Confessions of a Child Liar

It was a muggy day in late summer when the sweet lilacs were long dried-up and school was fast-approaching. My dirty bare feet were planted on the hot concrete driveway and my arms were crossed. Every cell of my being steamed with indignity as I glared at my mother's back.

What could cause so much anger from this young girl in a faded Disney t-shirt and butterfly clips in her long hair? As in most cases in battles between parent and child, it all started with the word "No."

"Can I use that?" I had asked minutes ago, as I saw my mom heading toward the lilac bushes, armed with hedge-clippers.

"No, it's too dangerous," she had replied.

Suddenly, any other activity that I had planned for that summer afternoon was pointless. The only thing of importance in the whole, entire world was cutting those branches with that crisp swish and crunch of those giant scissors. And my mom didn't trust me to do it. So, I would pout, and she would know it. Unfortunately, she seemed too worried about cutting branches away from the driveway to notice my superior scowl.

But then, I was sent a miracle. From the house next door, I heard the rattle of the metal front door. My granny calls out to my mother from her front stoop. My mom began to walk toward her, setting down the object of my obsession, those beautiful hedge trimmers with the rubber handles, right there beneath the bushes.

My eyes dashed back and forth between the clippers and my mom, but she didn't seem to notice. She rounded the front of the bushes and disappeared. I stood frozen until I heard the clank of the door closing and then sweet, sweet silence.

I made my move. I ran forward, grabbing the hedge trimmers and started clipping. Swish-crunch. Swish-crunch. This was amazing. Why was I doing chores like cleaning Spaghettios out of the microwave when I could be doing tasks like this instead? It was so satisfying. I wasn't even paying attention to the branches I cut. If there was a branch, it could be cut. It quickly became mindless cutting of anything and everything.

Then, I messed up. Got too cocky perhaps. I went for a bigger branch. I squeezed hard. No satisfying crunch. The clippers lodged halfway in and stopped. I squeezed harder. Nothing. I began to tug back and forth and side to side. I could see the the green innards of this clearly fresh, not-ready-for-trimming branch. Crap. In a panic, I yank the clippers toward me in one strong pull.

Smack. The tip of the clippers hits me smack in the middle of the forehead. I am stunned for a moment. It takes me a minute to calculate what just happened. I look down and for a split second am delighted to see the stubborn branch on the ground. but then I notice the bright red blood covering the metal of the clippers.

You might think this point in the story would involve a lot of screaming, sobbing, or general mayhem. In most cases of bleeding children, that is logical outcome. That's not what happened in this story. I honestly remember absolutely no pain. Instead, my first thought was, "I'm not going down for this. I can fix it."

First, I wiped the blood from the hedge trimmers onto the grass. I carefully placed them back in the exact position I had memorized mom leaving them. Then came the hard part. What would I blame the wound on? I had to find something else sharp and dangerous in the area. Of course there was nothing. Curse my mother for child-proofing our house. Eventually, I settled on the drain spout. The edges were sharp enough to cut open my head, right?

If you were driving on the highway by our house on this given afternoon, you would have witnessed a very strange sight. There, in the front yard of my house, a wannabe-Carrie, with blood trailing down her entire face and dripping onto her shirt, began to catch the blood spurting from her forehead with her hand and dutifully wipe it onto the metal drain spout as if she was finger painting. I never claimed to be a normal child.

Eventually, my mother reappeared from next door and I turned on the theatrics. I sat awkwardly in the dirt to suggest a recent fall and built up from stammering to a loud wail. Although my mother looked extremely confused, I was not reprimanded that day for my act of disobedience...or any other day in fact. But every day when I look in the mirror, I see that tiny notch on my forehead...and remember that maybe I should sometimes take "no" for an answer.

Believe the Pattern, Not the Promises

The title of this post was inspired by what someone I follow recently shared on Instagram, referring to how to avoid unhealthy relationships. I've been thinking about those words for several days. It seems like good advice. Obvious advice even. I think, though, it is very easy to ignore patterns. We would rather believe in potential or promises or apologies. We want to believe in loopholes or exceptions. I am always expecting people to change or grow.

The truth is, sometimes people do change. Sometimes they live up to their promises. Sometimes they really mean it when they apologize. That's what makes it tricky. When those small moments of exception happen, we think we can count on more. Usually we can't. Usually, the friend who cancels on you every week will cancel again. Usually, the guy that doesn't answer your texts will continue to not answer your texts. Your coworker still won't listen to your input. Your boss will still make you feel stupid. Patterns hold.

So, instead of hoping for an incongruity, switch to a better pattern. Be friends with someone who always shows up. Date someone who always make you feel important. Work with people who continue to work with you instead of against you. More than likely, the pattern will hold and you won't be disappointed.

Appreciate Others, Appreciate Yourself

I have long believed one of greatest desires in human nature is the desire to be appreciated. Dissatisfaction at work or in relationships almost always stems from someone feeling unappreciated. Sometimes that feeling pushes us to try harder, hoping to prove our worth in some way. At other times, it causes a total shut-down. We stop giving our best effort to those who don't value it.

Even though we all crave recognition and appreciation in our lives, it can be easy to forget to give it in return. This doesn't just mean saying "thank you." It goes beyond that. Appreciating others means really noticing who in your life is putting forth effort. Who is creating happiness in your world? Who is making your life easier? Tell them! I have gotten a lot better at this since I started teaching at my school. We have a behavior reward system called Panther Paws and when we give these out, we are supposed to give specific praise. The act of doing this each and every day makes me notice and appreciate my students so much more. Today, these are some of the things I told my students:

-Thank you for coming into the room and being prepared. It makes things so much easier and we can get more done.
-I'm so glad you participated in the conversation. I learned something new from you.
-Thank you for writing in full sentences. It makes me feel good when you follow my instructions.
-I appreciate that you always have your work done on time.

This has become a daily routine in my classroom, which transcends out of the classroom as I appreciate my friends who give motivation and encouragement toward my goals or my parents who listen to my problems on the phone or my coworkers that give advice and input on specific assignments.

While it is easy for me to recognize those around me that deserve recognition, it is much more difficult for me to recognize the efforts I put forth myself that deserve appreciation. Out of the options in the first paragraph, I definitely fall in the realm of overworking myself in order to demonstrate my worth.  When I feel unappreciated at work, I tend to blame myself, and assume I'm not doing enough. When I don't feel like friends care, I try to do more for them.

And you want to know something? Working myself to death at work doesn't make me a better teacher. It doesn't earn me any more appreciation. It just makes me tired. Killing myself in order to be liked by other people doesn't help me make more friends or even better friends. I just lowers my self-worth. I used to think that doing whatever others wanted or needed, saying yes to every request, and making an huge effort in every aspect of my life made me a person to be admired, but I think, instead, it's made me lose myself. I appreciate people that are wholly themselves. So that's who I need to be, even if it means walking away from things I'm currently comfortable with.

Many times in my life, people have told me I was loyal. I have always taken this as a compliment. I still do. I think my loyalty to those I love and appreciate is important, but loyalty can't become something unhealthy. I saw this quote today. I don't know who said it, but I felt like it spoke to me on a very personal level:

"Don't let your loyalty become slavery. If they don't appreciate what you bring to the table, let them eat alone."