Liar Pants

Don't worry. I'm not about to brag about my daughter's astronomical GPA. Or her supermodel good looks. Her hall of fame athleticism. Or her selfless devotion to those less fortunate. 

Sure, she's bright and pretty, sporty and kind. And, I do post as many proud moments on Facebook as the next mom. (Maybe more. Okay, more.) But, I'm not blind to my offspring's shortcomings.

For example, she is an utterly terrible liar.

I mean it, she's really really bad at it. Really bad.

And that's a really (really really) good thing.

When she was very little, I was traveling with colleagues to see some clients. One was the father of two girls slightly older than mine. The other didn't have any children. He listened to some of our stories (it was a long business trip) and shuddered. "I can't imagine having kids," he said. "It sounds so hard." Then, after a moment he shrugged and said, "I guess the main thing is never to lie to them."

The other parent and I almost choked on our airport coffee.

"Oh nooooooo," I exaggerated laughing, "We neverrrrrr lie to them."

"Never never," laughed my colleague.

"Never never never," I agreed, "Except ... like, always."

There are the standard, society-supported fictions. You know, Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy. Then there are the situational ones: "I'm sorry, honey, Ben and Jerry's ran out of chocolate ice cream." Or, "Boo Boo Kitty went away to cat sleepover camp." 

Or, "It isn't whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game." 

Hmmmm. Yeah, that rings true in the adult world, doesn't it? 

Not.

Anyway, children grow up surrounded by lies — well-meaning lies mainly, but lies nonetheless. Then they start telling them. Some at a younger age than others. I was at a board meeting yesterday and heard about someone's daughter who, at a mere two-and-a-half, has already effectively pulled the wool over her daycare teacher's eyes. "Why is she wet?" her mother asked when she picked her up. "Oh," she was assured, "She sat in a puddle. She told me so." 

You can probably fill in the rest of the blanks.

Did I mention the little tale-teller is two-and-a-half? Oh boy!

Meanwhile, my daughter, at seventeen, is still a fairly flimsy fabricator. Her powers of deception are not as keen as they might be.

And I am glad on't.

Just last week, I sent her off to her job at the stable with a container of yogurt and a plastic spoon. It was a rather desperate attempt to get her to eat something, anything, in the morning other than a chocolate chip muffin. She returned home with a tragic tale of grief and loss. The yogurt, alas, did not fare well on the journey. By the time she got to work, it was melted and warm and not good. She sighed with resignation. The performance was, shall we say, a bit overwrought.

The next day, I found the spoon. Still in the car. Not a molecule of yogurt on it. When confronted, my daughter tried to continue the subterfuge but folded pretty quickly. She admitted that she had indeed fabricated the melty, warm, not good story. 

"But," she insisted, "That's what it would have been."

Well, then. Alrighty.

I had to laugh. If my daughter is going to lead a secret life, to dissemble, to feign, to ... well ... lie, it's absolutely better that she do so in regard to breakfast than where any more serious subjects are concerned. Like sex. Or drugs. Or alcohol. Right? Of course right.

Why do teens lie? According to Psychology Today, there are three main reasons. To gain freedom, to escape punishment, or to attain something forbidden. I guess, those are pretty important reasons.

Almost as important as avoiding yogurt.
 
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Affluenza and Other Epidemics

Have you heard the term "affluenza?"

It's a clever mash-up of affluence and influenza, but it isn't exactly new. In 2005, Clive Hamilton and Richard Denniss published Affluenza: When Too Much Is Never Enough. The book explains that people who "aspire to the lifestyles of the rich and famous at the cost of family, friends and personal fulfilment" create for themselves stress, depression and even obesity. Two years later, Oliver James, a British psychologist, published Affluenza: How To Be Successful and Stay Sane. He talks about "selfish captalism" or "placing a high value on money, possessions, appearances (physical and social) and fame." He also sees affluenza as an important factor in the rise of mental illness. 

Last month, affluenza was used as a legal defense in a Texas case involving a drunk teenage driver. 

Young Ethan Couch was caught stealing beer on a store surveillance camera before taking seven friends for a ride in his father's truck. He was speeding with a blood alcohol level of three times the legal limit (and traces of valium in his system too). He killed four pedestrians and injured another eleven.

Open and shut case, right? Wrong.

One word: affluenza.

You see, the young man had money. The young man had clever lawyers. And, the young man, according to those clever lawyers, had never learned right from wrong because he was brought up in such a privileged family and never taught to take responsibility for his actions. Rather than incarcerate this 'poor little rich boy,' he was sentenced to ten years probation and one year in a program for troubled teenagers.

Unbelievable, right? Just wait. It gets more so.

Cited as evidence were incidents from earlier in Couch's life. He started driving, illegally, at thirteen. At fifteen, the police found him with a naked, unconscious girl in his car. Rather than look at these past events as an indictment on his character or behavior (bad seed, anyone?), they were held up as part of the defense. Since he wasn't punished for those earlier transgressions, he shouldn't be this time either.

Does this kid have issues? Maybe. Is that mighty cold comfort to the families of any of his victims? Hell, yes. And if the judge, in all his wisdom, honestly, truly (madly, deeply) believed that Couch wasn't at fault because his parents didn't do their job, shouldn't they be held responsible? As in legally?

The whole story is stunning.

Affluenza is about the Twinkiest of "Twinkie defenses" I've ever heard. It's appalling really. And, it made me wonder where we draw the line. My own teen daughter does know the difference between right and wrong, and I believe (I know) she would never do anything as stupid, as destructive or deadly as this stupid, destructive, deadly boy. But, like most upper middle-class parents, I've tried to make things smooth for her.

I wonder sometimes just how far is too far.

What about those harmless white lies we tell on their behalf? Like when we send a note to a teacher excusing an absence (or the absence of completed homework).

And how about cheating? I know many (many) well-meaning moms who have edited their children's essays well past the point of merely proofreading. Not just schoolwork either, but college application essays.

Or when we drive over the limit with our teen in the car, aren't we showing them that it's ok to speed? And even more important maybe, aren't we telling them that it's ok to break the law?

How about when they see us, y'know, "fudge the numbers" on our income tax? Or drink or get high? What about calling in sick when we're ... well ... not?

We've all heard (and probably said) "Do as I say, not as I do." But, who are we fooling? Not our teens. Do we really expect our children to live by rules we aren't following? Wake up.

Stephen Sondheim wrote brilliant lyrics about this for his show Into The Woods. The song is called "Children Will Listen."

Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you for which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say "Listen to me"
Children will listen

Any children listening to the judicial system of the state of Texas last month learned an invaluable lesson.

Money walks.


If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Truth Is

When my daughter was a toddler, a colleague of mine — with no rug rats of his own — liked to spoil her. He helped me pick out souvenirs on business trips. He made her extraordinary custom birthday party invitations. He returned from Disney World with the pinkest, frilliest, sparkliest princess hat he could find. 

He clearly loved kids, so one day I suggested he and his partner think about having some of their own.

"Oh no," he objected. "That would be way too hard."

I tried to reassure him and he eventually shrugged and said, "Well, I guess the most important thing would just be honesty. Never lie to them. Always tell the truth."

There was another parent in the room with us at the time, and he and I both choked.

"Are you kidding?" I managed to say.

"I lie to my kids all the time," our colleague added.

The childless friend was surprised and we quickly filled him in. On top of the tallest tales: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, there were countless smaller stretchings of the truth every day. Sometimes for the child's own good. More often, to preserve the parent's sanity.

"Sorry honey, we're all out of Oreos."

Now that my daughter is a teenager, it's harder to avoid the truth. Tell her there are no Cheese Puffs left and she'll go and look for herself. Try to keep a private conversation with her father private and prepare to face a raised eyebrow at best, followed by unrelenting nagging until you give in and 'fess up. Somehow, between the ages of five and fifteen, my daughter has developed a finely tuned bullsh*t meter. She knows when I'm trying to cover something up and she will not rest until the truth comes out.

She's not alone. Teens these days don't want a whitewashed version of the world around them. They want truth, T-R-U-T-H. Their favorite musician just went into rehab? No problem. They not only want the juicy details, but the star's flaws make them more alluring. It isn't so much that teen fans want to emulate their idols' bad behavior either. It's more about being "real."

On Facebook, they leaves posts on each other's walls that start with the words: "Truth is ..." Then they add some private joke or personal message. It could be funny or sweet or silly. The point is, it's "truth." 

The same principle holds for YouTube videos. My generation may watch reality shows on TV. (Truth is ... I've been known to pour a glass of pinot and cringe along with The Real Housewives of New York. For the record, as a native New Yorker I can assure you that there is nothing "real" about them.) But, my daughter's friends would rather watch homemade videos of less-than-beautiful people telling it as they see it. Anything too slick, too scripted, too produced and they tune out. Truth is, it's not truth.

I find it interesting that my daughter is reaching (if not already at) an age when lying becomes more and more of an issue. I was an extremely "good girl" when I was her age, but I was still an accomplished liar. (Thankfully, my own adolescent untruths were not about sex or drugs or alcohol — they were mainly about fabricated sleepovers in order to see midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.) 

There's a certain amount of vigilance that comes with parenting a teen. High school started just three weeks ago and I've already heard tales of students feigning illness in order to "ditch." I am trying to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt, but there's a part of me waiting to catch her. When (not if) I do, I'm hoping it is something relatively harmless. A mild act of filial rebellion, not a major felony.

Just as I want honesty from her, she wants to know the truth about me too. I tend to be a perfectionist, and it's hard to face up to my own weaknesses. Then again, my daughter is very quick to find my flaws. I might as well admit when I'm wrong or just don't know the answers.

Truth is ... she'll find reasons to roll her eyes anyway. I might as well keep it "real."

The Lying Game

"Honesty is the best policy."

"The truth shall set us free."

"Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters."

There are countless adages. There are also countless ways a tween can display her disdain about those adages. Rolled eyes, heavy sighs, shoulder shrugs, or simply a blank stare. In the court of tween, there are far worse crimes than perjury.

We were very fortunate when my daughter was younger. Whether it was superior parenting on my part (a lovely but unlikely thought) or a fabulous family daycare provider or terrific teachers or genetics or pure dumb luck, she was a cheerful and compliant child. And, in truth, she is still fairly easy. We haven't had to worry about the big three yet: drugs, alcohol, sex.

But, my daughter's no saint either. I can't put my finger on any specific falsehoods, per se, but we've certainly seen our share of lies of omission. "I forgot to tell you ..." she'll say. Or, "Oh, I didn't remember that rule." Or, "It slipped my mind." Or, "I lost track of time."

There's a new sneakiness that we have to keep an eye on. It's tempting to crack down and try to seize complete control. But, totalitarian regimes rarely last. "Because I said so," lost its power long ago. And, in all honesty, I run out of steam trying to police her long before she runs out of steam trying to get away with things.

Why do tweens and teens lie? Sometimes, certainly, it's to cover bad behavior or to attain something they want (but aren't supposed to get). Sometimes, I think, it's to seem cool in front of their friends. And sometimes, maybe it's just another tool to help them feel in control and independent. Just as they are trying on new hairstyles and clothes, they are experimenting with their personality. Who are they going to be when they grow up? And, more importantly, how fast can they get there?

Let's assume that fibbing is just another developmental stage then. In that case, hopefully, you won't be completely appalled by the following Twitter feeds, in which teens not only lied, but are bragging about it to their peers. Then again, maybe the boasts themselves are lies. Is that like a double negative? If you lie about a lie are you really telling the truth? (What a tangled web teens weave!)

Here goes ...

"Oh yeah, we just watched a few movies ..."

"I didn't take the car last night."

"Everybody failed the test, mom."

"Nothing to worry about between me and him, we're just friends ..."

"I've already done my homework."

"It's not mine. It's my friend's."

"Can I stay home? I don't feel good."

"They don't give report cards anymore!"

"I can't hear you. I'll call you back."

"I don't know how those condoms got in my pocket."

"I swear if you get me this I won't ask for anything else."

That last one is sadly familiar to me (and to my wallet). The rest, happily, I have yet to encounter. And, I'd like to think I never will. But, in all honesty ...

You can read more of these feeds (if you really want to) at #LiesIveToldMyParents.