BEL MOONEY: How can I defuse the pain of my grandson’s terrible lie?

Dear Bel,

Six years ago, when my grandson was seven, I had collected him and my granddaughter from school and when we arrived at their home he misbehaved.

My memory of exactly what he said has gone, but he was extremely cheeky and I admonished him.

It bothered me enough to tell his Mum quietly when she got home, mentioning that he was up the stairs and I was at the foot with my granddaughter.

He was listening outside the door, heard me — then raced into the room, crying and hysterical, saying I’d thrown him to the floor in anger. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the lies he was telling and wanted to leave and go home.

He was probably worried about his parents knowing how cheeky he’d been — but, even so, it was extreme.

Naturally I told them it was untrue and I was horrified they thought I could physically manhandle him.

I went to bed; my son came up and said they’d talked and my grandson repeated his story. I said it was untrue and that I only told him off verbally.

But my son said they believed him, as the child ‘never lies’. He added that we’d work our way through this and that is what happened.

But last month, trying to get me to contact the sister I don’t get on with, my son intimated it was my fault we kept falling out. To back this up, he referred to that incident with my grandson which, he said, ‘showed a dark side to my character’. I couldn’t speak for distress. That he had thought this of me all this time.

My dilemma is that I want to have a heart to heart with him. To tell him I don’t want to go to my grave knowing that he thinks I could strike my grandson. The thought that he could believe this of me is horrifying.

I’m 75 and feel sick and ill — and he saw this on a video chat. I just couldn’t speak for crying. It was a week before he called me and things have settled down but, on the odd occasion, he has since brought up ‘my dark side’ in jest —and it hurts.

Should I carry on as if I’m OK and let sleeping dogs lie, or should I have a chat with my son and tell him how hurt and sad I am that he still believes this of me?

ELSA

Elsa, it didn’t take me more than a single reading of your longer email to know that it will be impossible for you to pretend you’re not upset.

There are no ‘sleeping dogs’ in this story — not when you are crying and your son has observed it on his screen.

So the question is how you can talk about the issue with him without weeping. The trouble with crying is that it makes you impossible to understand. So the next time you arrange a video call prepare yourself with some deep breaths and vow to yourself to remain calm and in control.

That sad incident when you were accused by your grandson happened a long time ago, but it does puzzle me that your granddaughter was present, and a school-age child would surely have been asked by her parents what happened. This is an odd omission.

But naturally I believe your side of things (since you have written in such distress) and I do know that children are capable of telling incredible whoppers. Any parent who can intone piously ‘My child never lies’ is surely deluded.

Most humans will tell a lie if it is to their advantage; it’s in our DNA — ever since Adam and Eve tried to hide from God in the Garden of Eden because they knew they’d done wrong.

That leads me to your estrangement from one sister. Who knows where the fault lies? Presumably, with both of you.

I applaud your son’s attempts to organise a rapprochement between you — because at 75 you might perhaps reflect that life is too short to hold old grievances. But whatever you decide, I think he is wrong to bring up the old issue and to talk about you as if you were a character in a soap opera. ‘Dark side’ is not respectful — and you can tell him that, quietly and calmly and firmly. With no tears.

It seems inevitable that you will tell him you are hurt and sad, but just be careful how you do it. Having put his faith in his son six years ago, he will not row back from that position now.

Even if the child (now 13) has been caught out with a fib since then, your son is unlikely to admit it.

So you must point out that you think it unhealthy for the issue to be dragged up now given that so much time has passed. Agree to differ, but say that you don’t find it in the least bit amusing that he should speak of a ‘dark side’.

Of course, the truth is that most of us have a ‘dark side’ — and the only way for us to be able to co-exist is to tolerate that raw truth.

My daughter’s life in Australia is dire

Dear Bel,

My daughter has been married for 20 years, with two boys, 17 and 14.

She lives in Australia, having emigrated in 1992. Her husband has been violent towards her over the years and is a control freak.

Now he’s been living apart from her in a flat in Sydney for the past two years, coming to the marital home some weekends. She has been paying the mortgage for that time.

He has agreed to pay the boys’ school fees (which she has to remind him to do), but she covers all the utilities, food, insurances and boys’ clothes, as well as paying the mortgage, which is rather large.

She runs her own hairdressing business, working from her home salon six days a week to make ends meet.

Every time she tells her husband she wants to end the marriage, he says: ‘We don’t want to go down the divorce road.’ The whole situation is really getting my daughter down and I fear for her mental health.

The boys are typical lazy teenagers and no help to her at all. They don’t even walk the dog. The eldest has been diagnosed with anxiety and depression and has threatened to take his own life.

My daughter phones me every day. I am her only lifeline, as she has no other family there.

I listen to all her worries about money, the boys and her husband, and we go round in circles. Obviously getting a divorce is costly and she really does not want to lose the house — her security.

As we helped with the deposit (they were renting before that), we’d hate her to lose the home. I would be so pleased to have your input and maybe give me some advice so I can help her.

STEPHANIE

How sad and frustrating to be so far away, bearing the burden of your daughter’s unhappiness.

Nevertheless, there are lots of missing details. Do she and her husband co-own the property? Did he pay some of the mortgage when they were together? What are their respective incomes?

Do the boys like him, need him? What was the cause of the break-up? Was it an affair? Or his tendency to violence? Were the police ever called?

You say your daughter has ‘no family’ in Sydney, but after 29 years she must have friends. You should encourage her to talk to them. And it took two clicks for me to find some online couple counselling in Australia, so you could suggest this to your daughter.

Tell her you are not a professional and it would help her to get experienced advice.

Although we mothers do our best, her unhappiness is draining and that’s not good for you.

Given the age of those boys, my instinct says it would help them if she ceased to discuss divorce at the moment. It will be doing them no good to have that trauma hanging over them.

If those weekend visits cause no problem, why should they not continue until the boys have finished schooling?

They need habit and stability. Your daughter’s position is tough, I agree, but that 17-year-old needs help, not the continuing anger of parents. I think your daughter should agree to a truce and discuss with her husband what they can do together to help the boys.

For a start, their father needs to tell them to draw up a rota of domestic tasks with their mum — and stick to it. Why has she let them get away with laziness? It has to stop — and making that firm decision will actually help her take some control of her life.

If her distress has been passed on to them (which I assume it has), it will add to their feeling that life has no purpose. Teenagers will loaf about — unless the adults in their life tell them otherwise.

They need to be treated as young adults who can — and must — help their hardworking mother. No ifs, no buts. Perhaps you could chat to them on Zoom, Stephanie, and give the boys a pep talk.

Of course, in time she will want to press ahead with a divorce, and has every right to start a new phase in her life — without being shackled to the man who has caused her such stress and unhappiness.

If it turns out the house has to be sold, then she will have found a good solicitor and may fancy starting afresh in a new, downsized home.

All I am suggesting is that she sees this as a postponement, rather as so many of us feel life is postponed because of the virus right now.

The only way to get through tough times is to make quiet plans while you look ahead.

And finally: Be kind and say, I am glad for you  

Oh dear, whatever you say these days, someone will take offence and complain.

Last week I confessed to once being a TV snob, but now ‘look forward to snuggling on the sofa with three little dogs and a husband and watching something that helps me forget Covid and whatever else is bothering me.’ Since many people worry about watching too much TV in lockdown, this light-hearted column said: ‘It’s fine, so relax!’

But one furious reader accused me of ‘insensitivity’ and snapped: ‘Your attitude smacks of “I’m all right Jack”!’

Mrs S accused me of not considering those who are bereaved or otherwise deprived of families.

She stuck the knife in with: ‘Please think of other people who are going through an even worse time than yourself.’

Well, I do try.

But although that snipe made me sad, it was mainly for the writer of the email. She misses her late husband and the family she is separated from by lockdown, plus she has another terrible problem — so had to get angry with me. Which is fine. But her email reminded me how vital it is to allow others their happiness.

I suppose it’s natural to feel some jealousy when someone has what you long for: beauty, youth, talent, riches, quiet contentment or whatever.

But imagine if you weren’t allowed to mention joy in a new baby, in case it upset the infertile. Or how much you love walking, in case it peeves the disabled. Or your delight in a wedding, in case it makes divorcees feel bad about themselves. You couldn’t say anything cheerful in case it showed callousness towards the sad.

So please don’t be angry at my good news because you’ve had bad news. Don’t sneer at happy families, because sadly your experience hasn’t been like that. Don’t pour scorn on love letters, just because you never had one.

One of the most beautiful phrases in our language is: ‘I am so glad for you.’