If Only I had My Own Jiminy Cricket (or the story of my first lie) - iNeed a Playdate If Only I had My Own Jiminy Cricket (or the story of my first lie) iNeed a Playdate a Blog for Northeast Ohio Moms


If Only I had My Own Jiminy Cricket (or the story of my first lie)

I never got in trouble when I was a child.

Okay, that is a lie.

I lied. I lied a lot.

It came so easy.

It started because no one would believe me when I told the truth and, then, let's be honest - lying is easier.

It seemed that I was so busy playing so many different parts, to so many different people, that it took me a while to figure that lying might not be the way to go.  I grew out of it... eventually.

As an adult, now, it is so hard for me to lie.

I've lost friends because they say they want the truth or want to know what I think about something but really, they don't want to hear what I think. I hold off telling them for as long as possible but when asked often enough or over a long period of time – screw it, I tell them. Then there are times when I just can't hold back.

To make matters worse... My face gives me away. every. time.  Only when asked yes or no questions, straight on though, so don't get any ideas about trying to take my money in poker 'cause you'd lose.

Ask me if I think that your spouse is cheating on you and I actually know... One look at me will tell you the truth even as I say, no; of course, he is not in room 1209, at the hotel next door, while you are at work.

I remember my first lie. I was was five.

It was during Sunday school, at my church, while my parents were at mass and my favorite person, in the world, was teaching.

We were sitting in a circle, on the floor, probably listening to a story about God or something and I hit the little girl next to me.

No idea why. Just hit her. Hard. She cried. I got into trouble. She probably deserved it.  Did I mention she was my BFF at the time?

Ms. Donna took me in the hallway and scolded me. She had this look that was just as bad as being yelled at or hit and made you feel so tiny.  I think I would have rather been hit.

That and I just hated to disappoint her so I started crying.
She asked, why are you crying?

Because my uncle Billy died.
He had died, months prior to this day and in Kentucky, we live in Ohio.  I also never meet him but heard a lot of great things about him.

But, he did die.

My son's middle name is for him.

I'm sorry, Ms. Donna for lying.

I don't think I ever got the chance to tell her that.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's - pretty much world famous - Writer's Workshop

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