[flickr id=”7082358983″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”]Twenty years ago it was me. Standing in the kitchen facing up for teenage versions of crimes. For lies.
Tonight in the oddest form of a time warp my mother’s voice transported twenty years into the future and emerged from my own lips.
“I don’t understand why you continue to lie. You always get caught. Don’t you think you should learn by now?”
I never did learn. Not for quite a few years.
I fear my son will hold onto the lies with the same stubbornness. I want so much better for him.
Better than the strange consuming urge I once had to lie. I never did good at rebellion. I feared the consequences of rebellion too much. I feared hurting my mother. To this day I still rarely curse in front of my parents.
My one form of rebellion was lying. It became an urge, a need. Not until it once almost ruined my marriage did I learn to let go.
Like always I hope for better things for my children.
For now my mother’s words and the punishment of removing his distractions and pleasures one by one have to suffice. Lessons need to be learned – but each one is a blow.
Now only 20 years later can I begin to comprehend that my Mom told the truth when she said “This hurts me as much as it hurts you.”
I lied. It nearly cost me every friend I had. There was one who stayed by me. I don’t know why I did it. It became easy and I am still really good at it. I hate it. My first husband was a pathological liar. One of the reasons he is an X. I learned his tell. His ears got red when he lied. I stayed 4 more years.
It never does anyone a bit of good. I relish when I catch a certain relative in a lie. I shouldn’t but I do. And it is because I am so good at it that I can spot it right off.
I hope for his sake he catches on that honesty is truly the best policy. You don’t have to remember what you said to whom. Its a whole lot less work. You can keep your friends.