Actually, that’s the whole point of this story–nothing happened.
This morning in my First Grade Sunday School class, the story was about Jesus having compassion on the two blind beggars. As a lead-in to the story, the teacher’s book suggested discussing, first, whether the children had ever experienced a stranger coming up to them and asking them for money (as in panhandling), and then, whether if such a thing happened, they would feel more inclined to give the stranger some money if he was nicely dressed, or if he was in rags. Then we were to discuss the fact that “a long time ago in Bible Times, there were people whose job it actually was to sit by the side of the road and ask strangers for money–they were called beggars”, and we were to talk about whether the kids would feel inclined to give money to strangers who were dressed in rags.
So I asked my group if they’d ever “been with Mommy shopping, or maybe at the library or something, and a stranger came up to you and asked you for money, like for gas or something”. One kid immediately piped up, “Yes!” and I asked, “Well, tell us about it, what happened?” and he said, “My brother! He was asking my mom for money this one time, and…and…”
I said, “Well, um, that’s not really…”
The little girl next to me, named Olivia, who is part of a family of three adorable little girls, and who The Cat Who Walks Alone babysits on a regular basis, volunteered the information that one time, a man had come up to her and Mommy and asked Mommy for money. I said, “Well, tell us about it, what happened?” She said, “Well, one time me and Mommy were at the State Fair, and this man came up to Mommy, and he asked her for some money.”
I asked, “Did she give him some?”
“Yes.”
I thought, “Well, that doesn’t surprise me, Christy is just the kind of very nice person who probably does give money to strangers.” I asked her, “How did he look? Was he dressed nice, or was he kind of dirty?”
She wasn’t really sure how he looked, but she went on, “He told Mommy she had to give him some money or else he would take me.”
Startled, I said, “What?”
She nodded. “Yes, he said if Mommy didn’t give him some money, he would take me away.”
I asked curiously, “So, did Mommy give him some money?” trying to visualize Christy at the Illinois State Fair, surrounded by hundreds of people, being subjected to blackmail like this. Frankly, I had trouble picturing it. Christy’s a nice Church Lady, but that doesn’t mean she’s a wimp, especially where “The Girls” are concerned.
Olivia stated, “Yes, and then he took me away, and he took me to his house, far away, but my Mommy knew who he was, and she knew where he lived, and Mommy and Daddy and Griselda had to come get me.”
The Better Half and I listened to this in dumbfounded silence, because Griselda is, of course, none other than The Cat Who Walks Alone, and well we remembered the day she went to the Illinois State Fair with Christy and her three little girls. That was the day we got back from our three-week Niagara Falls trip a day early, anticipating a joyous reunion with The Cat, who had stayed behind in Decatur because she was working at McDonalds, sleeping on Chuck and Christy’s couch. However, when we got home and called their house to tell her the happy news that she could come home now, Chuck told us that “the ladies” had all gone to the State Fair. When our daughter finally returned home at 9 p.m., I guess in all the excitement she somehow forgot to mention that Olivia had been kidnapped and that she and Chuck and Christy had had to go to a strange man’s house to retrieve her.
I said to Olivia, very gently, “When we’re in Sunday School, we talk about things that are true, not things that are made up,” and she gave me a blank look. And I went on with the lesson.
When Sunday School got out, Olivia and I went upstairs to find Mommy, and I asked her, “The day you and Griselda and the girls all went to the State Fair–was Olivia kidnapped and taken to a strange man’s house?”
Surprised, half-laughing, she said, “Um, no…What?..” I gave her a short outline of the tall tale we’d just heard, and suggested they have a little discussion about the difference between truth and fiction, and she agreed that that might not be a bad idea, giving Olivia a rather severe look.
And then she remembered, “But, you know, we did talk about it–we talked about going with strangers, that day at the fair…”
So that’s basically the story, but I mean, wow! It’s always been axiomatic that when a child comes up with a story like this, you “believe the child”–that’s what we’re told. “Children can’t make up things like that”, we’re told. Well, Olivia did make up something like that, and the thing that I found so unnerving was, it could just as easily have involved the Better Half and something much uglier than “he took me to his house”.
I’ve been teaching this class for 9 years now, and for the last 4 years I’ve had the Better Half as my assistant. Although the church’s official policy is “always two adults in the room at the same time,” still that isn’t always adhered to. When the Better Half can’t be there, I’m supposed to call someone to be in there with me, but you know, it’s just a lot of hassle. And, let’s face it, it doesn’t look as bad for a female teacher to be alone in the room with the kids, as it does for a male teacher. And when I get sick, I send the Better Half off to church with instructions to “find someone to be in there with you–ask one of the Moms”, but he never does.
And to make it worse, the Better Half is one of those cuddly, huggy types who really likes kids. Every year it seems like there’s one needy little girl who just likes to hug Mr. R., and he obliges and gives her lots of hugs because that’s the kind of guy he is. (I did draw the line for him at the beginning about “little girls sitting on his lap”, even if I’m there, because it doesn’t sound right for Morgan or Shelby to report to Mommy and Daddy, “I got to sit on Mr. R’s lap today in Sunday School”.) And he is also fairly physical with the boys, shadow boxing and picking them up and twirling them around his head.
I have a good friend who is currently on the DCFS “watch list” because her 9-year-old niece charged her husband with “inappropriate touching”, saying that Uncle George was putting suntan lotion on her thighs (which he denies). DCFS automatically “believed the child” and started an investigation, and Bonnie and George came very close to having their own daughter taken away from them.
So now I wonder. If Olivia, who I always considered the picture of 6-year-old innocence and truthfulness, could make up a whopper like that, why not Bonnie’s niece? And if Olivia could make up a story about being taken to a strange man’s house, she could also make up a story about Mr. R. doing something that the adults listening to her would find very disturbing, especially if she was prompted–asked leading questions–by a teacher or social worker committed to finding a child molester.
I understand, in retrospect, that Olivia was just trying to please the teacher, by telling her what she thought Teacher wanted to hear, but it got out of hand, all the half-remembered injunctions about “strangers” suddenly combining in her little head to make that story.
But what if she had told that story to somebody who didn’t know her and her family, somebody who wasn’t in a position to go straight upstairs and either confirm or disprove the story–somebody official like a schoolteacher, who would have felt obligated to report it to DCFS, who would have “believed the child” and started an investigation of Chuck and Christy? “Your daughter was abducted by a family acquaintance and you didn’t report it to the police?”
I’m not saying that all children who report they’ve been molested should be suspected of having made it all up, but it sure gave me something to think about this morning.
And I will definitely make arrangements from now on, when I get sick, to have someone in there with the Better Half.
