And Zen What

So, wanting to take a picture of some recent Three art, I grabbed the camera off the Counter of Infamy. It felt, I dunno, odd. I pushed down on the "clicker" (I'm sure there's a technical term for the button that you push and I'm equally sure I don't know what it is). There wasn't one. Closer inspection revealed that the camera had very clearly been dropped on the very hard tile floor.

I really liked that camera.

The kids and I have had a lot of fun with our camera. It was scary buying it--a very big purchase for Mom, MOM! I spent hours, days, weeks obsessively researching and investigating and comparison-ing (it's the only word that'll fit here).

I suppose it's not much of a camera, as cameras go--a nice little digital with 2.0 pixies or elves or whatever--but it's done very good service, and I am very fond of the little guy.

Do I know who broke it? Nope. Will I ever know? Probably not. Will I even ask? Nope.

The culprit is no doubt fearing punishments so dire only a child could imagine them. Me, I do wish that they would take to heart that their honesty is more important to me than stuff. That I am telling the truth when I say that nobody gets "consequences" for accidents. Period.

But let's look at it from the child's point of view for a moment.

Would I have 'fessed up to my Mom, MOM! if I'd broken a big ticket item (which would've been pretty much anything in our household)? Nope. Would she have broken out the thumb screws if I had? Nope. Did I know that? Um. Kinda. She never had, I knew that much. But, you know, she was, well, a grownup.

This is one I don't have to agonize over, asking myself if it's because they are special needs or anxiously attached or beset by some hidden trace of PTSD somewhere or I forgot to read the one book that could have helped me with this. Nope. This one is easy.

Kids don't trust grownups to understand stuff.

It's nothing personal. It is their profession to be kids, which involves spending a lot of time and effort trying to slide under the radar of any nearby adult. Like the nice man or woman who sells you your car: friendly, yes, but you don't have completely identical interests at any point in your relationship and you both know it.

My kids love me; I love them. They know, theoretically, that honesty and responsibility are important and prized qualities. They know that I've never docked privileges for spilled milk, dropped glasses or toys, VCRs "washed" with the plant spray bottle. They get it. They do.

But ain't NObody copping to this one.

And, being a former kid my own self, I can't say that I blame them.