Why aren’t my children better liars?
It’s not like they don’t practice.
I feel like such a failure. Clearly, I’m not providing them with the deception training they need to develop into the amazing liars I know they could be.
Consider yesterday’s example:
I asked Son#3 & Son#4, “Did you finish cleaning your room?”
“Yes!” they answered in unison, already opening the cabinet to access the Xbox.
“Is it really clean, or did you just stop working on it?” I asked to clarify their answer. I watch Law & Order. I know how to interrogate.
“It’s clean!” they answered in unison, sticking to their story, while they tug-o-war’ed with the favored XBox black controller. They’ve been watching NCIS for denial tips.
“Are you sure?” I asked, carefully maintaining eye contact to watch for hints of deception. That’s what Patrick Jane does.
“Yes!” they again answered, emphatically in unison. Son#3 had somehow managed to wrest the coveted black controller away from Son#4. I was surprised that Son#4 wasn’t complaining about being stuck with one of the less loved light colored controllers, but I didn’t allow it to get me off track.
“Yes,” Son#3 answered slowly. “He’d be wearing shoes, right?”
“He should probably wear boots,” Son#4 offered, while lining up their Skylanders.
“Clean your room!” was my closing argument.
Or, perhaps consider Daughter#3’s poor performance after she walked past my home office doorway with perfectly curled tresses rather than her naturally straight hair:
“Did you use my curling iron?” I asked, knowing the answer, as it’s the only one in our house ever since the “Why is the mattress on fire?” incident of 6 months ago.
“No,” she said, picking up speed a bit in a race to hit the stairs before I hit her with the next question.
I can move fast, too, and darted out into the hall to ask, “Then, how did your hair get so curly?”
“I must have slept on it funny,” my 3rd-born feminine-flower answered.
“I must have twirled it around my finger a lot in my sleep,” she suggested, clearly thinking my mind had twirled out my ear in the middle of the night.
I couldn’t help but do a brain revealing eye roll. I hollered down the stairs to her, “Put my curling iron back in my bathroom right now, before I twirl you around something.”
You know, it’s not the lying so much as the lack of effort behind it that really bothers me. I mean, come on, if they’re going to be dishonest, couldn’t they at least make a decent attempt? I’m not a complete moron.
How about even a little effort? Couldn’t they at least wipe the chocolate off their faces before denying they ate my chocolate bar?
How about showing some respect? Is it too much to ask that they at least hide my suede boots after wearing them out in the rain, rather than sticking them, dripping with mud, back on my shelf?
How about acknowledging my intelligence? Why not put down his brother’s truck before denying taking it from him?
How will they be finesse-filled spouses or skilled parents or convincing Christmas character supporters?
How will they successfully apply for a mortgage or negotiate for a car or eat dinner at their in-laws house?
I realize now that I should have set a better example. I should have been lying to them all along.
But, it’s never too late to start. I’ll change my ways. I’ll make a difference in their lives before it’s too late. I’ll start lying to them today.
I know there’s still hope.
If I really make the effort, I may be able to raise a pack of skilled liars yet!
Laugh Out Loud!
Anyone told you a real whopper lately? What was it? What did you do? Did you ever feed your parents a pile of bologna? What happened? Shoot me a comment. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.Taken from Gina Valley’s Why Aren’t My Kids Better Liars February 2013 ginavalley.com Photos courtesy of Stock.xchng – Used with permission