Honesty

I decided that I would always be honest with my children.  I had made this decision before I had any children; back when I knew all the right answers to any child raising situation.  Honesty, yes.  No matter how uncomfortable it may be.  Honesty is always the right answer.  

I managed to navigate the first couple of years being utterly, totally, honest.  Of course, I didn't need to question the wisdom of this policy what with children being pretty much unable to form a coherent sentence until about age two.   Two years, scott free.  Boom!  After that, I got nothing but positive reinforcement on my honest policy.

"The moon is turning dark because the earth is blocking the sun. It's called an eclipse.  I'll show you how it works with these oranges and a flashlight."

"Coyotes can't hide in your closet and eat you because they can't get in the house.  Coyotes don't have thumbs to open doors or windows.  They're like dogs.  Ever see our dogs open a door?  They can't.  That's why they bark to be let in and out.  Think about it, if the dogs could open doors, they'd be eating stuff from the refrigerator all day."

"Mufasa isn't really dead because he's a drawing.  It's pretend.  The man who's voice you hear when Mufasa talks is James Earl Jones.  Pretending is his job.  He gets paid money to pretend all day.  Would you like to see a picture of James Earl Jones?"  

"There's no such thing as cooties.  There are germs, but that's why we wash our hands before eating."

It worked brilliantly.  Until the oldest started school. 

For St. Patrick's Day, the teachers thought it would be great fun to pretend that leprechauns were causing havoc in the classroom every time the kids left the room.  Trash cans were upturned, papers were scattered all over the floor, and little bare footprints in watercolor paint were all over the desks.  This terrified of my kid.   She couldn't sleep.  She was afraid that the leprechauns might have followed her home.  I finally told her, "Honey, leprechauns aren't real.  It's pretend."

"But I saw their footprints, mommy!"

I showed her how to make little feet with the palm of her hand and fingers in watercolor paint.  She giggled in relief.

As I was tucking her back into bed she asked, "If leprechauns aren't real...is the tooth fairy real?"

I was now at the crossroads of honesty and sucking the magic out of my 4 year old child's life.  I didn't want to make this decision myself so, in an attempt to weenie out, I cunningly threw it back to her.  "Do you want to have fun or do you want to know the truth?"  I asked this because what kid doesn't want to have fun?  Fun is what kids are all about.  No brainer!

"I want to know the truth."

(Ugh! Dammit!) "Nope.  Not real."

"The Easter Bunny?" she asked.

"Nope," I shook my head.

"What about Santa?"

"Seriously?  Why do you have to ask me this?"

"Because I want to know the truth, Mommy," she offered.

"Ugh!  No,  Santa isn't real.  Grown-ups pretend Santa to make Christmas more magical and fun for kids."

My child, who I expected to be crushed was...thrilled to be let in on the grown-up, insider knowledge.  She smiled.  And then she promised not to tell her baby sister.  "Don't worry.  I'll play along and make it fun for her with you and Daddy." And then she went to sleep.  All the magic of childhood, poof!  Gone.  And she was okay with it.

I've thought about that episode and how many times I've chosen pretend over the truth. Because pretend is easier.  Because pretend is more fun.  Because pretend is comforting.  Because I don't have to face things about myself and others that are difficult when I choose to pretend.  Because sometimes, reality means accepting the hurt.  Or the pain.  Or the loss of magic.   

I wish I always had the bravery of my 4 year old girl.