The subject of the movie, lying and its inception, has been running around in my brain these last few weeks.
You see, the boy has recently told a few lies. If you're anything like me, your first, internal reaction may be that some dark evil has invaded your home and your child will now and forever be pursued by the demons of hell and you will fail as a parent. Okay, so that's bit dramatic, but I must admit to surprise. Not because I never expected him to lie- I know it's a natural part of growth in language and mental faculties. But because, as radical unschoolers, so many of the more traditional reasons to lie are removed. Or so I thought... (cue dramatic piano: dun, dun, dunnnnnnn).
The lies Cutter told were around the subject of when he went to sleep. This was especially baffling as we haven't set a bed time in years and years.
After the fact, I talked with him about trust and how it feels when he lies to me and wondered if he might have some insight around why he lied. In hindsight, I believe this type of response: Why did you do such and such? regardless of the gentleness of the tone, just sets the scenario for more lies to be told. Children want their parents to be pleased with them, to enjoy their light. If it takes a lie to do that, (and if you've not had the 20+ years of self-reflection that enable you to offer up a possibly clear reason for your action), why would you hesitate?
It came to me that I needed to stop focusing on THE LIE and start looking at the big picture, and my role in it. I think sometimes I lull myself with the idea that because we live this way as a family that everything is going to turn out just fine and that's when I fall down on the job, so to speak. Radically unschooling, no matter how "easy" it looks, is not easy. It's rewarding and challenging and fun and complicated and beautiful - and never just plain ole' easy. So, the big picture:
My dh and I always ask one another and the boy how our sleep was, when we managed to fall asleep, if dreams were dreamed. We also, more so recently, have been talking with Cutter about the shadows under his eyes, asking if he needs help moving from computer to bed, pointing out what seem to be the signs of fatigue.
If someone I loved asked me every day about when I went to sleep, I would infer that it meant a lot to them. That there was weight tied to the hour of sleeping. That they expected something other than the answers I gave. That it might be a good idea to give them an answer they would be pleased with, whether truth or not, in order to make them happy, calm their fears. It would be the wise and kind thing to do. When looked at in this manner, a lie seems a kindness.
It also seems to be precipitated by my actions more than anything else. As Cutter grows, I have to think in different ways about what it means to parent consciously. I have to more closely examine my role in our relationship as he brings more of himself to the table. I have to make room for the boy with shadowed eyes who leaves me sweet facebook messages at 1:30 a.m. The boy who clearly didn't enjoy last night's dinner but still looked at me and exclaimed, "Thanks, Mom, that was great," before he went off to do his thing. That boy is going through great growth in his interactions with others right now. He's offering up his opinions more often, showing up when he's upset, trying to read others interactions, offering encouragement and support.
To borrow from a good friend, this radical unschooling is about allowing our children to construct themselves from the inside. Sometimes a child's inside world demands things we, as parents, fear - such as little sleep, or lots of candy, or friends with whom we can't connect. We can sit with those fears and concerns and look at our role within them without attempting to build our child up from the outside. Or we can stop their internal construction by attempting to impose our own, external edifice upon our child - and in this way, they will lie in order to try and conform to the constructions we've demanded they wear. Or we can spend our time welcoming the unique creation that is our child. We can construct bridges between us that leave no need for conformity.
Joe and I have made an effort of late to not make a big deal about hours slept, to stop asking Cutter when he fell asleep. Instead, we ask about his night- a new book on c.d., a funny t.v. episode, a useful walkthrough. If there is something he wants to be up for in the morning, I let him know and he sets an alarm and decides how much earlier than normal he will try to go to sleep. He is a boy that could be head down, eyes shut on the couch but if you ask him if he's tired, he'll say Nope, not even a little. He is a boy that never wants to be tired, that wants to stay awake as long as he can, to explore, to play, to learn - and sometimes that looks scary, but the disconnect that occurs when we try to steer him away from his own direction, albeit unconsciously, is far scarier to me.
This is is a topic I continue to ponder - how to sit with and respond in such situations, how to remember the very smallness of these moments in the overall picture, how to look at my own role in these moments. If the above post feels incomplete, imperfect, well, it is - to the extent that I am still growing alongside my boy.