Lesson taught vs. lesson learned

The last post, the one on spanking, ended with the contrast between the lesson that was intended (Mommy still loves you even if she spanks you) and the actual lesson taught (You don't get to be in charge of your own body; stand still and take it if adults in charge invade your space and touch you).

It made me think of other unintended lessons that I learned at that age.

Case in point: lying.

Let's say I spilled my milk or broke something but no one was around to see it. Of course I'd be upset. All kids are upset when they spill things or accidentally break things. Kids know when they've messed up and then have to face the music when the adults find out. So faced with a broken glass or spilled milk, what should I, pre-schooler me, do?

According to my mother, I should tell the truth. She was quite adamant about that. Always tell the truth. Lying was bad, bad, bad and must be punished out of a child. Lying was a huge concern of hers. She didn't want her children to be lying little sneaks, because lying about little things could lead to lying about big things, and that led to no end of trouble.

And I knew in my bones that lying was wrong and that we should be truthful. I had no end of favorite picture books and young readers with plots revolving around kids messing up and what happened to the kids who lied versus the kids who bravely told the truth.

But if I told the truth, this is what happened:

If I lied and got caught, or gave myself away, or even if I took back the lie, this is what happened:

And if I lied convincingly enough this is what happened:

Given those three outcomes, what did pre-schooler me choose? In those circumstances, what would you choose?

The lesson Mom thought she as teaching? Don't lie. The lesson actually learned? If you screwed up, the odds are better if you lie about it and lie really well. And boy howdy, did I learn to cover up, sneak around, and lie like a pro.

I didn't want to be a liar. I would have liked to have been honest all the time. I would have liked it very much if my life had been like it was in the picture books: parents frown and briefly scold, then teach the child how to clean up the mess and how to be more careful next time, and the child is proud of learning how to do it right. Behind my lying poker face, my little heart was pounding like a third floor radiator when the steam heat turns on. I knew this was not how things were supposed to be.

But when I was punished equally for getting caught in a lie or telling the truth, I felt the injustice keenly. And, I admit, there was measure of contempt and a whole truckload of "what's the point of even trying?" behind my well-practiced lying.

That's been a hard lesson to un-learn. Well into adulthood I'm still surprised when I screw something up and admit it, and people I admit it to say, "Oh, that's okay. We can fix that." Because that would never have happened when I was a kid. Screwing up was never okay. And there was no fixing mistakes. All mess-ups were interpreted as naughtiness, carelessness, laziness, immaturity -- all things that needed to be punished hard.

And that, at long last, is my truth.