The prohibition of a proposed action arouses all the resentment of thwarted desire and unfulfilled attainment. Such consequences may be avoided by the suggestion of better plans, methods, or acts, concurrent with the reasons why such change is desirable or necessary. The substitution of other activities or another course of conduct fills the void made by denial and satisfies his psychological requirement of being kept busy. Every normal boy is a safety-valveless steam boiler, stored full of dynamic energy which expends itself in constant action--usually physical--and failure to provide for the utilization and consumption of this energy will result in an explosion in some form of delinquency. Cheerful, helpful, informative, intelligent, and inspirational suggestion is the boy’s greatest need and he will accept it willingly from a father who is joined to him by ties of sympathetic comradeship which are long enough to encompass his needs within their bonds. If a father’s influence is to count for much, he should be both a chum and a big brother to his son. CHAPTER IX THE HABIT OF FALSEHOOD The continued reiteration of a fantasy produces an impression on the brain cells akin to the impression produced by a fact. The fantasy of imagination roams without check or hindrance by childhood until it reaches a land which is believed to be reality. The borderland between fiction and fact is not always clearly defined and the immature mind of youth generally fails to distinguish the line where the one ends and the other begins. Fantasy is as real to childhood as reality. Who cannot recall in his own childhood an event which illustrates the point? I was once the happy owner of a snare drum which filled a large place in my life. But I repeatedly and proudly claimed the ownership of two drums--a bass as well as a snare drum. My claim to the possession of a bass drum was founded on the discovery of a board in the wall of the barn, which, when struck with the fist, gave forth a sound which my childish fancy decided could be only the boom of a bass drum. While a companion beat this sounding board with his fist, I played the snare drum in unison. I never realized that I was lying when I said I owned two drums. I was not. The sounding board was as real a drum to the mind of my childhood as it is unreal to the mind of my maturity. A little lad rushed into his mother’s room exclaiming, “Mamma, a hundred big Indians tried to catch me. I shot ’em. I killed two or free.” He was arrayed in an Indian suit, with a toy bow and arrows. The back yard was the battle field which his imagination filled with blood-thirsty warriors seeking his scalp. His vivid imagination was running riot. It made every bush and tree an aboriginal. Shooting an arrow into a bush he shouted, “I gotcha, you bad Indian! I killed ye dead!” until his victory was complete and he ran to share his conquest with his mother.