I knew, I was being handed a goldfish in a plastic bag.  Not a cracker; it was the living, breathing aquarium-filler.

Seeing the concerned look on my face, the game-master quickly offered to sell me a fish tank with two fish for five dollars.  As my daughter stood looking at her fish, I quickly realized that the fish would be coming home with us either way.  Five more dollars gone.

The wife was not pleased when I walked back with the fish tank.  Who could blame her?  She asked what the fish were going to eat.  I walked back to the fish-con-man-booth and after another dollar, I had fish food.  And another problem.

I was up all night worried about fish care.  My only experience with fish involves a barbeque.  Plus the fish were going to inevitably die, and I did not want to have that talk with my daughter.

Ideas floated through my head of what to do.  Maybe the fish could just disappear.  But there's a fish tank at daycare, and she loves eating goldfish crackers.  There were too many things that would remind her that there's supposed to be a fish in the house.  Finally, I came up with the plan.

The next morning, I told my daughter that Mommy would be taking the fish back to be with their families and friends at the carnival.  I had a whole line of lies lined up with references to Finding Nemo and The Little Mermaid, but she went along with the idea.  Part one of the plan went off without a hitch.

As my wife left that morning, we made a big deal of saying good-bye to the fish, and I pretended to bring the fish out to the car.  Instead, I ran to the bathroom and flushed the little guys back to the ocean.  Part two: check.

The only anxious moment was a couple of hours later when my daughter asked to go pee-pee-potty.  I was deathly afraid that I'd open the toilet lid and see two goldfish smiling up at me, but the bowl was clean, and I had gotten away with it.

Not my best fathering moment, but the problem had been put out to sea.

This previously appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula