Pants on Fire

There's a liar in my Rolling Readers class. I've suspected it for a few weeks now, and today the evidence became overwhelming.

I like to engage the kids in the stories by asking related questions. If the book includes a toy factory, I'll ask if anyone's been to a factory. If the book's about Karate, I'll ask if anyone practices karate, or another sport.

Today, I found out this kid can play three musical instruments (guitar, piano, and trombone), has marched in a parade, owns a boa constrictor, and has seen a Yellow-spotted Bongo plant. When I questioned him on this last one, he gave me an emphatic head nod.

"Uh-huh. I have."

I told him I thought the Yellow-spotted Bongo was made-up. To which he dropped his head and said, "Oh."

I don't have kids. I've never studied child psychology. But I have a feeling that in some way, lying is part of being a kid. You're learning what you can do with words, and having fun making things up. I make things up every day at Starbucks. It's a smashing good time. I don't remember if I was a lying kid.

I wonder if this kid likes the attention he gets from telling each fantastical lie. Maybe he doesn't get enough attention at home. Still, it could escalate into bigger and more significant lies, and Wall Street doesn't need any more of those. Would it be too bold to read this book next week?