Calculate Her Little White Lies

A black mother must calculate the little white lies she must tell her children until she deems her children are ready to handle the truth.

To lie or not to lie...that is the question.

My oldest daughter has just entered the seventh grade and is now able to use a calculator in math. It was on her list of school supplies, and when I first laid eyes upon the list, I knew I did not want her to use one.

I would like for her to learn how to solve math equations without being dependent on a calculator. In my opinion, it will keep her mind fresh. I would hate for her to come across a algebra problem and seek assistance from a calculator instead of FIGURING out how to solve the equation on her own. Just a pencil and piece of paper. Will it take more time? Yes. However it is what she must learn how to do.

So, I told her the reason Asians excel in area such as math is because they do not use calculators. Now, you and I know there is more to this, and one day she will as well. However, she accepted it and felt like if they could solve their math problems without the aid of a calculator, she could too.

By telling her this, I provided her with power, energy and fuel for the upcoming year. Determination, a goal and a challenge.

In my home, there is no such thing as Santa, The Tooth Fairy, or The Easter Bunny. Those are not the kinds of white lies that I partake in. It has to benefit my children emotionally, spiritually and be able to do wonders for their self esteem. Because let's be honest, some white lies are necessary.

A black mother will calculate which white lies are worth the telling with no regrets when it comes to her precious offspring.

To sleep with well-wishes.

I would have to say that the black woman is extremely passionate about her children.

I find myself staring at my son more especially now that he is beginning to pick up more phrases. Last night, after we all had went to bed, he got up and spent an extra thirty minutes at the window with the blinds open staring up into the sky. I joined him.

He's MY two year old and I love him.

At first, he was interested in finding the plane that he heard just a minute before. Like any quick swift two year old, he made it to the window in time. I watched his eyes watch the fixed-winged aircraft until it was no longer in sight. I was certain he was going to lay back down after that, but he remained in the same position until I made my way over to the window, and asked him in my most sing-song voice, "What cha doing?"

He looked up at me briefly before making room for two at the window sill.

"Up?" he asked pointing to the sky.

"Yes, that's up."

"Sky?" he asked. Now he was showing off.

"Yes, that is the sky. The sky is all of that space up there." I position my pointing finger on the window directly beside his pointer.

Although he didn't stop looking at the sky to acknowledge me, I know he heard me. I take this time to kiss him directly on the top of his head. He's a really sweet and kind boy.

I spend the ten minutes with him at the window where we laugh, squeal and almost get hushed up by his father who is a co-sleeper by default.

"Let's be a little bit quieter." I whisper.

"Okay." he whispers back.

His voice is both innocent and honest. I know that I'll always feel as over-protective and passionate about him as I do at that very moment.

Eventually, I left him at the window with my well-wishes and climbed back into the bed with his father. The next time I opened my eyes he was laying right in the middle of us. Sleep.