Truth and consequences.

He is 8 now--my son--the tiny five-pound bundle that fit in the crook of my pudgy forearm. He has a trendy haircut and favorite clothes now--he's concerned about looking cool. We had his birthday party at Jeepers! a kiddie Las Vegas--like palace in the mall. He and his friends were all juiced up on cotton candy and coins--tokens, actually. They all needed more tokens. It was clear that school had ended and the summer begun.

He did first grade twice, my boy. He went in too early, in hindsight. I tortured myself when the teacher suggested it--proof of my inferior parenting ability. It is always about me. Good God, I thought, to be "left back" was such a trauma in the '70s. I remember the boy we had in third grade who was supposed to be in fourth grade but wasn't. Todd was his name. He used to Scotch-Tape thumbtacks--with the points out--to a Spalding ball and then throw it at your head with all his might. Todd scared me. He still does, in fact. So much so that "Todd" is not his real name--it's made-up--on the off chance that they get The Advocate in maximum security facilities.

I followed the teacher's advice in my son's case. But, since we moved out to the burbs after my show ended, he changed schools and started out as a fresh first-grader again. Still, he wasn't happy about it. "I already did first grade, Mom."

"Yes," I lied, "but in the country, if you're 7 [which he was], you have to be in first grade."

He squinted his left eye almost shut, jutted his button nose at me, and stared.

My lie worked for a while, but eventually he figured it out. By that time, though, he was in love with his new teacher and it didn't matter so much.

On my 41st birthday he told me, "Mama, I know why you lied about the first-grade do-over, but from now on I can take the truth."

"OK," I promised. "Only the truth." Then we got stuck in traffic on the Tappan Zee Bridge, and he wanted to know what was causing the backup. There was a jumper on the bridge--how does one explain that to an 8-year-old? He's too young played over and over inside my mind--as I looked at him and wondered what to do.

"There is a confused man on the bridge," I said. "He is very sad and his brain isn't working so well. He has climbed up the bridge and is thinking about jumping off. The police have stopped the traffic on the bridge so they can try to help the man."

He was silent for a few minutes, and as I watched him from the rearview mirror, I could see a tiny furrow form on his boy brow. "Would he live if he did a dive?" he asked.

"No," I said. "He would die from diving or jumping or falling."

"Wow. I think someone should go get his mom--she can tell him to come down."

"Excellent idea," I told him before he turned his attention to Digimon.

So now I am trying the truth as a radical new way of parenting. I am telling them the truth--even when it is hard. And so far, it seems to be working just fine:

"Nathan said two mommies can't be married."

"Well, Park, Nathan is wrong. Me and Mommy Kel are married."

"Not in the government married--just pretend married?"

"Well, yes, in fact--that is true. We are not legally married, because at the moment it is not allowed in the USA."

"That is a totally unfair rule, Mom," he said with disgust.

"It certainly is, Parker," in ways he has yet to comprehend. I'm in the middle of a large corporate lawsuit--and I was denied spousal privilege. So everything I have ever said to Kelli is admissible. A tabloid buffet.

"Eventually, Parker--the unfair rules get changed."

"Yeah--can we see Spy Kids 3-D again?"

"Only if we have to."