Lying, cheating and natural consequences

Junior year in high school, we had a Algebra exam. I stared at the paper, no idea what to do. I hadn’t studied, because the thought of sitting alone in my room trying to figure out something I didn’t believe I could understand in the first place was just nonsense. Dancing and pretending Paul McCartney was coming to adopt me any minute worked better for me.

We had a sub administering the exam. She dropped the papers from her desk three times, and practically leaped over my desk to stop some kid behind me from copying. There was no way she even noticed me stick my exam in my bag and leave the room at the end of the period.

Two days later, Doc Petry, our real teacher/athletic trainer/lawn keeper extrordinaire returned to our class. With his characteristic straight face, he told me he had lost my exam. He apologized, and explained that the only fair thing to do was to drop that exam from my averages at the end of the semester. Due to earlier higher performances, his solution would end up with me getting a grade that might not result in me being grounded all summer. I graciously accepted his apology and moved on to chemistry, where I wrote notes to bff Aysin while ignoring Mr. Lumbley’s lecture on molecular whatever and cream puffs.

A couple of guilt-wracked days later, Doc Petry helped me during study time. He managed to explain the freaking foil method and for a brief moment, I got it. It was almost like music- I just needed to practice. I almost did a happy dance right there on my desk.

Instead, I followed him back to his desk.

“You didn’t lose my exam.” I almost chocked saying the words. He raised his eyebrows.

“You didn’t lose my exam. I stole it. I didn’t know any of the answers, so I just stuck it in my bag.”

He nodded slowly. “Well then. That score would be a zero. I do appreciate you telling me. I’ve never misplaced an exam before. I was upset to think I had lost yours.”

With my score of 0, I had to take up every offer of extra credit and study my butt off for the final. I did, along with requesting extra help from Doc Petry and some of my brainier friends, and I passed. It’s the closest I’ve come to enjoying math.

He could have yelled at me, lectured me or sent me on the guilt cruise of the year. He could have sent me to the principal’s office- I imagine he could have given me detention, or these days, suspension. He could have given me an automatic F, (probably what happens in any school with a zero-tolerance policy) ruining my chances of attending any college on my wish list.

He could have called a parent-teacher conference and sent my parents into orbit. The adults in my life could have had a big meeting and determined an appropriate study schedule for me, perhaps with some character education thrown in for good measure. Instead, he chose to treat me as an almost adult- who had made a mistake and owned up to it. He engaged in a problem-solving process with me.

My reason for sharing this story isn’t some sort of virtual confession. It’s sorting through the ideas of parenting with currency, punitive parenting and other extremes, and trying to come up with a parenting philosophy congruent with my values, and in tune with my long-term parenting goals.

When my kids lie, I want them to learn that there are better ways. That telling the truth won’t result in an explosion of anger from the adult involved. When they are in a jam, I want them to perceive me as an ally in problem-solving, not an enforcer, nor someone who will shield them from the consequences of what has happened, but someone who will help them find a way to make things right.

Disclaimer: I am not always a believer in natural consequences- there are times an adult needs to step in before the consequence– for example, drunk driving– to protect their child, but that’s another post.