Tag Archives: Lying

The Truth About Lying

truth

I looked my mom in the eye and lied to her about watching a movie I wasn’t allowed to watch even though she totally knew I was lying.

Even when I was young and extra-stupid, I was still smart enough to know she knew.

Parents just know.

It was a conservative house. No R-rated or even PG-13 movies for me. Even actually turning 13 didn’t convince my mom that PG-13 material was age-appropriate for me.

When I was probably 9 or 10, we had just one PG-13 movie in the house. Hiding Out. A random late-1980s Jon Cryer movie I’ll be surprised if any of you have ever seen.

I totally watched it whenever I had a few hours to kill home alone because I was young and liked doing things I wasn’t supposed to.

There was a word used in the film that no one ever uses: execrable.

And I used it once in a sentence while talking to my mom.

Because she’s not a vegetable, a small-brained woodland creature or a moldy piece of ham, my mother knew instantly I had watched the one movie in the house I wasn’t allowed to watch.

When she asked me where I’d heard that word, I told a lie.

Because self-preservation is one of our greatest instincts.

Because no kid wants to get caught doing things they’re not supposed to, or more specifically, punished for the behavior.

Because we don’t appreciate the freedom of honesty when we’re too young and innocent to know how poisonous dishonesty really is.

My son got in trouble in gym class this week for sliding on the floor even after the teacher instructed him not to. He wasn’t allowed to participate in gym that day and it made him cry.

We got a note from the teacher telling us what happened.

Our six-year-old denied it. He suggested his first-grade teacher was lying to us.

He gets his facts wrong a lot because he’s 6. But this is the first time I know of where he was being intentionally dishonest out of self-preservation.

He didn’t want to lose rewards and privileges. And I’d like to believe he didn’t want to disappoint his parents.

I never want to lie to him about anything not related to Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny.

So, we hugged.

“Daddy used to get in trouble at school too, bud. And when the teachers told my mom and dad about it? They were never lying,” I told him. “I know it’s hard to tell the truth sometimes. Sometimes people say things that aren’t true because they’re afraid to get in trouble. Everyone does, man.”

And then we hugged again.

So here we are. Just a little more innocence lost.

He can lie when he’s afraid just like the rest of us.

But maybe he’ll choose not to.

When I was five or six, I spent a summer staying with a family during the day while my dad was at work. They had a little boy named E.J. He was a year younger than me.

We would run around behind their house, playing in sandboxes and doing Big Wheel stunts and picking raspberries while trying to avoid bee stings.

On one random afternoon adventure, we discovered a bucket of discarded motor oil outside a neighbor’s house.

E.J. picked up a pinecone lying nearby, dipped it in the bucket of oil and started drawing oil marks on the wall of the house.

I don’t remember feeling like we were doing anything wrong.

The neighbor discovered the oil mess on his house later and contacted E.J.’s mom—the neighbor lady who babysat me.

She sat us down at the kitchen table to ask us what happened.

E.J. told her that I did it.

I denied it.

She believed her son.

And I was simply the lying vandal shitty kid that helped supplement the household income for however many more days or weeks I stayed with that family that summer.

That’s the first time I can remember someone accusing me of something that wasn’t true.

That’s the first time I can remember feeling a real sense of injustice and outrage.

I’m almost certainly the only human being in the world who remembers the story and knows (or cares) what really happened.

The truth matters.

I hope I’m always brave enough to be as honest as possible without hurting people.

I hope my son is always brave enough to be as honest as possible without hurting people.

I hope the power of truth prevails for people who deserve justice.

I hugged my son so tight. The missteps of growing up have begun.

Everything’s going to be okay.

“It’s always better to tell the truth,” I told him.

Something I’m sure to repeat over and over and over again for many years.

Something I need to always remind myself to be.

Because we must lead by example.

Because honesty takes courage.

Because that’s where peace lives.

Because the alternative is execrable.

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The Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire Routine

The truth will set you free. It's a figure of speech because it's true. Try it.

The truth will set you free. It’s a figure of speech because it’s true. Try it.

There’s a guy.

I don’t know him.

He recently started dating a girl.

And I know her well enough to care how it turns out.

There are two possibilities with him:

  1. He’s a thoughtless penis who doesn’t learn from his mistakes.
  2. He’s a lying penis who doesn’t realize he’s making mistakes.

So, the only thing I know for sure is that he’s a penis.

I’ve never met him, so it’s hard to have a good read. But here’s what I know:

Fact #1 – He’s been married and divorced twice.

Fact #2 – He makes plans with his girlfriend for long holiday weekends, then disappears with no explanation, not responding to phone calls or text messages for extended lengths of time.

Which means he’s either totally thoughtless and a HORRIBLE communicator which could have been a factor in two failed marriages and would brand him a very slow learner.

Or he’s dishonest.

Because I know that he’s smart and successful professionally, I have to lean toward the latter.

And that makes me sad for my friend who—at the very least—deserves honesty from the dude in her life because she’s smart enough and tough enough to handle it.

Hate the Player and the Game

Newsflash, guys:

It’s 2013. The days of moral boundaries and super-conservative women are almost completely in the rearview. If you want to be a man whore, you can do so honestly and openly with very little negative backlash. In fact, some women actually want to sample your little herped-up wiener for reasons I can’t fully understand.

You. Don’t. Have. To. Lie.

You can be honest and upfront about your intentions and still get laid, so long as you’re not me.

I don’t get it. And I’m reasonably smart.

I get why people do drugs. They make you feel awesome.

I get why people drink too much. It makes you feel awesome.

I get why people have dangerous unprotected sex with strangers. It feels awesome.

But lying? Making things up—for what?—so you can sleep with someone a few times? Someone you don’t even care about?

Am I in the minority here for thinking this sounds absolutely ridiculous and dissatisfying?

I must be.

Maybe I’m a weird guy. Maybe I’m the dumb one. Maybe all the dudes out there lying to get women into bed and apparently feeling fine about it are the ones that have it all figured out.

And maybe the guy sitting in front of a computer screen alone on the Sunday night before Labor Day is clearly the clueless asshole.

I can see how one might come to that conclusion.

Someone smarter than I am is going to have to explain it to me.

Both the part where women eat this stuff up, and where men have identified this as the ideal way to live.

The whole thing is exhausting.

In conclusion:

Ladies. Honestly. Get your shit together.

If you’re just trying to get a piece, more power to you. There’s not a thing weird or wrong about that, so long as you’re not cheating nor have a moral code that suggests you behave differently.

But if you’re looking for love?

And you’re someone who always seems to date men who shit on you?

It might be time to consider that you’re just bad at evaluating character. Try something else. Something safe! Like Craigslist! (Kidding.)

Dudes. Sleep with anyone and everyone you want. Forever. Until your penis itches and lesions start growing on it. Go nuts! Just don’t con women in order to do it. Be honest about your intentions. You’ll still find someone who wants to have sex with you. I know this because you’re kind of a dick, and you’re not me, which makes it, like, 97.4-percent certain you’re getting some.

But probably not if you tell her about the penis lesions.

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