We all lie to our children. Sometimes that’s all right. Sometimes it isn’t.
I don’t have proof, of course, but I firmly believe the Tooth Fairy is not real. He (or she) never made an appearance at our house. It was either my wife Monica or I who slipped a little cash under a pillow and hunted for a tiny tooth.
I assume it was my mother or father who did the same when I was a child. A dime for my siblings and me. A buck for my children. Inflation. Whattaya gonna do?
But there’s another form of inflation, and another kind of lie, that concerns me.
My parents were very supportive. Always. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. The five of us children never had everything we wanted but we never lacked anything we needed.
Now, looking back, I realize one of the ways our parents helped us reach a healthy adulthood was by pointing out our strengths, our gifts, without lying about them. They helped us stand tall but never puffed us up with … well, with hot air.
That’s the other kind of lie. The one that’s now masquerading under the pleasing buzz words “positive affirmation.”
But there’s a difference — a big difference — between “you are very good at soccer” and “you are the best soccer player ever.” Between “you are a handsome lad” or a “beautiful young lady” and “you’re the best looking kid in the world.”
And parents mean no harm. In fact, they might not be lying. They might be able to sail through a polygraph test but come on, folks — it’s more than likely that it just ain’t so. That 5-year-old goalie is not the best soccer player ever. That fifth-grader is not the most physically attractive 10-year-old on the face of the earth.
The trouble with lies is sooner or later they collapse. The truth comes out. In the case of the Tooth Fairy, the child doesn’t mind. It was a nice fantasy, a pleasant diversion to take one’s mind off the hole in his or her smile, and a dandy source of cash.
It’s a myth and a tradition that has no long-term consequences of ill side effects except, of course, for the newest generation of parents who sputter a bit at how much their child is getting per tooth compared to what they were able to collect. (Which causes them to comment “When I was your age…” and as soon as the words are out they realize they are now parroting their own parents and that causes even more concern. Ye gads, what’s next? “Because I’m the mommy, that’s why” and “As long as you live in my house, you’ll follow my rules?”)
On the other hand, the relatively new practice of praising a child with superlatives can have consequences and side effects that a mom and dad never intended. They want their child to feel positive about himself or herself and that’s great. But if Johnny or Janie is feeling positive about something that is, well, pretty much baloney, that’s not so great.
And there is no better group of baloney-detectors than a child’s peers. They do not hesitate to point out that he or she is not the world’s greatest or loveliest.
And the child isn’t stupid. Let’s give the kid some credit. A youngster can recognize that a teammate is a better player, or that a classmate is more attractive.
Ah, but this is all subjective, isn’t it? Yes, to a large degree, and that compounds the problem. What is “best”? What is “prettiest”? Neither is like tallest. Something that’s obvious. Something that can be measured. Neither is like fastest. Run from here to there. One kid wins. Case closed.
With inflated affirmation, three things can happen. And two of them are bad.
1. The child can stubbornly refuse to accept the truth and, to use an old but accurate description, act as if he or she is God’s gift to the world. A little prince. A tiny princess. Their peers, of course, will use other terms. “Ball hog” and “stuck-up,” for example. Invariably, the kids who are legends in their own minds have a tough time making and keeping friends.
2. The child, realizing he or she is not the best, not the greatest, refuses to do anything unless he or she is very, very good at it. If he can’t be Number 1, immediately, he doesn’t want to be Number Anything. If she is less than perfect, at once, she stalks away. This is more than a fear of failure. It’s a fear of not being top dog.
These kids take longer to learn that everyone is good at something and no one is good at everything. To mature to the point that they realize it’s OK to be mediocre at an activity if mediocre is your best, and if you enjoy whatever that activity may be. To realize that not everything worth doing has to be done well.
Yes, ideally, every child should get to be the star at something. Every one of us should. One little snippet of wisdom that makes life so much easier is recognizing that sometimes we’ll be center stage and sometimes — more often — we’ll be part of the chorus. And that “the play” — the world we live in — needs both.
3. The child may correctly interpret a parent’s words. “You are the best” means “I think you are very good at” or “You are my favorite player” or “I most enjoy watching you.”
Or simply, “I’m on your side.”
“I want only the best for you.”
“I love you.”
The intended message has no condition attached to it. It’s not because you are very good at a sport. Not because you’re physically attractive.
“I love you.”
It’s easier to simply say those words. It can also be harder to get them out, but if we as Catholic parents do that — if we tell the plain, wonderful truth — then our children are more likely to recognize the truth in those words when they hear them somewhere else. When they realize Someone else says those words, too. The One who made them — not the prettiest in the world, not the best — but them, just as they are. Talented in some areas, and pretty much stinko in others.
Those are his words and he does not lie:
“I’m on your side.”
“I want only the best for you.”
“I love you.”
Copyright 2000 Catholic Exchange
