By BERN MORLEY
My 6 year old is upstairs reading. It’s a glorious day outside and usually he’d be out there, kicking a ball or playing some made up game with sticks but today is different. Today he has been grounded. Yup. I have grounded my 6 year old. This is why.
I suppose I should set the scene. We live on a sprawling estate that was once a ‘Lunatic Asylum’. Fitting really. Anyway, as such, it is quite a social place to live.
The kids always find someone to play with outside, the adults, if they want, can always find a friendly face. Usually. Last Sunday there I was, sitting on my couch, minding my own business watching something vaguely trashy on the TV when I heard a knock on the door.
I got up, opened the door and was greeted by a young couple with anxious smiles on their faces. They launched into their reason for being at my door and it turned out that they believed Jack, my 6 year old son, had been involved, in get this, a ‘chalking incident’. Apparently a “pack of boys” had been walking around the estate and she was positive that my son had drawn a line, A LINE of chalk on the wall outside of their stairwell.
Fair enough, whilst probably excessive in their approach, perhaps they were right to call out this behaviour. Maybe chalking is the gateway to fully fledged graffiti. Seriously though, I didn’t like that he’d been messing around with public property so I called him down and questioned him. I mean, it was a possibility, he’d been running around outside all day with his mates.
I asked him, outright, along with the other boys, if they had been drawing on walls. They all convincingly told me no. Jack’s ability to lie is pretty poor, he just doesn’t have the composure or forethought to do it very well and usually I can pick it a mile away when he does. Yet this time, I was sure he was telling me the truth. So did the parents of the other children. We made them turn over their palms and inspect for chalk residue, CSI style – nada.
Top Comments
My Dad and Aunty wrote their names in Echuca in wet cement. The next day cops arrived to speak to the children about it. 40 years later it's still there. They never lied to their mum or the cops about it, told the truth and took 'the cuts', and now it's family history.
I'm 31 and still lie to my mother. It's not so much that I'll get in trouble it's that she's so judgmental that I can't handle it.
I wish I didn't have to lie but the judgment upsets me too much. And I have confronted her in the past to be told that I shouldn't be so sensitive and that I have a problem- worst thing ever to tell your own child.
So, I make sure I make everyone feel accepted for who they are- expecially my son as I would hate him growing up feeling as though he couldn't tell me anything.