Tales off The Bus: When First We Practice to Deceive

Huge thanks to Mary over at Owlhaven for listing this post.  That made my day.  And I thoroughly enjoyed your comments! M

     

  Tales off The Bus

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”  Sir Walter Scott

My 5 year-old developed a conscience…and just as suddenly the ability to deceive.  And, I’m sorry to admit this, but it showcased one of the most precious memories of motherhood and reminded me of exactly why I wanted kids. 

I could see the consternation on my baby’s face as he was ushered from the schoolbus on Thursday.  His eyes greeted me for a split second and then nervously darted to the ground.  He walked in with nary a word about his day — you know, the usual answers of “cutted and pasted” and “Ms. Golika got onto Josh again.”  It seems that he, for once, had no artwork to proudly produce from his backpack.  His face dropped as I reached in for the dreaded lime-green folder.  His eyebrows flattened, and his eyes matted of their luster, and the color drained from his lips. 

“A., what happened today?  You have no happy face.  Your teacher wrote that you were playing in the restroom. Is that true?” 

Now, to use the abstract term “true” with a kid this young is almost to say, “Make up a version that you would like to have happened.”  This is what he said, covering his bottom as he spoke:

“Josh pushed me in the bathroom, and I said ‘ouch.’  Then Ms. E. came in and moved my sun.” His story was replete with gesticulations and movements that must have been mentally practiced on the busride home.  However, he spoke haltingly, with lips that would not move and a voice that was unusually lacking in volume.  And his eyes remained downcast and without their usual twinkle.  Ahhhh, I pondered, my little man is growing up.  His self-loathing was almost palpable and filled the space between us as I put the folder away and gave him a hug.  He’s my fourth.  I know these things now.

The following morning, thinking that I would simply sign the folder and return it, he did not bristle when I brought it out again.  With his little mouth full of banana muffin, I told him to sit beside me as I signed it.  His little crumby mouth dropped open, though, as I added, “I am going to write Ms. E. a note about you getting bullied yesterday so that she doesn’t think you were playing in the restroom.”  I could see his shoulders slump as he hoisted the backpack on, and could see him looking down the entire climb up the steep rubber steps of the bus.  He did not wave goodbye to me as they pulled away.

 I was comforted that his conscience was alive and well in his little chest.  I felt myself a good mother to have created a chasm between the sweet boy that he knew himself to be and this deceitful villian who could not look Mom in the face.  He would have to sort this out for himself and bridge our distance with the truth. 

 And, thankfully, when our kid fails to do it, the goodhearted, longtime teacher (who doesn’t take being lied about personally) will bridge the distance for him. 

I received a call from Teacher right before Little A.’s bus was to drop him off.  Chuckling, she related to me that A. had failed to turn in that lime-green folder with the rest of his classmates, instead quietly placing it on a side desk and limping off all hunched over-like.  She found this puzzling, but understood once she retrieved it and noticed my note to her questioning the story.  She also informed me that Little A. had purposely “forgotten” to take said folder home in his backpack — you know, the folder with her reply in it.  “Brilliant!,” I thought!  “I would never have thought of that in pre-K!”

It seems that Little A. had, in fact, been running around in circles, laughing all the while, in the boys’ bathroom at school with three other boys.  He had, in fact, run smackdab into Ms. E. when she walked in.  He was caught in the thick of it.  To me, as Mom, this was such a small infraction.  Yet in his very little world, the one where I am Queen of HomeLand, and Teacher is Queen of SchoolLand, this was devastating.  I assured Ms. E. that I would try not to have too much fun with this situation when he arrived.

Little A., having sidestepped the downward spiral, traipsed off of the schoolbus without a care in the world.  He had sewn up the gaping hole in his life with a single omission.  The lime-green folder was, hopefully, floating around in oblivion and never to be seen again.  For now (which is all that he could comprehend, obviously), life was good again, and he a good boy with no criminal record. 

As we walked in, him in my arms, and kisses on the cheek, he threw off his little red Gortex coat and kicked off his shoes.  I told him, “What did you make me?  What did you bring me?”, as I do everyday in anticipation of his turning his back to me and laughing while I reached around and over him to steal my “surprise” of the day’s artwork.  He proudly handed me a craft that consisted of cotton balls and still-moist glue, and a sticker from the Treasure Box. 

“Did Josh bully you today?,” I asked. 

Little A. replied, “No, not today.  He was good today.” 

“Hey, let me see the folder,” I said, “I want to see if Ms. E. talked to Josh about bullying you yesterday and put your sun back up.”  I snickered inwardly as he foraged for his folder, acting dismayed that it was not among the contents.  I held back a snort as he lifted the backpack in the air and stuck his head fully in to “find” it.  He carried the act a little further as he formed a gaping mouth and made exaggerated head-turns from side to side, and *gasp* even looked under the newspaper to find the folder that he had undoubtedly purposely left in Ms. E.’s class.  In his own mind, not only had he intercepted communications between Home Queen and School Queen, but he had cleverly covered his tracks with acting skills that would have put any mime artist to shame.

Now to pluck each carefully woven strand on this tangled web that he had so intricately spun…  (Now I know why spiders appear so squirmy and skittish.)

“So you accidentally left your folder at school?” 

With his little mouth filled with apple, he half-acknowledged me with a sideways glance and a head nod as he returned to watching “The Backyardigans.” 

“Hmmm…well, Ms. E. called me this morning.  Did you know that?”

A slow turn of the head…a now-familiar glazing over of those sweet, squinty brown eyes…a drop of that delicate, clefted chin…and a fragment of apple falling from his mouth.  Yes, the forbidden fruit.  His perfect experiment with deception had gone terribly awry. 

Telephones…he had not thought of telephones.  Truth had found its way back to his little world.  Home Queen and School Queen were back in their respective thrones of Knowledge and Truth.  And at the same time that his heart fell with what he was sure was disappointment in Mom’s breast, relief must have found its way in, too. 

“Is there anything that you want to tell me?”

Once again, his lips wouldn’t move as he related the story of his first real lie, his first true attempt at deception. 

“Baby, did you know that there is a difference between making a mistake and being bad?  A mistake is running in the bathroom and having your sun moved.  Good little boys make mistakes all of the time.  But being bad is the decision to cover the truth and to keep it from coming out.” 

No doubt, to him, this meant to always consider telephone communications in the future.  This probably provided great insight into the complexities of ”being bad” versus the simplicity of living in truth.  At least, I hope that is what he gleaned from this hours-long ordeal of lugging around a too-heavy heart (and backpack) and a widening conscience that separated him from Mom…and Ms. E. 

He crawled up beside me, swallowing his apple along with his pride, and related the truth of what had happened using his very limited vocabulary and still-numb lips: “bathroom…running….Joshua and me…Teacher came in” — and now trembling lips and tearing eyes.  It was apparent that he was more frightened of what I now thought of him than of what punishment I would dole out. 

And, with my Mom’s patented suffocating but bearable hug, I could tell that Little A.’s world was finally set right and placed back onto its axis.  However, I was a little saddened to know that his once little world was now bigger and more complex than it had been just 24 hours ago.

Still, stories like these are exactly what made me want to be a mother.  And I am sure that my son’s least favorite color will forever be lime green, although he’ll probably forget why.

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• Almost an Apology
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~ by Galvanized on January 15, 2007.