by Annette Van De Kamp

Created on: April 30, 2008

We all like to tell stories. I grew up with stories all around me; my father is a prime example. At times, this causes problems: he is of the conviction that it doesn't matter so much whether the story is true or not, as long as it is compelling and entertaining, usually at a tremendous emotional cost to whoever the story is about. In other words, he makes stuff up. When I was a teenager and trying to get my driver's license, I once took a drive with him sitting next to me. To say that I was a calm driver back then would be lying; I drove like a grandmother on Valium. However, in my father's mind this particular experience has grown into a terrifying nightmare of ignored stop signs, maniacal speeding, and near accidents, that, to this day, causes him to wake up screaming in the middle of the night. He repeats the story every time I visit him, which is not only irritating, but also starting to get boring. Boring is bad. "Make up a new story," I often tell him. "If you're going to lie, at least show some originality, for god's sake."

Although I agree with him that, when telling a story, it's best to treat the truth as merely a starting point, I was a bit concerned when my six-year-old daughter took up the same habit. Hearing her talk, one has to have a translator handy at all times. When she blames her brother for whatever terrible naughtiness has transpired, I have to assume she really means: "It was me. It was all me. I'm an awful child and I'm sorry." When she answers with "I forgot," what she really is trying to say is "I know you want me to flush the toilet, but I just can't be bothered with your stupid rules. Trust me, I have better things to do with my time; I still need to smear toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror and give my Barbie's a bath in my brothers potty, so leave me alone, please."

"It really happened, mom, honest," means, "I'm lying through my teeth and there's nothing you can do about it." When dealing with my daughter, so I remind her teachers, the truth never lies somewhere in the middle'. Never. The truth lies somewhere east of Mars, and it can take many light years to get there. Roughly the same light years it takes to scrape that toothpaste off the mirror and disinfect those Barbie's.

But then, as far as she's concerned, finding the truth is the responsibility of the listener. This belief, of course, gets her firmly off the hook whenever she is caught in a lie. It also opens the door for her to be a creative listener. Creative listening'

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