Why I Lie to My Son — Without Feeling Bad About It

Of all the things I was prepared to do for my son to help him grow into an upstanding member of society, lying was not one that I expected. After all, it's generally frowned upon to lie to anyone, and being untruthful to kids seems especially wrong. Yet, it's the little fibs that I tell my son throughout the day that not only encourage his imagination but also teach him to think critically.

As much as every parent might begin their child's life with the goal of always being truthful, that goes right out the door as soon as holidays come along. Telling our little ankle-biters that Santa and the Easter Bunny bring gifts and a fairy will buy your teeth is a fun aspect of being a parent. There are also the common examples of subterfuge when parents try to get their brood to eat vegetables that are masqueraded by cheese. We pardon these lies because they are a quintessential part of childhood. I am comfortable being a liar-liar pants on fire because I truly believe that lying to my kid will help him develop his imagination and see the world in a new light.

Over the past few months I've conned my 2-year-old into believing that I am magic. By simply clapping my hands, rubbing them together, and then thrusting them forward while saying, "poof," I can make all kinds of things happen. I've been known to make trains appear out of nowhere, make the next episode of Sesame Street play, and make the lights change colors. Of course, seeing as I have yet to get my letter to Hogwarts, I'm clearly not a witch. I listen for the train, I watch the countdown on the screen, and I use a remote control to change the lights. To my son, though, it doesn't matter how I do it. Each time I clap my hands and say, "poof," he copies me, trying to grasp a dose of magic himself. To him, I am powerful.

My little parrot has started doing our "poof" randomly throughout the day. He tries to make dinner appear faster and our doggies to come closer. I imagine that this is a childlike version of practicing The Force, desperately trying to make things bend to his will. Despite that fact that he is not a wizard, although his letter still could come in 10 years, the fates align and sometimes he gets his wish; dinner will appear and the dogs will come in for a pet. He'll smile and clap because to him, in that instant, he was magic.

Some of my strongest memories as a kid were pretending that the floor was lava. I'd bounce off of furniture, sacrifice pillows to create stepping stones, and cry in "excruciating agony" when my feet or hands would accidentally touch the floor. I'm not sure how it came to be that every kid played this game, but to me it was so real that I could practically see the molten lava bubbling up from the floor. Inspired in part by silliness and from that adorable viral video of the friends playing "the floor is lava," I've started doing this with my son. At first he was confused as to why it was suddenly fine to jump on the coffee table, but it didn't take him long to get the game. Now he'll look at me and say, "lada" (we're working on his "V" sounds) and I know that I better get my feet off the floor. He doesn't know what lava is and that's OK, because to him it's a chance to play with his mom. Maybe someday he'll start to envision fire below, but for now, he's learning how to play pretend.

One of the embarrassing stories my dad likes to tell about me stems from an innocent white lie. During a road trip when I was around 7 or 8 years old, fueled by boredom my dad convinced me that we were in a flying car. All he had to do was press a button and stick his hand out the window and suddenly we were flying. I was incredulous at first, but the evidence was mounting that we were actually up in the air. The whole family clearly had a tacit agreement to get me to believe that we were flying, even my normally stoic stepmother. With their hands out the window and passersby staring at our car, 7-year-old me was convinced that our middle-class, nothing-special family, suddenly had ownership of a car that also worked as a plane. And I've never lived it down. This story gets brought up every family visit, and while it used to bother me that they took so much pride in tricking a kid, now I think it's a genius plan.

At the very least, my family's plane was a great exercise in belief and imagination. They were entertained tricking a child and I got to believe in something special. Yet, now I wish I had been more critical of the evidence that was being given to me. This little white lie could have been easily disproven if I had asked better questions or sought out my own facts by, oh I don't know, looking out the window. It's important to teach children to inquire and gather evidence that they find. This example of family gaslighting just as easily encouraged me to think more critically and to challenge my adults in a constructive way.

Raising kids can be exhausting, but it should also be fun. One of the greatest joys I've had so far as a parent is watching my son explore the world with a thoughtful and imaginative mind. As I get closer to the world of pretend and make believe, I hope my little lies help him think big, and maybe the world will be less scary.