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When I was starting out in the IT field many years ago, charged with implementing and maintaining computer and network security, a wise manager showed me a valuable tool for making the right decision at the right time—sort of a personal and professional liability check. The trick was to say what you were doing out loud, but insert the phrase “Your Honor” in front of every statement. For example, “Your honor, I didn’t apply proper security to those confidential personnel files because I was sure no one on the network would ever think to look there…”, or “Your honor, I didn’t reset the password of the guy we just fired because I was sure he wasn’t the kind of person who would take down the entire network before he cleaned out his desk…”, or “Your honor I meant that pat on my female co-worker’s derriere to be strictly in a buddy kind of way, you know, like the guys on my softball team?” You get the idea. But I must admit—it really worked. For there was something about having an authoritative (albeit imaginary) 3rd party present that handily exposed how ill-conceived some of our best-laid plans really were; a valuable life lesson in both perception and perspective.

Recently, I began to wonder if this tactic might also work with my kids. Imagine it:

“Your honor, I jail-broke my iPod so that I can download songs with the “f” word in them.” Or “Your honor, when I said I lost my GameBoy DS I really knew where it was all along—waiting to be ‘found’ under my pillow tonight.”

See kids; see how silly all this sneaking around sounds to the judge? There’s just one problem: getting kids to admit the transgression in the first place. Sadly, all I think I would accomplish at this point would be:

“Your honor, I cannot tell a lie. I didn’t do it.”

And unfortunately my sons have managed to lie with much more finesse, probably more than I could ever muster against my own parents when I was a youngster. Consider the following exchange, where Josh, our 15-year-old is trying to convince me he needs to hang around the house alone for an entire Sunday instead of going to his little brother’s soccer game:

ME: “You’re coming to your little brother’s game today. It’s the least you could do, seeing as we had no choice but to drag him along to all of yours.”

JOSH: “I can’t. I have to study for a final next week.”

ME: “Finals? I thought you got all your major ones out of the way last week.”

JOSH: “No I have one more on Tuesday. Gym.”

ME: “Gym? You have a final for Gym? Come on! When I was in high school you got a B for just showing up in your gym shorts. And an A as long as you didn’t get hit on purpose in the first minute of dodge ball so you could spend the rest of the period sitting down.”

JOSH: “No. I actually have a gym final, and it’s really hard.”

ME: (Still in disbelief, trying not to chortle) “Okay, so you’ve got this Gym final you’re all stressed about. Why didn’t you study when we let you hang around all day yesterday? It seems to me like you spent the majority of the time hacking into our internet parental controls. If this was so important why didn’t you study then?”

JOSH: “No – they say you have to study two days before an exam to retain the information the best. So it has to be today. The final’s on Tuesday.”

ME: “Well, I guess you’ll have to cram all that Physical Education in the good old fashion way tomorrow night.”

JOSH: “Okay, but if I get a bad grade in Gym it’s your fault.”

I really try to give them the benefit of the doubt. But to do that I have to make a huge leap of faith here: first, accept that there actually is a gym final. Then, accept that he really is more worried about a Physical Education exam than he was about English, World Studies, or Advanced Algebra. Really, how difficult can it be for a high honor student like Josh to retain questions about the rules of kick ball, or indoor floor hockey with the plastic sticks? Third, accept that even Gym has changed into yet another educational entity that I can no longer recognize.

Why all this sudden anxiety about lying? Let’s face it—we all did it as kids, or at least most of us. But recently, I stumbled upon the studies of Dr. Kang Lee, director of Child Studies at the University of Toronto that have found the “earlier a child starts lying, he would more likely be successful in the future – marking the rapid growth of the brain.”

I suppose the proof of this has always been before us; just look at Wall Street in the last decade, for example. But there is something a bit unsettling when the behavior we’re trying not to reinforce in our children, is actually the foundation of the intellectual processes that will make them the most successful as adults.

Was I a good liar as a child? Sadly, I don’t think I was as good at it as my kids. But that’s okay, for it’s my job to insure their success, to be satisfied to see them far surpass me and my generation when they’re adults. If anything, I’ve given them all these great opportunities to lie; to exercise what Dr. Lee refers to as ‘executive functions’ in the brain—liars fodder.

But wait—perhaps Dr. Lee needs to study households with Italian or Jewish mothers. For it occurs to me that I probably did a lot less lying than the blossoming future executives of my generation due to good old fashioned guilt. So does the brain develop less if you really meant to lie, but never did because you just couldn't bear to break your poor mother's heart...again? Is there a part of me that would be happier if my kids told the truth all the time, even if it might mean they end up digging ditches, thus ending the nearly constant game of cat and mouse we parents play just to stay one step ahead these days? Am I completely floored by our society’s propensity to equate success with the ability to gain material possessions by being exceptional liars?

Your honor, guilty as charged.