Dishonesty

Henry, my beloved, beautiful boy, lies. A lot, I think. And what I'm supposed to do about this has left me totally baffled. So I'm thinking, and writing, researching and talking. I've got to find my way here. I've got to blend what they say with what I know. So much is counting on me.

Of course the experts' advice about how to handle this with kids is contradictory but one thing emerged crystal clear: Do not call it a lie. If you call it a lie, the kid will get defensive and you'll go nowhere fast. Which is perhaps why I'm nowhere fast.

I am, by nature, more inclined to call things as I see them. But I'll never be too old to learn a few new tricks, and so I'm willing to entertain my options. Therefore, I looked up synonyms for the words "lie" and "truth." What I found is this: there are 43 synonyms for the word "truth," but double that amount to disguise the word "lie." Isn't that curious? Are we being cagey with the truth here, telling a little white lie about lying itself?

Lying strikes a deep chord within me; nothing ruins a relationship faster than distrust. My brother compulsively misleads me and my parents, and for as long as I can remember. Some of his misrepresentations are whoppers, but countless more are about insignificant things like what he had for lunch. We can't believe anything - and I do mean anything - he says. When he called to say that his house had burned down, my mom sent her brother to confirm the story; it was a real surprise - a treat, actually - to discover he had told us the truth.

Our middle child, John, is a teller of tall tales but it's easy to see them coming. Everything about him suddenly changes.

The enemies of the truth are always awfully nice.--Christopher Morley

His words tumble out, one after the other, almost in a sing-song way; his voice pitches higher, his body gets twitchy, his eyes widen. They are tell-tale signs of an impending dishonesty - and I welcome them. I can spot the fiction that's coming and steer it back to reality. "Is the teacher's assistant really going to return to the sea and catch more salmon?" "Have you really traveled 'far and wide' and 'always remembered your pillow'?"

This charming little boy, my lovely little boy, recently admitted that he hates his lying but that he just can't stop himself. Tender as the scene was, heartbroken as I felt, there was at least a little hope, too. All addicts need to admit they have a problem, and so must John. Maybe it's never too early to enter into recovery.

But Henry is a different story. Henry has no obvious tells, which is why I haven't learned to spot his "economy with the truth." Maybe he's been baffling us with bullshit because he doesn't believe he can dazzle us with brilliance? That's what I think. His lies are about painting a picture of himself as someone very different than he is. And I can understand that; who can't? But it's that motivation for his fabrications - to appear to be something he is not - that has got me so scared.

I don't know what to do but if anybody has any comments or suggestions, all I ask is this: Please, just be upfront with me, okay?