I’ve told a few lies in my life. That’s the truth. And the real reason has been pretty consistent and fairly simple.
Because I was scared.
As a child, I had a propensity for misbehavior. And I was afraid of getting punished.
“Did you throw the bat at your sister?”
“It slipped out of my hand!!”
“Did you cut your teddy bear’s hair?”
“No, I think its shedding!”
“Did you just yell ‘F*$$ YOU A**&#LE’ when you came running out of the basement???”
“No, no, no! It was The Terminator on the VCR!!”
In those days, it was pretty easy to see through my veil of deceit. But I got better. In high school I faked a couple of stomach aches to avoid taking a test I had forgotten to study for. Sorry Patty and Mr. Johnson!
I was always scared to get grounded, so I had to skew this conversation several times.
“What time did you get home last night?”
“About 11:00. I didn’t want to wake you up, so I just went to bed.”
I even lied to Coach Thorson once. I had sprained my ankle playing football the day before basketball practice started, but I managed to suck up the pain long enough to pretend that I fell down the locker room stairs the next morning. I’m still ashamed of that one.
In college, I had to spin quite a few tall tales, usually to keep me and my friends from getting kicked out of our fraternity by the alumni board.
They would randomly show up at the worst times.
“Did you guys have a keg party last night?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then why are there 3 empty kegs in the front lawn?”
“I bet the Pikes threw them there to try and get us in trouble. Those jackasses.”
We weren’t allowed to have dogs in the house, but of course we did. And a pot-bellied pig. The board president was talking to me one day, and Biggity Bear (the dog) came out of nowhere and peed on his leg. Poor Biggity didn’t know what to think when I put him outside after explaining that he was a stray that kept coming in when people forgot to shut the door.
Now I’m all grown up, and pretty much have no need for anything but the truth.
Or something pretty close.