Owning Up to Wrongdoing
My husband Chris tells wonderful stories of a childhood on a prep school campus. His mom and dad were dorm parents on an 800-acre campus where his father taught English. The gang of ‘faculty brats’ are still friends, 60-some years later.
In the third grade, on the day when Quincy, the school Janitor, had replaced the fluorescent lights in all the hallways, Chris and three of his friends noticed the discarded light tubes next to the trash bins in the back of the school. The tubes made perfect javelins, and the boys discovered an amazing quality of fluorescent lights. If a boy used his best javelin throwing form, and the tube hit the side of the building straight on, it shattered in the most remarkable way. They watched with fascination as the shatter slowly made its way up the tube. The glass shards fell to the ground in slow motion! A wonder to behold. The boys shattered every single fluorescent tube. Then, observing the glass all over the sidewalk, they decided they had better make their way home.
Chris remembers wanting to tell his dad about the adventure, but he felt quite sure that this would get him in trouble. The next morning, as soon as he arrived at school, his teacher told him that the principal wanted to see him. He made his way to the office, noticing that none of the other three boys were there. Mr. Jones told him that Quincy had seen some boys breaking light bulbs after school. “Were you involved in this?” Chris was sure he was going to be kicked out of school. (This is what happened to the high-school boys when his dad caught them smoking.) Nevertheless, he told the truth. Mr. Jones said, “OK. We will have to see about this.” Back in class, Chris learned that the other three boys had lied. They told Mr. Jones that they knew nothing about the javelin practice (a dead give-away). Chris could barely drag himself through the rest of the school day, certain that at any time an announcement would be made that he was expelled. It was a relief when the school day ended – until Chris realized that he would have to face his dad when he got home. This was even more horrible than the prospect of school expulsion.
Sure enough, Mr. Jones had already consulted with Chris’ father by the time Chris got home. His dad demanded to be told the whole story, so Chris gave a detailed account – of how wonderfully the tubes shattered, and of how much fun it was to pretend they were javelins.(Chris’ dad was the track coach and could not help being delighted that his 9-year-old was attentive to proper form for throwing javelins.). Chris acknowledged that they should have cleaned up the glass, but honestly, he could not see a way to do that. They had made a really big mess. To Chris’ amazement, his father told him sternly that he should not have shattered the glass, that someone could have gotten hurt, and that he should use better judgment in the future. However, because Chris had been honest and had admitted his wrongdoing, he would not be punished this time.
Next day in school, Chris learned that the other three boys would be required to stay after school every day for a week, doing janitorial tasks under the supervision of Quincy.
“Father, I Can Not Tell a Lie: I Cut the Tree," engraving by John C. McRae, 1867.
The fluorescent javelin adventure did not turn Chris from conspiring with the other faculty brats over the years to break rules and to test boundaries. But he remembered the incident and puzzled about the relative evils of breaking rules and of lying to avoid punishment.
An addendum to this story: Chris grew up to become a social psychologist who studied deception.
Love this story!