It’s possible to turn kids making fun of other kids . . . into something positive.
A mother recently shared that another child was mimicking her daughter’s speech. She admitted that her daughter’s speech is sometimes hard to understand, but nonetheless, she was upset by this.
I certainly understand a knee-jerk reaction of wanting to shield and protect our kids from such negative interactions. But since we cannot control what others say and do, I actually find such situations to be . . . unexpected gifts.
How can that be? Well, it gives us a chance (as parents) to teach our kids how to respond when others aren’t acting in ways we perceive to be kind or understanding. In truth, we all continue to experience such unpleasantness throughout our lives. So why not help our kids build effective brain maps right now—when they are young—so that such negativity doesn’t throw them off balance, now or later.
For example, we can teach our kids not to cringe or withdraw or even judge the person who wasn’t responding as we’d like.
We do this by role-playing what our child might say to shift the spotlight back on that person who initiates the negativity.
For example, in this case, our child might say: “I was wondering why you’re imitating how I speak.”
With that single comment, we empower our child how to quickly redirect the focus back to the other person, as well as teach her to ask others to clarify their intent. Wouldn’t that be a helpful brain map to have throughout life?
Or, our child could ask: “How were you hoping I’d respond when you imitate how I speak?”
Again, this comment puts the spotlight back on that person—so that he’s the one on center-stage and is now the person who has to come up with a response.
Of course, it’s unlikely the child will say something as direct as, “Well, I was hoping you’d cry because I’m mean.” But even if the child says that, then this immediately erases any doubt the comment was really about him—and not our child.
But more likely, the response will be something along the lines of, “Uh, I don’t know” or “I just thought it was funny.”
So we teach our child to follow up (regardless of what the person says) with only this short sentence: “Thanks for sharing that.”
Nothing more needs to be said because our child has already accomplished the original goal: She has nicely shifted that she, not the other child, has been in control of this interaction.
Or, our child can even just say from the get-go: “Thanks for giving me feedback that it’s sometimes hard to understand my speech. Good to know that I’m working hard at building highways in my brain so that it will be easier to understand me.”
It’s irrelevant whether or not the other child processes that message. When our child says this truth aloud, it reminds her why her speech may seem unintelligible to others—and that it won’t be that way forever.
So, while it sounds odd, kids making fun of other kids can actually be a wonderful gift—if we choose to view it that way. In fact, all challenges are really just opportunities (in disguise) to learn.
After our child makes a poor decision, does he believe that lying is his best response?
There are three reasons kids lie. When we understand those differences, we know how best to respond.
Kids lie because:
1) They don’t process information well.
In such instances, they really think they heard you (or someone else) say something—even when that’s not the case. There’s often even some shred of “truth” to their fabrication.
For example, suppose our child hears us say that we’d love to go to Hawaii for Christmas, but her brain processes that as . . . We’re going to Hawaii for Christmas!
So that’s what she tells everyone. She may even get upset when called out for her “lie”—since she really believes that’s what was said.
2) They don’t interact well in social conversations.
The intent, here, is not to create a lie to evade responsibility for something they may have said and done.
Instead, such kids come up with something often wildly preposterous as a way to circumvent feeling uneasy and to start or become part of an on-going conversation. For example, they may say that they saw a famous pop star when they were at the store. Or they’ll say something such as, “It snowed at my house yesterday”—but they live by the beach in Southern California.
When called out on the whopper—which is what usually happens—the child insists that whatever she said was the truth. In fact, the more someone challenges the whopper, the more adamant she becomes.
So the whopper becomes a way to shift an initial friendly conversation into an argument. And guess what? That kind of interaction actually feels good and familiar to the child who told the whopper. So, now she’s at ease (which was the original, subconscious goal).
3) They want to avoid judgment and punishment.
From these kids’ perspective, it’s more appealing to lie than tell the truth because the former (at least) creates the possibility of avoiding a negative response. In other words, this kind of lie is more of a protective, fear-based reaction to how such kids project someone might respond if they “find out” what they did.
There’s a common thread among kids who tell these kinds of lies. Usually, those in charge of them tend to be attached to an outcome, judge if such outcomes don’t meet their criteria, use lots of judgmental words in their daily interactions, and resort to punishment if behavior is not up to their standard.
So how do we respond to such different kinds of lies?
If we realize that our child doesn’t process information well, we initiate a general discussion on this topic. We make sure to do this when we’re all “in our cortex” (versus right after there’s been a miscommunication).
We may even play the game “Telephone” to underscore the idea that communications are not always processed as they were actually said. We then establish some kind of code word to use if our child now says something that she believes to be true, but we know . . . wasn’t actually processed as intended.
At various times, we can also ask our child to tell us what she thinks we just said (especially if we don’t think she processed the message). Doing so gives us a chance to clarify any misinterpretation, right then.
If our child tells whoppers, we no longer call her out. In fact, we completely ignore all whoppers. Instead, we use that as our cue to see how we might include our child in the current conversation in a way that puts her at ease. We may also seek ways to help her, in general, become more skilled in the art of making conversation.
If our child tells lies as a fear-based reaction, we first reflect on how we actually deal with mistakes in our home that perpetuates such fear. Do we yell? Do we judge? Are we demeaning? Do we immediately punish?
If so, then it’s really no surprise that our child concludes it’s better to lie than tell the truth—even though such conclusion is not viewed similarly by others.
But trust is also a two-way street. While we want to be able to trust our child, here’s the second part of that equation: Does she trust us? In other words, why doesn’t our child believe she can tell us the truth?
That may be a hard question to answer. But more times than not, such answers are the catalyst for changing a child who lies into one who tells the truth.
We may also ponder these questions: Has our child ever had a positive experience where telling the truth served her well? Has anyone actually taught her how to take responsibility if she makes a poor decision?
I’m not advocating that if kids tell the truth, then they just waltz away without any more ado. Not at all.
But if our kids don’t first trust us enough to share the truth, then we miss incredible opportunities to teach them.
For example, when they feel secure enough to admit when they’ve “messed up,” we can now help them explore ways to rectify that situation. We can teach them not only to learn from their mistakes, but also how to accept responsibility for their actions. It seems like those experiences would build ever-lasting character and serve our child—in the long run—far more than issuing a generic punishment for lying.
So I’m not sure that it’s ever helpful to view a child as “a liar.” Instead, we can opt to hear such responses (if they happen) as mere feedback that gives us insights—both about our child and ourselves—so that we may know how to respond in a way that moves everyone forward.
Do we give to others, but deny others to do the same for us?
Giving and receiving are part of the same circle; we can’t have one without the other.
Yet, after we’ve become parents, that circle is often lopsided, with the greater emphasis on the giving side. Somewhere along the line, we seem to forget how to also receive graciously. We’re overwhelmed, tired, frustrated—but when people offer to help, we often brush them aside, saying, “I’m okay.”
My dad, who lives completely on his own, now needs help getting his weekly groceries. Mind you, he can still do all the shopping; he just can’t drive to the store any more. So, I wanted to arrange a schedule where family members came and took him to the store each week.
As expected, his first response was no. He just could pay someone to do this. But I was armed with my giving and receiving speech.
I told him he had given so much throughout his life, yet I couldn’t recall a single time he had ever asked someone else for help. I talked about his lopsided circle when it came to giving and receiving, and how it wasn’t fair to my sisters or me if he didn’t allow us to help him. I knew I had to offer a fresh perspective in order to circumvent his knee-jerk “I can take care of this myself” response.
Guess what? We’ve not only set up a grocery store schedule, but he loves doing it this way! He still gets to do the part that’s fun for him (picking out his own grapefruit, deciding what cookies he wants, etc.), all while enjoying the company of one of his girls during the excursion.
But we don’t have to wait until we’re 94 to open some space to allow others to give to us. However, the first step may be to make it known that, yes, we’d love some help.
That’s especially true if we’re now thinking, “Well, no one ever offers to help me.” Chances are . . . they did a long time ago. But after so many refusals, people do quit asking. Of course, we don’t ever have an expectation that someone should help us.
So, what else gets in the way of receiving graciously? There’s pride (I’m confident and capable) or self-judgment (I should be able to handle this on my own) or just plain habit (I’m used to doing everything myself).Yet, each of these thoughts push others away from helping us, and so our giving and receiving circle remains lopsided.
For kids, receiving is a natural. However, their giving and receiving circle is often tilted heavily on the receiving side.
So how can we balance that? Well, we can encourage our kids to routinely give gifts that require no money. For example, they can give thanks for the rain and sunshine (since we couldn’t live without either!). They can give their time, such as visiting a senior home or even just calling up Grandma or Grandpa to chat. They can give away something they own to someone who may appreciate it more. They can give a smile to someone who is feeling down.
Sharing is also a form of giving, so kids can be encouraged to share a toy or treat, or even share a creative idea that they may have.
In truth, there are endless possibilities when it comes to giving and receiving.
So maybe this upcoming holiday becomes an opportunity to begin balancing our giving and receiving circles if they’re out of whack. For example, if we fall short in the latter category, we now open space for others to help us. If our kids fall short in the former, we now redirect them to adopt more of a giving than receiving mindset.
And when we do so, we discover that the spirit of giving and receiving . . . is truly one and the same.
We can glean clues about a child’s brain organization by how he sits in a chair.
Somewhere along the line, we’ve come to associate slouching with being inattentive. That’s why we often hear adults telling kids, “Sit up, and pay attention!”
Yet, I know many kids who actually pay less attention when made to sit up straight.
How can that be?
Well, some kids have retained primitive reflexes. In such case, sitting upright in a chair isn’t as automatic as it should be.
For example, a child with a retained Tonic Labyrinthine Reflex will experience difficulty doing movement that goes against the pull of gravity. So these kids can only sit upright for a very short period of time before being “pulled down” (i.e. gravity wins).
This then explains why such kids sink lower and lower into their chair, or they sprawl across the desk when reading and writing. At least, in these positions, they can start to concentrate on the task as hand (they’re no longer distracted by fighting gravity) . . . that is, until they’re, once again, told to sit up straight.
Some teachers mistakenly think the child who always puts his head on the desk while writing is not going to bed at an appropriate time. She may even call the parent about this.
If the parent does not also understand the connection between retained primitive reflexes and difficulty sitting upright in a chair, she may now put her child to bed earlier (even though she’s a little miffed about the call because her child does go to bed at a decent hour).
Yet that mom can put her child to bed at noon or earlier—and he’s still going to go down, down, down when sitting in a chair. He’s wired to do so.
But now, the teacher may think the parent is ignoring her bedtime concern or lying about his real bedtime. After all, the child is still always sprawled over the desk. Since the mother is putting the child to bed earlier, she may start to think the teacher is just out to get her son. And all the while, no one understands the real reason the child slouches.
We’ve actually all experienced fighting gravity while sitting up. Think when we’ve had a bad flu. Suddenly, trying to sit up (let alone straight) is very cumbersome. We’d much rather be lying down, right? Imagine, then, how difficult this is for kids with primitive reflexes, who have to deal with this all the time.
So, maybe the next time we see a child slouching . . . we let it be.
When we conquer a distorted fear, we also gain a new sense of confidence.
Step 1. We talk about the fear when the child is not frightened.
Once in the fear mode, we don’t process information very well. That’s why we only talk about the fear whenever our child is feeling safe and unthreatened.
Step 2. We use humor to underscore there’s no real danger.
Suppose a child is afraid to walk upstairs alone. In such case, we might say: Every time family members walk upstairs, they get beamed up into outer space, right? No? Well, then every time family members walk upstairs, they go bald, right? No? Then what happens if you walk up the stairs alone?
Step 3. We put a positive spin on whatever the child fears.
For example, a child who is deathly afraid of skeletons now learns that her skeleton actually protects her jello-like brain from getting hurt! Who knew?
Step 4. Our child creates positive intention statements, expressing what he’ll do (differently) when faced with the fear.
Such statements are written and posted around the house, as well as said aloud. Some examples of positive intention statements are:
Note that positive intention statements are not one-size-fits-all, such as, “I’m not afraid of (fill in the blank).” Rather, they specifically spell out what the child will do differently (than prior times) when now facing the fear.
Step 5. We have dress rehearsals before implementing a new plan of action.
Suppose a child is afraid to go to sleep at night if the closet door is shut. In such case, the parents and child create the same bedtime scenario—but during the daytime—to practice what the child will now do differently at night.
So in broad daylight, the parent initially assumes the role of the child, and the child just watches “the show.” For example, one parent puts the child (the other parent) to bed and then shuts the closet door. The parent assuming the child role models how he’s cool with that . . . no yelling, no tears, nada.
Then it is the child’s turn.
Note that dress rehearsals may also include some fantasy. For example, if a child is afraid of dogs, a sibling can be the “dog” during the dress rehearsal. That way, the brain has chances to become familiar with what it’s going to do . . . but without anything that actually triggers the fear.
Step 6. We include something in our new plan that physically helps with anxiety.
We may give our child something, such as a squishy ball to squeeze, when first overcoming/facing a fear.
Step 7. We get rid of the distorted fear in baby steps.
Suppose a child is afraid to ride in elevators. After rehearsing riding in an imaginary elevator at home, our first trip to a real elevator may be nothing more than watching other people get in and out of one. That’s it—and the child knows, up front, that’s the only expectation.
On the second trip, we may now add pushing the outside elevator button, but we still never get in.
On the third trip, we put one foot in the door—and then take it out, and that’s it.
On the fourth trip, we step in so that we’re completely inside the elevator, but then we get out before it leaves, and so on.
Note that we may be able to accomplish more than one or even all of the above steps during the same trip to an elevator (depends on how easily the child does each prior step).
For some situations, our baby steps may focus on increasing the proximity to whatever is feared. For example, if our child is afraid of dogs, we may just first watch a dog from our front window, while we stay inside our house. Next, we may watch a dog down the street, and so on, working our way up to standing next to a dog and eventually petting it.
Step 8. We provide on-going dialogue that reinforces we’re conquering our fear.
As our child completes each baby step, the brain registers: “Hey, I survived! Whatever I feared was going to happen, did not!” So, it’s important to point that out.
We also want to thank our child for trusting us and for showing the courage to do something that makes him uncomfortable (but is truly safe). Here, we’re shifting the focus from the original fear to a broader concept . . . one of creating brain maps that say, “I can do this.”
In contrast, when we keep our distorted fears, we reinforce brain maps that say, “Run! I can’t survive! I can’t trust anyone!”–even if that isn’t true. Throughout life, the former mindset is going to serve us much better than the latter.
Step 9. We stack the deck.
It never hurts to work behind the scenes to ensure things go smoothly. For example, we can keep our child up way past his bedtime on the night he’s going to stay in his bed all night. We can pick a store with the cutest clothes—that just happen to be on the second floor—when we’re going to ride the elevator. We can find a dog that has never barked once in its life when we’re going to pet it. 
10. We repeat the positive experience in successive days.
This reinforces that new highways are strengthened and the old highway (i.e. the distorted fear) disappears.
Last, we want to celebrate in a way that appeals to our child—both during the process and when the fear is gone. We do so to honor the child’s willingness to conquer a fear and to rejoice that our child’s life will now move forward more smoothly—and with a lot more joy.
