My subject this week is children and lying, so it’s appropriate that we just celebrated Presidents Day. The legend of George and the cherry tree is supposed to extol the honesty of the six-year-old who could not lie to his father when asked who had hacked the tree with a hatchet. How ironic, then, that that story is supposedly more myth than legend — in other words, a lie — made up by a biographer who needed a hook to tell our first president’s story.
Part of my recent melancholy has to do with lies. Of course, wrapped in there was the realization that I am closer to empty nesthood than I thought — this topic was treated in my last column. Part of it is this dreary mid-winter weather, when March is around the corner but too much the roaring lion and not the gamboling lamb. It’s human nature, when wrapping up anything — whether it’s a project or a life phase — to examine the work and wonder: was this the best I could do, what have I accomplished, and how could I have done better.
I had uncovered lies my children had told me. Deliberate acts of deceit, cover-ups. Molly would tell you that the nature of her lies was lily white, that she had painted a picture of deep satisfaction with her roommate situation, that her studies were very productive, and she was enjoying the bon vivant, cafe life of the carefree Parisian. The reality was not so rosy.
How can we swoop in and beam you out of a bad situation if you are not honest about what that situation really is, I demanded. Why would you delude not just us but yourself and create an even bigger mess than had you come forward sooner so we could assess and come up with a plan together? “To thine own self be true,” I intoned Shakespeare’s advice. Consequently, I felt powerless to help her when things did go south, and only belatedly did we move her into a new apartment. But not before there was unnecessary pain.
I was upset with Will because I had set him up with an SAT tutor the summer before sophomore year as well as last summer, right before junior year. I knew that as a lacrosse recruit, the process would go quickly, and strong scores could be critical for coaches. I also knew, on a gut level, that math could pose a challenge; hence, the focus on numbers. Get it done early, get it done right, let’s be one and done in November, I strategized.
Turns out he did not put in the work he had led me to believe he was doing over those two summers. You betrayed my trust, and wasted my time and money? The Tiger Mom was incensed not just at him but also at herself. I should have followed that old Russian proverb invoked by President Ronald Reagan during his 1980s arms control negotiations with Mikhail Gorbachev: “Trust but verify.” It’s a nifty little saying and very handy dandy to apply to many interactions with your children, especially to check in to see whether your son is doing is summer math homework or not. Even when it appears that he is. The child can act.
I ran across an article in the New York Times that made me feel better about lies, my kids, and my reaction. “Why Students Lie and Why We Fall for It” is by Jessica Lahey, a middle school and high school teacher. She, in turn, quotes another writer, Maria Konnikova, who authored a book called “The Confidence Game; Why We Fall for It … Every Time.”
Konnikova says that all kids lie; it’s a part of growing up, testing limits, and adjusting to social expectations and norms. She says that we lie as children and we continue to lie as adults. Of course, there are boundaries. Untruths can range from white lies, which are intended to shield or protect in some ways, to egregious super-platform lies that are actual crimes — Ponzi schemes, bank fraud and forgery come to mind — and then moral crimes, such as adultery.
Lying, it seems, is an ingrained part of nature and a normal part of the human experience. Konnikova says that people who are trusting are happier and healthier. Lahey says the more we care about other people, the more easily we are deceived by them, which explains why she is so easily duped by her students and her own children.
Following all of this logic, it seems that I would be in a really good place. I think of myself as trusting — really, who would stand to gain anything by lying to me? And I do love my kids and trust them — sometimes maybe a little bit too much, but isn’t that better, healthier, than having a relationship of mistrust?
Today’s social media culture perpetuates a climate where lying — okay, let’s call it exaggeration — is not only common, but in a way, accepted. Isn’t posting only pictures of your happy self on Facebook a lie of omission because no one can see your sad self and get the full spectrum of your real life? Aren’t the filters and editing apps on Instagram a way of presenting — quite literally — a filtered version of your existence?
I felt quite jolly after reading Lahey’s column and resolved to purchase Konnikova’s book. I even forwarded the article to my children with a note: Please read this great article. It explains a lot.
One child skimmed the column quickly; another ignored it. One asked, rather defensively, “Is there a reason why you sent this to me?”
“It’s a good thing,” I replied, “and I didn’t single you out. It means that I haven’t failed as a mom and I’m in good company with the rest of the human race.” It’s a little like finding out that things that are bad for you — like alcohol — can actually be good — in moderation.
