Tag: lying

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Liar, Liar

When I was in second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Smith, told us a story one day about always telling the truth. I don’t recall much about what she said, except this: she claimed her son, Tim, age 17, always told the truth. She caught him in a lie when he was three, had a good long talk with him, and he never lied to her again.

Yeah, right. Even at the tender age of seven, I and the vast majority of my classmates were skeptical. I’m not sure what that said about us. Maybe that we’d all lied to our parents more than once and no talking-to was likely to stop us from doing it again.

That story apparently stayed with us, for one day when poor Tim showed up to drop off something for his mother we all pounced. Most of us just cried out something like, “you’re Tim?” but the braver souls demanded to know if he ever lied to his mother. Mrs. Smith reigned us in pretty quickly, and just as quickly Tim disappeared.

I’m sure Mrs. Smith intended to help keep us from lying, but that’s a difficult task for parents, let alone teachers. As I grew older I learned my mom and dad had discovered I was a pretty good liar, while my sister was not. I took no pride in that and vowed to change my ways, but I think it took awhile.

As adults, our lies can get bigger and the consequences worse. Most of us know this and steer toward truth-telling. I know I try to, although I may have challenged the concept of a “little white lie” on more than one occasion. Still, I think I’m an honest person for the vast majority of the time.

Okay, I may tell you my cats are the best cats in the world. Obviously, that’s impossible to measure and is entirely subjective, so I guess it’s not really a lie, it’s more like hyperbole.

I work with a woman I call a storyteller. The first few of her stories I took at face value, but the longer we worked together the more I realized they were blatant falsehoods. I just smile now when she gets going with her tales and say things like, “Really? That’s unbelievable.” I don’t think she catches my meaning. The thing is, when it comes to our work, I believe she’s honest. So her stories don’t really bother me.

Lies from politicians do bother me, starting with those told on the campaign trail. I’m holding my breath about some things some politicos said when they were trying to win an election, knowing these people have proven that their words are untrustworthy. Some campaign promises are so bizarre, or so expensive, that I question why anyone would believe them. But people do.

I once discovered, on a previous job, that a co-worker lied to a group of us about the work we were doing, and lied to others to cover up what he was telling us. That did not sit well with us when we found out about it. His lies led us down the wrong path and we looked bad. Turns out our manager had figured out what he was up to, but we had no idea. I would have liked it if she sat us down and went over it, but maybe that’s expecting too much.

The best any of us can do is vow to be honest with each other and trust that that catches on in the world around us. It’s not only the right thing to do, it’s the caring thing.

Image Credits: Pinocchio nose © Vadym; Children © Rymma; Cats © LadadikArt–all, stock.adobe.com

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truth to tell

And then...and then..
“And then…and then…”

It’s at times entertaining to watch a pre-schooler try to lie their way out of a sticky situation. So endearing, in fact, parents may pretend to believe everything the little tall-tale-teller is saying, just to hear them say it. They’re so earnest and sincere.

Not my second grade teacher, though. Mrs. Smith didn’t take falsehoods from anybody, in particular her son, Tim. One day she told our class Tim had only lied to her once, back when he was three years old. She caught him, and he was so ashamed he never did it again.

Not one kid in our class bought that story. She stuck to her guns. Tim was as honest as the day was long.

A few weeks later this poor guy, now 19, showed up at our class to drop off car keys for his mom. He innocently walked into a room full of skeptical, disapproving seven-year-olds, having no idea of the tale we’d heard. In short order, his face was as red as his scruffy, shoulder-length hair. He didn’t look like a saint to us and we had no problem saying as much.

Maybe we weren’t being fair and he actually was that good. I can’t imagine any child NEVER lying to their parents, but I’m not sure what it said about us kids that we were so jaded about telling — and hearing — the truth.

I was visiting a friend last summer and as I approached the front door, a child about the age of her youngest daughter came running up to me. With hair cropped short, jeans and a team-logo sweatshirt, I assumed it was a little boy, probably a neighborhood friend. It wasn’t. It was her wild child five-year-old girl, who told me she’d cut off her shoulder-length hair the week before. All by herself.

blue scissors II smI laughingly asked Pam about it, and she signaled me to come inside.

“That girl’s hair was cut short and straight across the back,” she said in a low, firm voice. “And there wasn’t one single scraggly piece I had to trim. No way she did it herself.”

Right at that moment one of Pam’s older daughters walked by. “We told you what happened!” this one said defensively.

“I know what you said,” she replied mildly, then turned to me and continued in the same low, yet clearly distinguishable to those eavesdropping, voice. “They’re not telling me the truth and it’s obvious what happened, but since no one was hurt, I just punished all of them for leaving the scissors out.” Older daughter walked away.

Pam looked at me and sighed. “I have no idea what happened and I can’t get them to budge on their story.”

No illusions on her part. I don’t think her girls are particularly dishonest or deceptive, in fact, I think they’re fairly transparent. Well, two are teenagers now, so let me revise that: for the most part I think they are, at the heart, trustworthy girls. One of whom probably cuts hair.

When I was young, I was always afraid what would happen to me if I was caught being wrong. That was how I saw it, by the way, being wrong, not doing something wrong. I became a pretty decent liar. I was clever, with a good imagination and even better memory. Fortunately, I got tired of it, physically, emotionally tired, and I stopped well before adulthood.

My parents were not abusive, so I can’t say what it was that caused that fear, probably a more subtle message they weren’t aware of and didn’t intend to send to their highly sensitive child. What could they have done differently? I don’t know.

I’ve said it before: parents, you have an impossible job, but you do it. Hang in there. Believe in your children. Believe in their overall character, not their occasional deeds. Know that lying is something any child is going to do, if not this day, the next, for his or her own reason. Deal with it, of course, but save up a few stories to laugh at when they have kids of their own.