I am part of a group of women called a circle. I don’t know where the name originated, I think it may have been “Circle of Friends,” or something like that. At any rate, that’s what I call it, because that is what we are.
We are theoretically a Bible study group, although I think we are more a group of Christian women who talk about the Bible in the context of our larger support group discussions. Over the many years we have been together, we have grown older and wiser, and we have shared the banes and the blessings of our lives in good measure. I think we know as much about each other as any group of friends can, and it is in a spirit of love and caring that we reveal ourselves for who we really are.
Have you ever noticed how in every group there is someone that drives you crazy? The one who is too loud, or too chatty, or too mean or too something for your tastes? They aren’t bad people or anything, they just aren’t for you. In this group, there isn’t one of those people. Everyone is unique and individual and different, and God brought us together because we needed each other. Not only has He has given us the gift of no bad apples to spoil the barrel, I will go even farther than that. When one of the apples falls out, however it may happen, He brings in a replacement to fill that slot, and often with the same type of personality to round out our group.
The best example of how this happened is when our dear friend Gina passed away some years ago after a long battle with a dreadful cancer. We were left without our outspoken, straight forward, insanely funny friend, who would shake us up and make us think, dispensing love and advice like the nurse she was. Gina is still missed for more reasons than I have time to go into, but we are lucky enough to have found someone with a similar zany sense of humor, and an outspoken manner to go with it, which once again shakes us off our comfortable perches and makes us think about things in a different way.
We are vulnerable to each other, because we have shared our darkest times and our greatest joys. We have seen people go through divorce, we have talked about infertility, we have discussed child rearing fears, celebrated weddings, and been through illnesses and funerals. We have watched each other’s children grow up, and we have talked about the loss of parents. We have learned together what it means to be part of the sandwich generation, where we are caught between the rock of our parents and the hard place of being parents. We have shared our inner selves, and we have learned to trust.
It was in that spirit that we participated in an activity awhile back. Each woman had a piece of paper on which she wrote her name, and then we passed the paper around. As you got each woman’s paper, you added one word to it that described that woman from your point of view. At the end, we got to see everyone’s words, and it was interesting.
Most of mine were some variation of the word funny, as I recall, which is a compliment to me, although possibly it wouldn’t be to everyone. But I love to hear people laugh, and if I have been the cause, that is even better. So it was not unexpected, and I was pleased. However, one person went a little deeper, and her word gave me the deepest compliment. Someone wrote integrity.
Small word, huge meaning. It says you are to be trusted, that your word is true and honest and to be believed. It means that when I make a promise to someone, they know it will be honored. At the end of the day, you are someone that can be counted on to be real, and no one ever needs to wonder about whether or not you mean what you say.
What a magnificent way to be viewed. It is a characterization I have quietly striven for my entire life, and something that I value more than almost anything. I won’t sully my good name with lies, because if I don’t have integrity, then I don’t really have anything else, either.
Like many people with integrity, I sometimes have a hard time seeing the lies being told by other people. I have difficulty understanding a mindset that allows for untruths to be uttered, and dishonesty to be the order of the day. Because I am straightforward, I forget that other people may be twisting and turning their words in order to get what they want, whether they deserve it or not.
I have, of course, lied about things in my life. I have told small lies to get out of trouble [usually unsuccessfully,] I have told big lies on a couple of rare occasions [always unsuccessfully,] and of course, I have told the social white lie to avoid hurting someone’s feelings when there really wasn’t any reason to be brutal. Overall, I am not good at lying. I fidget, I can’t look people in the eye, I get nervous and break out in a sweat on my brow. I doubt it could be any more obvious if I was wearing a neon sign on my forehead flashing "LIAR, LIAR, LIAR."
Like me, some people are storytellers. While stories are generally rooted in truth, [mine are always factual, unintentional errors aside, unless I specifically say otherwise,] most storytellers will occasionally embellish a fact or two. They might exaggerate for effect, they will play up the dramatic impact or they may downplay a fact that doesn’t help to make the point. It isn’t lying, really. It’s more of an unwritten agreement that in telling the story, you are willing to sidestep the small points in order to get the main point across. I don’t consider that lying at all; I think that is good technique, and makes the telling more interesting.
Some people are social liars. They don’t lie about the big stuff, but will consistently tell you what you want to hear about your clothes, your make-up, your hair – the small stuff that doesn’t really matter to anyone but you. These liars rarely get caught, and they rarely need to, because the only one getting fooled is you. If you call them on it, you are likely to regret it the next time you ask for their opinion. Besides, they are telling you what you want to hear, so it's unlikely you want to rock that boat.
Some people lie about the big stuff, usually to get out of trouble. They may give elaborate explanations to try and satisfy whomever it is that is questioning them, or they may make lies of omission, which are even harder to nail. But I find, in my observation, anyway, that big lies are hard to cover up, often involve other people, and are generally found out eventually, leading to a worse situation than would otherwise exist, because now you have to explain the lie and the cover-up. Watergate, anyone?
I am not a liar, social or otherwise. While I won't say I have never told a social lie, that would be a lie in and of itself, I always make an attempt to say something positive or just not talk at all. I have a saying, in fact. If you don’t really want to know the answer, don’t ask, because I will tell you exactly how it is. My children learned early that I don’t feel compelled to share my opinion all the time, but if asked, I will give the unvarnished truth. Although you would assume that would make them think twice before asking my opinion, it doesn’t seem to have worked out that way. Instead, they are disappointed in me if I fail to give them the absolute truth, because they count on me for that.
I have always taught my kids that lying to get out of trouble is a dead end street, and it will just make the situation twice as bad. Whatever the consequences for the initial cause of the lie, the act of lying would double the punishment, because I wanted to be sure I made it clear that lying is not the way out of a bad situation.
For the most part, my kids have learned their lessons well, and they rarely feel a temptation to be untruthful. Well, as far as I know, anyway. They are both trustworthy and straightforward, and you can count on them to do what they say. But let’s just say, they didn’t learn that from their dad. Because he is the storyteller of all time, and has never found a situation in which he didn’t think he could improve it with a lie or two.
One of his favorite stories over the years had to do with his dad, who died when he was only ten under circumstances that changed with each retelling. Of course, one of the major problems with telling stories is that you have to keep them straight, something that Mr. Truth-is-a-Challenge was positively masterful at managing. I heard one basic story for 20 years, and although there were variations in the content, the foundation was basically the same. His dad’s demise took on almost mythic proportions, and each time he told it, I would wait breathlessly to see what would be told, and how it would be improved upon.
I learned after the divorce that he told entirely different versions to other people, with a completely different cast of characters, and totally new details. I don’t know how he carried it off, but he even managed to tell my kids different versions than he told me, and we never discovered the discrepancy until long after he left.
Depending on who was hearing the story, and the size of his audience, his dad died from being shot, being blown up in a building, being assassinated, and from a rare disease that no one ever heard of before. He died in the service of his country, and he died saving others. In one version, he had a bodyguard that died with him, and in another telling, he ran out of a burning building that collapsed on top of him. It was Russian roulette with his father’s life and death. In the end, I learned just a couple of weeks before he left that his father died from cancer, a sad ending to the exciting tales I had heard over the years.
The smaller stories he told we finally learned to label by the moniker, “When I was in Vietnam…” stories. Any time he began a story with that opening, we knew it was going to be a whopper, but they were usually so entertaining, we forgave him the deception.
Eventually, of course, the lie became the reality, and after years of telling people he was divorced or separated, or God forbid, that his wife was dead, he finally left, and then it became real. Which just goes to show the lengths some people will go to in order to make their lies seem like truth. Seems to me it would have been easier to just stay home, but I never was one to live on the edge.
Lies are the stuff of fables, and the liars always lose in the end. They are not the heroes or the winners, they are the losers, in fables and in life. We impeached a President for lying, and it is a label that will haunt him for the rest of his life, no matter what else he does. We built the tax code on the presumption people would tell the truth, then we built the IRS on the presumption they wouldn’t. We lie to avoid facing consequences, then we don’t want to deal with the consequences of lying. Humans are preprogrammed to lie, it seems, because children start doing it almost as soon as they can talk.
I recall one moment, early in the life of a little girl I know. She came out of the bedroom with lipstick all over her mouth. And her cheeks. And her chin. And possibly her eyes. I dunno. That part might be a lie. Upon being asked if she had gotten into her mother’s lipstick, this little girl casually answered, “No.” Should have checked the mirror before opening her mouth.
Every now and then, my daughter will mention something silly, and I will say, where on earth did you hear that? Her inevitable answer? “Adam told me.” Of course. What are big brothers for, if not to fill your head full of silly stories that only a little sister would buy into? He was pretty creative, too, and wide ranging in his variety. One time, he convinced her he was a working man [he was like ten and didn’t even pick up his own socks.]
There is one kind of deception that is always acceptable – the kind you tell when presents are involved. When Adam was 16, I threw him a surprise party. We had spirited him away from our house on the ruse that we were going out for dinner with our neighbors, and he was going to babysit the younger kids at their house. We went through this elaborate plan, where we actually got into the car and took off, then drove around the block and parked on the street behind and ran through the back to our house, just to be sure that he would believe in the fairy story we were telling him.
We told the other guests to do the same thing, then when everyone was there, we called him and told him to run across the street and check to be sure the basement door was locked. We were all waiting down there in breathless anticipation, expecting him to just run across the street and go directly to that door. We had the door unlocked, and we were waiting for him to walk through. The video camera was trained on the door, and we were poised and ready to yell “Surprise” and sing “Happy Birthday” to the newly minted 16 year old. It was a scene straight from a movie, it was so perfect. My heart was beating extra fast, because for once, everything was going exactly according to plan.
Well, the best laid plans and all that. Adam came walking down the stairway from the main floor behind us, and as he saw us all looking expectantly toward the door, he said, “Hey, what’s up? What’s everyone doing?”
ARGH.
We wheeled around to look at him, confused and in sudden disarray, as we tried to figure out whether to sing or yell or just give it up. Someone yelped, “Surprise,” half-heartedly, and someone else cried, “Happy birthday.” I started to laugh, it was all just so funny, because Adam, on top of things as always, said in complete bewilderment, “Whose birthday is it?” I had told him we were going out, and he couldn’t quite get his mind around the idea that I wasn’t doing what I said I was. I don’t like to give surprise parties any more. They are too much trouble.
When I was little and someone got caught lying, people would chant, “Liar, liar, pants on fire, hang them up on a telephone wire.” I’ve never really known if that song meant hang the pants or hang the liar, but I am not going to take that risk. The only kind of hanging I like to do is the kind that involves hanging around, and you don’t need to lie to do it.
