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.

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.

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

Why do kids love to be naked?

My daughter is a streaker. Give her any reason to get those clothes off, and she’s is off running around screaming “Naked Baby!”

I’m putting an end to this. Maybe it is because I’m a guy, but I’m really starting to get concerned about this fascination with nudity. It’s not just streaking; my daughter likes to pull up her dress to her head and show off her panties.

Why is that even fun?

It gets a reaction.

I can’t walk down the street and drop my pants to show off my boxers – it’s not socially acceptable. She needs to learn. My wife said it’s not a big deal – that it won’t affect her when she’s thirty.

Uhh – yeah it will. It’s not really good for the career to pull up your skirt in the middle of a meeting to show off your panties.

I know that there is an acceptable amount of nudity concerning kids, but the issue seems to be a grey area. Women I’ve talked to about this think I’m overreacting. Men agree that I need to nip it in the bud.

There is a difference in the way women and men think about these things. A lot of guys see the nakedness as a precursor to a life of inappropriate nakedness. If she takes off her shirt now, what’s going to happen at a college party?

Women view adolescent nudity through a pure, innocent lens. What could be sweeter than a young, carefree child frolicking naked through the grass? My answer: a carefree child with her clothes on.

Women see the moment, whereas the men see this as a harbinger of lewd behavior.

One thing that happens when my daughter runs around naked is people react. People laugh, and she becomes the center of attention.

Think of two famous actresses: Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. Which is the more vivid picture? Many people know Monroe from that iconic picture of her skirt blowing up from a gust of wind. Others remember her because of her other less-clothed photo-shoots. 

Monroe is the more well-remembered of the two. The reason for this is that people react to skin and nudity. It makes a difference, and it leaves an impression.

At this early age, my daughter is making a connection between her nakedness and people’s reactions. 

I have several jobs as a father, but one of the most important is to build up my daughter’s self-esteem and confidence to a level where she doesn’t have to wear low-cut outfits to get acceptance and attention.

A person who is confident in his or her skin doesn’t need to flash it to make friends. No matter how innocent a naked three-year-old is, I cannot disconnect the thought of this behavior continuing into her teen years.

She is far too young, but I have to worry about her keeping on her clothes. Her whole future depends on it.


This originally appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula

My kid isn't a sports star...

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 next birthday. Other dads everywhere are doing the same.

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 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, 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? Isn’t it more fun to be good? 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 we 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, but 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 his or her kids, but they all happen; we need face the ugly things just like we face the nice things.

There’s a line between too easy and too hard, but recently society has been toeing 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 walk it precariously. 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.

This previously appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula

Subtlety and Sarcasm

Kids don’t get wittiness. They just don’t.

So many people rely on sarcasm, innuendo, and intimation to express themselves. We use these things to express humor, frustration, and subtlety. But children’s brains just are not developed well enough to understand it consistently.

It’s a maturity and development phase that kids must achieve to appreciate sarcastic wit. Some can pick up on it at earlier ages, but others later. Still, some adults I’ve encountered still can’t appreciate sarcasm.
It’s both good and bad that children have this limitation. For example, when your child asks if you’d like to play chutes and ladders again and again and again, he or she actually believes it when you reply with a drawn out, “I’d love to baby.”

Additionally, you can make a child believe that you’re excited to look at the shape of the poop in the toilet, the dent left by a head in a pillow, the result of a light switch being flicked, and other mundane discoveries that they make in their lives. It’s not that you’re a bad parent, but be honest with yourself – aside from the amazement on the little one’s face, how jazzed are you to be taught that the doorbell makes a noise when you press it.

Seriously, if you can’t laugh a little bit with and at your child, maybe you just don’t have a sense of humor. These things are funny. Kids are funny. People send in home videos to television shows of children’s amusement and amazement at little things. The trick is to laugh without them knowing you are laughing. This is the beauty of sarcasm.

There’s even humor to be had in the children’s misunderstanding of sarcasm. I’ve had the experience of reacting to spilled milk with sarcasm (no crying over it, you know). I simply deadpanned, “Oh great,” while my child looked at the mess she had made. She looked up at me with big eyes and asked confusedly, “Daddy, why is it great? I spilled milk.”

After hearing that reaction, there was no way to even stay frustrated about the mess. That’s the thing about kids – they can make you laugh when you didn’t think you could.
However, this inability to process sarcasm can also be a drawback. This is why it is extremely important to measure your words and think before you speak.

Children, even teenagers, tend to be extremely literal. They take to words you say based upon the dictionary definition. They are still learning to infer meaning based upon context and inflection.
It can be a problem with teenagers because they are starting to look and act a lot more grown up. And some teenagers can appreciate and understand sarcasm. But those who don’t understand will struggle and may completely misinterpret an off-the-cuff comment – especially if it’s a reference to something they are already self-conscious about.

In all seriousness, we need to resist the urge to be sarcastic about the way they look, act, speak, and eat. Never tell a dieting teenager that the mouse-sized portion of food he or she is eating is too much. It is obvious by the context that it is too little. However, to a teenager obsessed with his or her weight that comment will be taken seriously.

And the same applies to younger children as well. Imagine a child asking about playing with your real hammer instead of the toy one. With a roll of the eyes and that all-so familiar facetious tone, you reply, “Oh yeah sweetie – that would be a wonderful idea.”

Next thing you know you’d hear a banging coming from the other side of your home and walls that looked like Swiss cheese. But you couldn’t blame the rambunctious rascal. All you could do is sigh and mutter to yourself one word under your breath: “Great.”

This originally appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula

Judging Other Parents

There was a time in my life (while my daughter was still being “cooked up”) when I looked at certain parents with disdain. There were so many horrible parenting examples out there, but I knew I would be better. I knew that I would not succumb to cheap, lazy tactics to keep my child in line.

That was then.

Now, many of the things that I looked down upon are critical elements of my parenting strategy.

For example, my wife and I often joked about parents who plopped in a DVD to keep the kids quiet during a car ride. For three years I resisted doing that too. Then, an hour long conversation in the car with my daughter changed my mind. It went something like this:

“Are we there yet?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

That went on and on.  And on and on.  And on. That’s when I finally understood how wrong I was to judge others. I bought a car DVD player the next day.

In my defense, I limit the DVDs to trips longer than two hours, but I now understand that flexibility and openness are key to parenting.

When I bought the DVD player, my wife asked what our parents would say about this. I thought long and hard about this. Things were always tougher on our own parents, yet somehow they managed to raise us just fine. Somehow we all survived our childhoods without all these gadgets and contraptions.

Then it came to me. The only reason that neither of our parents resorted to this strategy is that the technology didn’t exist. There were several summer car rides where I’m absolutely certain that my siblings and I drove my parents halfway to insane.

They used what resources they had. There were sing-alongs, license plate games, pocket-scrabble games. They tried, but nothing they had at their disposal was as powerful as the car DVD player.

Another example of “bad” parenting that I’d witnessed was using food to calm down the child. This is something parents, uncles, and aunts do all the time to quiet the kid down, reward the kid, or persuade the kid to do something.

I had sworn never to use food in this way. Again, I was wrong.

Granted, I don’t do it often, but there are certain times where the ends justify the means. For instance, parents always know when a child has to use the bathroom. We know that if the child does not use the potty before getting into the car, it will become a problem in about fifteen minutes.

The solution for the parent: reward the behavior we want. This is actually good parenting. This is how psychologists manipulate behavior. The difference is that instead of a healthy food pellet, I use gummy bears or Hershey’s Kisses. Oh well. If it means getting where I want to go without having to stop in some nasty bathroom fifteen minutes later, then I’m okay with an occasional unhealthy treat.

There are still a few things that parents do which I’ve scorned in the past but not yet come around to. I suppose the difference is luck or situation.

One such thing is the baby leashes. When I first saw one of these, I was aghast. What kind of horrible person would tether his or her child like this? Why couldn’t this parent just hold hands or watch the child?

Now I understand. First, even when keeping vigilant watch on my daughter, it just takes a half-second distraction for her to disappear. I’ve been in the mall and turned my head to look at something, and my daughter has already taken off in the other direction. Mine is a pretty good kid about that sort of thing. Plus I have only the one kid to watch.

For parents of multiple children, I apologize for judging you. Parents of children who like to run off: I’m sorry. To all the parents that I thought were doing things badly – I was wrong. I know now.

But have you seen these parents who let their kids stay up past 10:00 p.m.?  You’ll never see my child awake that late.  (Except when it may suit my needs).

This originally appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula

The Argument for Bad Parenting

Sometimes the best parenting seems so wrong. Don’t call CPS, but I am sure I did the right thing by not letting my daughter wear her raincoat the other day.

A lot of the decisions I made that felt counterintuitive at the time have turned out to be good for her. Regarding the raincoat incident, my daughter had a complete meltdown in Starbucks, so after several warnings, we had to leave.

As many of you probably know, trying to reason with a nuclear tantrum is as fun as sticking a fork into a light socket. She refused to put on her coat, so I told her that if she didn’t put it on, she could go without. The coat stayed off; I started walking out.

She followed me to the car in a light drizzle screaming for her rain coat. A one point she fell and cried even louder. I stuck to my guns and kept walking. No joke: two passers-by watched the seen and gave me the dirtiest looks.

We finally got to the car and went home. My daughter was none the worse for wear. No cold, no broken bones, and no more tears. The point is that I said something and I didn’t go back on that. I strongly believe that if a kid can win certain battles, it will undermine your parenting.

As a high school teacher, I’ve come across several kids who have never heard “No” before, and not surprisingly, they get themselves into quite a bit of trouble. Imagine how these kids are going to handle a job when they don’t know when not to cross a line.

Not to brag (well a little), but my daughter is incredibly well behaved. She follows rules, she’s polite, and she asks permission to do things. I think this has a lot to do with knowing that what the parents say is the law.

This isn’t the only example of my exceptional/poor parenting. It actually started very early in life. My daughter was always squirming out of her swaddles, so I came up with a double-blanket-straightjacket-swaddle. I don’t really need to describe it beyond that, but I will tell you she slept soundly when she was bound… err bundled this way.

Staying on the sleep thing, after months of checking on every cry, my wife and I finally gave in and let the kid cry. It worked. She cried herself to sleep, and has been a good sleeper ever since (10-12 hours straight per night). You cannot argue with that success.

When she fell, I didn’t comfort her. Again, I got the dirty looks from other parents, but now when my daughter falls, it’s not a big deal. She dusts herself off and gets back to playing. The upside to that is that now of she does fall and cry, I know that it was a doozy. Now that she’s trained, I’ll give her a hug.

We’ve moved on to potty training, and my bad parenting opportunities have multiplied. If she refuses to pee on the pot, and then wets herself in her diaper moments later, I won’t change her right away. It won’t kill her, and she has to learn.

In spite of all the “horrible” things I’ve subjected her to, my daughter has developed into a sweet, nice young girl. I plan to continue my bad parenting and I know this is the best thing for her.

Just keep this confession away from her future psychiatrist.

Justin Raisner lives with his wife and daughter in San Mateo. In addition to constantly being outsmarted by his daughter, he teaches high school English in the Sequoia Union High School District.

This originally appeared in Parenting on the Peninsula