Kathy Williams

My daughter told me of a recent bedtime event involving her, Jacob, who turns 7 Thursday, and Suzannah, who's a few months past 5. From my years as a big sister and young mother, I know 5 is THE year a child truly struggles with honesty. At 4, they ponder the huge issues of life from death to faith. At 5, ethical questions are more earthbound: If I really like it, why can't it be mine? At 7, they've been socialized by school marms.

Autumn pulled back the covers on Jacob's bed and discovered tacks and needles -- obviously stolen from her workshop -- had been placed near his pillow. A joke, a bit of mischief that could have gone terribly wrong (a mother's mind can span all the horribles in a nanosecond.) Her temper flared, she cooled it, "I know one of you did this. I am going to shut the door. You work it out. When I come back in, you better tell me who did and if there are any more that I haven't found. If you tell me the truth, no one gets in trouble. If you don't, you both get punished."

She slammed the door and expected to hear, "You did it!" "No, you did it." Instead, there was quiet. Then Jacob said, "Now Suzannah, we both know you did this, so just tell Mama and let her know if there are any more needles. She doesn't want us to get hurt."

Said Suzannah, "No way! I don't want to get in trouble." Jacob tried his best to persuade her that Autumn would live up to her word. It didn't work. He even explained that keeping dangerous secrets is a bad, bad thing to do. No dice.

"Suzannah, it breaks my heart that you would keep a bad secret. You have to tell," Jacob said with a throb in his voice. She required a little more coaxing, then said, "I did it and I dropped one and I don't know where it is. That's why I couldn't tell Mama."

"It's OK, Mama will help us find it." And so she did.