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I hate the word tattle.
It has such a negative connotation to it. Don't you think of whiny brats when you hear that someone "tattled?" When my stepdaughter was in kindergarten, I had my first run-in with the scary trap of tattling. My stepdaughter and some friends were playing in our play room. I heard a loud bang, and I ran in to find that the children had broken my new baby's swing. It was clear that this had taken some effort and some aggressive action. When I asked my stepdaughter why she hadn't told when things were getting too rough, she sincerely said, "My teacher said it's not nice to tattle."
My response was an incredulous, "Never?" And she solemnly answered, "Never."
VERY THIN LINE
This brings me to a subject that is very dear to my heart. How do we teach children when/how to tattle? How do we help them find that very thin line, especially when we wrestle with finding it ourselves? There was a third-grade teacher who used the chip system for her classroom. Each child was given the same amount of chips at the beginning of the week. They could lose their chips for various classroom infractions, and the children had to have a certain amount of chips left in their possession to participate in special weekly events. When a child wanted to tattle, he or she had to bring this teacher one of his or her chips. The teacher would hold that chip in her hand, and the child would proceed to share the tattle. If the teacher felt it was a "good" tattle (someone was in danger, something might get broken, etc.), she would return the chip to the student. If she felt it was a "bad" tattle (designed to get someone in trouble, something that wasn't dangerous, etc.), she would keep the chip. And so she taught the children when telling was important and when it was not.
Here at our house, I have tried many different systems for tattling. Some have worked. Most have failed when I have relied too much on rules and not enough on my heart. A time that stands out was when three of my elementary-age children told me that older kids were swearing at them on the bus. In my mind, this meant some garden-variety profanity. I didn't like this, but I imagined that they would hear many bad words on the bus (and some at home). I told myself that I couldn't call the bus garage every time a swear word flew by them. One night at supper, I was horrified as my son explained in graphic detail sex descriptions he'd heard on the bus.
I asked him, "Why didn't you tell me about this?"
And with sad, confused faces, my children replied, "We did, Mom. We told you they were swearing at us."
My heart sank at the knowledge that they had cried out for help, and in trying not to meddle too much, I had turned a deaf ear.
OPEN HEART, OPEN MIND
In saying all this and in knowing that I've clearly stumbled in this area, I would like adults to sit up and take notice. We are failing our children in the area of tattling. We value silence and smooth waters so much that we are teaching our children to shut up. Gone is the era of children being seen and not heard, and yet we are still fostering that attitude. Why do we get so irritated when a child brings a complaint to us? Is it because it will require effort on our part? Is it because we feel helpless in a world where children are still essentially powerless? Is it because no one listened to our tattles when we were little, and we have no idea what to do? Why do we try to rationalize their tattles away?
I have watched many children try to tell the hard things, try to tell about the abuse, the neglect, the suffering. And I have watched many adults listen with a contemptuous smirk, a roll of the eyes. I have watched many adults question children (especially teenagers) as if they were the criminal and not the victim. I have heard many adults say with satisfaction that there is no evidence, as if the lack of evidence proves the story is false.
So, what if we did this... What if we listened to each child's story with an open heart, an open mind? What if we suspended our disbelief and instead of searching for the child's hidden agenda, we spent our time searching for the truth? What if, even if there was nothing we could do, we still let the child feel heard, cared about? What if we held their chip, their story, in our hand and gave the children a chance, a glimmer of hope that there could be good tattles, and that someone might try to make it right.
Mary White is from the Malone area. She and her husband have five children, eight cats, two dogs and three guinea pigs. She has had the privilege of working with children and families (her own and other people's) for more than 20 years.
