My son, like all six-year-olds I know, is a liar. Often, in parenting him through his lies, I feel like I’m teaching him to become a better liar. “Seriously Oliver! No one asks you to kick them.” He catalogs the data learning that he needs a better lie next time. And he is improving.

I want to be clear, I don’t think my kid is a psychopath. All kids lie when they realize that they can. It comes with learning that your mind and your thoughts are different from those around you. Learning how much of the truth to reveal is vital to survival as a social creature. This is an interesting example of where the scientific explanation allows for more grace than the theological (original sin).

For the past month, Oliver’s lie of choice has been, “I didn’t hear that.” It is a good lie when employed correctly because only he knows what he heard. It also works on another class of interactions Oliver doesn’t care for, speaking to adults. “Oliver your Nana asked you a question, you need to answer her,” is a sentence I often have to use.

This past week it has been out of control. Every time there is a consequence,  “I didn’t know that!” Every time I ask him to do something and he doesn’t do it, “I didn’t hear you!”

Yesterday at dinner, after a week of this, I looked over at Amy and said, “I don’t think I can handle this kid. He doesn’t want to hear anything we say.” Then I started to wonder.

He’s sitting three feet from me. I said his name loudly, “Oliver.” He looks at me. Again loudly, “Repeat what I say.” He nods.

Then soften my voice and say, “My bother is next to me.”

He looks at me and says, “What?”

I repeat it softly, and he says, “I can’t hear you.”

So Issac, who is farther away, chimes in his usual outside voice, “MY BOTHER IS NEXT TO ME OLIVER!”

Amy and I look at each other, wide-eyed, oh-shit-faced. He really couldn’t hear us.

So Amy takes him to the doctor this morning and he has an ear infection that has filled his ears with pus. Pus that proves that while my child still lies often, he is more than just a liar. My conceptual framework was keeping me from understanding reality just as reliably as the pus was keeping my words from his ears.

He should fully recover on antibiotics. I wonder if I’ll learn.