Do kids still say that? At this point, I don’t even remember for sure whether we said it when I was a kid, back when dinosaurs roamed and I believed all adults were always truthful.

But I know that parents say it a lot: Call their kid a liar. Do it in ways that humiliate. Accuse casually, quite certain that they have a straight line of sight into their child’s psyche. Assume the very worst motives. Punish.

it sometimes turns out that there was no lie at all, at least from the child’s point of view: a confusion, a misunderstanding, forgetfulness. Opportunities to work on communications.

If there was a lie, I ask parents to look at its nature and context. Was it a manipulative lie, one designed to get someone else in trouble? Once in a while it is. It’s important to understand what prompted it. Often, there were felt pressures or injustices. Once in a great while – I see it maybe once or twice a decade – it’s a purely manipulative, hateful, Machiavellian lie, with no goal but to hurt – no source, no “reason,” no remorse, however carefully I dig for it. Then I worry.

Somewhere above 99% of the time, it’s a defensive lie – a CYA lie. “The dog ate my homework.”

CYA Lie : What’s important :: Barometer : Weather

You don’t punish the barometer when it says a storm is coming, you change your picnic plans. The lie is a symptom, an indicator, a pointer. To even think of it as a lie takes you in the wrong direction. It’s an invitation to problem solving. The relevant questions may be ones like:
“Why is there so much heat about homework my child can’t deal with it straight up?”
“Where’s the fear?”
“What are the emotions behind the lie?”
“What are the misconceptions behind the lie? Am I certain they really are misconceptions?”
“How can I help him talk about what’s going on?”
“What’s my most important goal right now?

I search my memory, and I can’t think of a single time that focusing on the lie – the fact of the prevarication –has helped. Ask yourself: “Am I a criminal investigator or a parent?”
Ask yourself: “How can I help my child?”
When the lies stop, you’ve solved a problem. Lucky the lie was there to let you know you had a problem – the smell of gas that headed off a nasty explosion.

The impetus for this post came from a New York Times Magazine feature , “Looking for the Lie,” February 5, 2006, by Robin Marantz Henig.