It's Dew Moss

It was a long week in writing training, but I'm glad I went and, after several weeks of planning and giving math trainings, I was only too happy to kick back and gather from others for a change. Our training was put on by district colleagues, and they did a fantastic job. In between writing lesson plans in my head, I learned a few things.

One of the things they had us do was to spend an hour each day doing Adult Writing. It was run as a Writer's Workshop, so folks who weren't around when the Teacher's College came out from New York and spent a summer training us on the Lucy Caulkins Writer's Workshop (um...jeez....6 or 7  years ago?!? Really???) could see the general format, content, and structure of a typical lesson.

In our math trainings, we also ask participants to do adult level math. It's important, as teachers, to experience the content as learners, too. It changes the way we approach it with our students, as educators, when we've struggled with something first at our own level.

In that spirit, of being a learner and a teacher of writing, I pushed myself to participate in the share at the end of the week. Today, five of us stood up and read our opinion pieces in front of roughly 150 adults. The piece I shared was imperfect, and untitled, but I was trying a strategy I had learned during adult writing (specifically:  use mini stories as evidence for an opinion claim).

Here it is, as I shared it today. It's about my son Tommy, who turned 13 this week. And, I'm sorry to say, it is an entirely true story:

(This is an untitled opinion piece)

As both a teacher and a mother, I can say with conviction that helping a child develop their own sense of a moral compass is one of the most important jobs we have. Children, of all ages, must understand the importance of telling the truth, even when doing so means that there will be consequences.

When my son Tommy was in kindergarten, he fell off the jungle gym at school. The two bones in his arm snapped like twigs just above his wrist, and he wore a hard cast for five weeks on his left arm. That was a lesson in gravity he never forgot. It was also the year he learned the importance of telling the truth, even when doing so means that there will be consequences.

It all started on November 9^th, 2005, when he reluctantly shared a note from his teacher. “Tommy was very disruptive at lunch time today. He first told us he didn’t have one, and then we found it hidden in the closet. His response: “Darn it!” Then he was swinging his food around and holding his sandwich in his mouth while he flipped his head. Please talk to him. ~ Mrs. McCallum”

Well, I’m sure for many people this would be dismissed as less than a tragedy, but I wasn’t going to let this go without letting him know how important it is to always tell the truth. “Tommy,” I told him, “It is very important that you do not lie. It’s okay if you want hot lunch ~ just tell the teacher that you have a lunch, but you want hot lunch today.  You don’t have to eat the lunch mommy packed you…but it’s not okay to lie. It’s the one thing we will not tolerate!”

I was confident that I had done my duty as both a parent and a fellow teacher (I got your back, Mrs. McCallum!). That night on the way home from soccer practice, we had a conversation in the car that started with Tommy telling me that some kids were calling him a jerk and a dumb ass at school that day.

What?? I said

Yeah

Are those nice words, or are they bad words?

He said they were bad words. Bery, bery, bery bad words.

My teacher antennae went up, and I had to ask him…”hmmm….were you calling them names before they called you names?”

No, mommy.

Well…you don’t use those words, right?

Right, mommy.

On November 10^th, 2005, we got another note from Mrs. McCallum:

“At recess yesterday, Tommy was calling other children ‘dumb ass’. When we asked him why he was using such words, he said, ‘My mom and dad call me dumb ass all the time.’  Please talk to him. ~ Mrs. McCallum.”

Now, look. We had a wild-acting dog that we definitely called a dumb ass. And that guy who cut me off in traffic? Well, I’m going to call him a jackass. But I categorically deny ever calling any kid a dumb ass.  That right there? That was a lie, and we must always tell the truth, even when doing so means that there will be consequences.

“Tommy!!! Mommy and Daddy do not call you that! You lied to me yesterday! You said other kids were saying it, but it was you...then you told your teacher that we call you that at home, and you know that's not true. Just because you were trying not to get in trouble! Well, Tommy, you're in a lot more trouble for lying about it. It's better if you just tell the truth, son, even if it's uncomfortable or scary, because lying is so much worse.”

The rest of that week was very hard on little Tommy, but I was sure that when the weekend came, he had learned the importance of always telling the truth.  That Saturday, we went up to Sacramento to a small park with carnival rides for a family friend’s birthday party. Tommy was very excited to visit with Porter and go on all the rides. Unlimited rides! For two hours! Rides, mommy! There are going to be rides!

We went to the booth to get his hand stamped for the rides, and that’s when we were informed that, due to Tommy’s arm cast, he would not be allowed to ride any of the rides that day. I’m sorry, but it’s very clearly stated in the rules!

Oh dear. Without saying a word, he turned and leaned into my legs, and he cried. Not a temper tantrum, not a wailing cry. It wasn’t big crocodile tears, or the manufactured drama of a child who isn’t getting what he wants. It was just a very subtle, very heartbroken cry.

So I did what any mother would do.

I told him to lie.

And not just lie! I put his jacket on, and explained to him how to keep his left arm completely inside the arm of the jacket ~ “don’t let your fingers poke out!” I told him ~ and we practiced how he should hold his tickets with just the tips of fingers, in the most natural manner so as not to call attention to his injured arm. I went on every ride with him and I helped him lie his butt off to every teenager working in that park.

It was an emotional week for Tommy, but he learned some very big lessons.  Most importantly, he learned that you must always tell the truth, even when doing so means that there will be consequences…..except…well….sometimes, he learned….you can lie.

 I showed Tommy the actual notes from this incident. His response when he read the part that said, "He told us my mom and dad always call me dumb ass"? He gave me the most perplexed look and said, "Why did you call me names?"  Oh, for the.....we didn't! YOU LIED! He legit couldn't compute it haha! He just gave a little shake of his head and furrowed his brow like we were the worst parents ever. Too good!