Should You Tell A Kid To Lie, If He Didn't Like His Christmas Gift?

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http://blog.newsweek.com/blogs/nurtu...tmas-gift.aspx

Should You Tell A Kid To Lie, If He Didn't Like His Christmas Gift?
Ashley Merryman

I admit to doing something tacky last evening. It's my family's tradition to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve. Before we did so, I whispered to my uncle and his wife, "Just want you to know: I think what I got you is really cool, so just tell me you like it, no matter what, okay?"

I know that sounds (is) rude, but there's another Christmas custom in my family: we give each other weird gifts.

There is a sweet reason for this. My grandparents grew up during the Depression, and there were years when they had no gifts at all. So my grandmother and her siblings would gift-wrap their old socks and clothes, just so they had something to open on Christmas. Pretend presents were better than none at all.

My grandmother never really got over those early years, so, for the rest of her life, she went a little crazy at the holidays. She'd start buying gifts in October. It didn't matter what it was. Socks, toothbrushes, used paperbacks she'd read but didn't like, all went under the tree. Contents of catalog "mystery boxes" meant we spent another hour unwrapping presents. One of my more memorable gifts: a single piece of clear plastic labeled "face shield." I was apparently to hold it in front of my eyes when I used hair spray.

We got nice gifts, too, of course, but you never were completely sure whether it was junk or something important until afterwards. We all just thanked Grandma profusely no matter what – then she'd say, "Oh, that's just a thing." That was the signal that you could forget it, thanking her once more for the pretty sweater set you'd opened earlier. As a little kid, this pattern of gratitude for the terrible presents bewildered me; it took a long time for me to understand it was all right to laugh at some of her gifts.

My grandmother's since passed away, but her wacky, put it all under the tree, tradition still continues. So we sort of have to tip each other off on what we consider to be the real presents. Which is what I did with my aunt and uncle.

But now, Christmas morning, I sit here, wearing new fuzzy socks (Thanks, Mom and Dad) and realizing I am hoist by my own petard. I don't really know if my aunt and uncle actually liked the gift I gave them. They said they did, but since I coached them to tell me they love it, I'll never really know if that was the truth.

All of which makes me think of the work of McGill professor Victoria Talwar. An expert in children's lying behavior, Talwar has been studying how kids respond to unwanted gifts. When they get a gift they hate, can they still thank someone and pretend to love it?

Talwar tests kids' ability to do this, by asking kids to pick a toy they want; if they win a game, they get the chosen toy. There are plastic dinosaurs, a small car, a few other items – including an unwrapped, grimy, worn, used bar of soap. At some point in the game, there's a switch in the adults who play with the kids. So, instead of giving the child her chosen toy, the late-arriving adult gives the child the soap.*

Then, the researchers watch what happens.

68% of kids, aged 3 to 11, will spontaneously say they love the gift of old ugly soap. The older they are, the more like they are to say a white lie about the gift. And if parents encourage the children to say how much they like the present, the percentage of kids lying about the gift increases to 87%. Parental coaching also amps up kids' elaboration of the white lie. Kids suddenly tell the researchers things like, "We collect soap," or "We need soap."

At this point, some of you may be saying that a white lie isn't a lie. That's because you are looking at lying from the adult perspective – that lies are acceptable, when told with the intent of helping someone, or protecting another's feelings.

But kids don't think of lying in the same way. For them, the intent behind a lie – for good or for ill – is irrelevant. It is so irrelevant that, for very young kids, you can even lie by accident. Someone who gives out wrong information, but believed it to be true, is still a liar in these kids' book.

Kids just don't believe that lying comes in shades of white or gray. Lying is much simpler than that: lying is telling somebody something that isn't so; lying is really bad; and lying gets you punished.

And if it gets you punished, you shouldn't do it.

In Talwar's lab, parents have literally cheered to hear their kids lie about how great it is to have received the old soap. The parents brim with pride over their children's knowing the socially appropriate response.

Talwar's regularly amazed by this. The parents never even seem to realize that the child told a lie. They never want to chide the child afterwards, or talk about the kid's behavior. (In every other experiment she runs, Talwar refuses to tell parents if the kids lied or not, because the parents are always so eager to reprimand the kids for those other kinds of lies.)

Regardless the parents' pride, the kids aren't happy about their successfully lying. Instead, it can be torture for them.

I was at Talwar's lab when she was doing a version of the unwanted gift experiment with kids in the first and second grades. Watching kid after kid react to that gross bar of soap, I could really see how emotionally difficult it is for kids to tell a white lie. The kids were disappointed when they were handed the soap, but that was nothing compared to the discomfort they showed while having to lie about liking it. They stammered. They fidgeted. Some looked like they were going to cry. It was simply painful to watch.

Indeed, Talwar has found that some kids just can't even bring themselves to say something nice about the present. About 20% of 11 year-olds just refuse to tell a white lie about that unwanted gift – even after their parents encouraged them to do so. And about 14% of kids still won't tell a white lie, even after their parents specifically explained the prosocial reasons to tell the lie. These kids just can't reconcile the disconnect between knowing how bad lying is, and being told they should now lie.

For her part, Talwar understands the social value in telling white lies. She knows that kids need to learn how to politely respond to unwanted gifts, a meal they didn't like, and so on: she, too, wants kids to be polite.

Still, Talwar cautions that we need to recognize that, at least from the kid's point of view, white lies really are still lies.

We should take care to explain the motivation behind the untruth – that we want to protect the other person's feelings. Kids may still fail to completely understand the distinction, but at least it will encourage them to think about others' feelings when they act. And we need to reassure children that they won't be punished for a specific white lie – because they did something nice for someone else. (That may be seem difficult in the moment, but something like this might work: "It would make me and Grandma really happy to hear how much you like the shirt.")

Talwar also warns that we adults should pay attention to our own use of white lies. Kids notice these untruths – and that we rarely get punished for them. If kids believe that we regularly lie to get out of uncomfortable social situations, they are more likely to adopt a similar strategy of lying.

If we don't watch it, we could inadvertently be giving kids yet another present: a license to lie.

Merry Christmas, Everyone. And, yes, I did get your fruitcake, and it was delicious!