Harry Truman had a sign on his desk in the White House that read, “The Buck Stops Here.” I think he was the last president to ever have owned up to being the one responsible for a whole lot of anything. Blaming someone else or something else for whatever’s gone wrong seems to be the way of a whole lot of folks from the time the dog ate their homework up to the time they run into the back of your car. And well we might ask, as have some, “What difference, at this point, does it make?”

Jacob was about 3 when he knocked a cup of cocoa over on top of the glass table. His eyes started to fill with tears before I could even say, “Oh, Jacob!” “Don’t cry,” I told him.  “It was just an accident.” And it made all the difference in the world. There were other accidents, but he learned to help with the clean-up and he never tried to cover-up.   

He’s in junior high school now, and I don’t get to see his report cards because they’ve moved to Wyoming, but he’ll call. “Grandma, I got a “B” in English. But I’m going to try harder next time.” By and large, his grades are mostly good and he’s proud to tell me when he’s earned an “A” but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t try to “fudge” by pretending he’s “forgotten” to mention a lower grade.

And do I take credit for this kid’s honesty? Darned right I do! There have been, of course, a lot of things that happened in his life that taught him lessons, both good and bad. There were spankings, but there were rewards. And not every kid who played the game walked away with a trophy.

He told his Grandpa Bill Deacon that he gets up, is dressed and ready to go out the door by 6:00 a.m. because he has to report to ROTC before classes start. I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t tell his commander that he couldn’t get there on time because he was “just too tired.” We haven’t talked in a while about what he’d like to do after graduation, but I don’t think he’s going to be interested in a career in politics: he may not know much about Harry Truman but he already knows where the “buck stops.”

It’s been ages since my niece wore pigtails but I recall the year my sister spent a lot of time braiding Kinna’s hair for school pictures and was astounded when the photo envelope came home a month or so later. There was Kinna, unruly hair going every which direction but not in pigtails. “But mom,” came the explanation, “the teacher told us NO pigtails were allowed.” However, she’d had the foresight to ask her older sister to re-braid her hair after she got home from school so mom wouldn’t notice. Just this week, I saw a picture of Kinna on Facebook: her hair is the color of a fire truck, but it’s still not in pigtails.

Some of the best family stories are frequently about the whoppers told by kids and some can be so elaborate and so detailed that even Woodward and Bernstein might have believed them. 

Every now and again, Patience will make a stab at telling a half-truth. “Patience, did you brush your teeth?” “Yes, grandma.” “This morning?” “No.” She very seldom tries an “out-and-out” lie because the penalties are too high. She’s learning where the buck stops.

For the first time, Chris and I are learning how to use technology to keep up with Patience’s activities in school. Her teacher, Mrs. Whitmer, uses ClassDojo, an “app” that can be accessed on our phones or on my computer to “see” what Patience is doing practically every minute of the day. It’s like having your parent sit next to you in school.  I don’t know that it’s improved student behavior yet, but it can be a very efficient way to bring discipline right to the classroom. It’s too bad we can’t have a CongressDojo: the buck would stop a lot shorter than landing on the big desk in the Oval Office.