Big lies, little lies, Iım fessing up
Posted 7/9/03

Johnny Langıs song ³Lie to Me² floats through my head as I think about this column.

To me, there are two different types of lies. Little white lies, so as not to offend someone, and the big fat, man-I-hope-I-donıt-get-caught lies.

We have a rule in our home, thatıs probably typical in most homes, we donıt lie.

Well, except maybe for some of those little white lies.

³Mommy, that lady has a big butt,² my then three-year old son shouted to the world one day.

Mortified, my face bright red, I meekly responded, ³Well, we all come in different shapes and sizes, honey.²

Later, in the car, I inform him that we donıt say things like that. ³But, itıs true,² he adamantly responds.

Okay, heıs got me there. Then the olı saying suddenly comes back to me. ³Honey, if you canıt say something nice, donıt say anything at all.²

Being a fairly vocal person myself, it can be hard to remember that sometimes.

But lately weıve been dealing with bigger lies.

Not earth-shattering, life-threatening lies, but for a seven-year-old itıs the ³I didnıt do anything!² ³It wasnıt me,² ³I didnıt hear you,² kind of lies.

It teeters on comedy and frustration when your kid out-right lies to you and you catch him in the act.

Theyıre so stubborn, that even when you tell them you saw the whole thing, theyıll blatantly continue lying to save face.

Luckily for us, our oldest has a guilt complex (we have no idea of its origin), so eventually he blurts out everything. Even if it happened months ago.

Usually, once he unloads about one thing, several more previous wrong-doings come spewing forth.

I give him credit - itıs got to be a great relief to get it all out.

I donıt usually tell big lies. When I was younger I certainly did.

I remember lying to my mother about how my friend and I got locked out of the house one time. We actually rode my horse over to see some boys, but thatıs not what I told Mom, of course. I made up some hair brain excuse for having to ³break into² our home.

A couple years later during the middle of an argument she shouted out that she knew where I had really been and what I had been up to that day.

It always comes back to you.

So I donıt tell big lies anymore, but I do tend to lie to myself about small things. Actually, really dumb things.

Like setting the clock 10 minutes ahead. I know itıs set 10 minutes fast, yet I pretend itıs the right time so that I actually get to where Iım going on time. How pathetic is that?

On a shopping spree a couple weeks ago, I found myself lying again, to myself, while trying on clothes.

As I struggled with the notion of trying on a ³large² shirt, I actually did a little dance when I had to go to a smaller skirt size.

Now, I know that I didnıt actually lose weight in a matter of minutes while I was standing in front of those evil dressing room mirrors. But, when you suddenly ³drop² a size (thanks to the manufacturerıs labeling), you canıt help but get excited!

Itıs like Eddie Murphy in ³The Nutty Professor.² He invents a concoction that makes him drop 100 pounds of fat and he runs around town shouting to everyone, ³Iım thin! Iım thin!²

So when I go to the clothes in my closet, which range from small to large and from size eight to 12, and I pick out my ³fat² clothes I feel like a blob. Yet, when I get into that eight Iım feeling fine!

³Iım thin! Iım thin!²

Who I am kidding?

So as I fool myself with stupid little lies, I have to somehow reiterate to my son that itıs not what heıs done that matters, itıs the fact that we want him to tell us the truth.

Admit it, own up to it and deal with the consequences.

So, I guess thatıs what Iım doing. Iım owning up to my little lies.

It must be time to change the clock and be in sync with the rest of the world.