Lies I tell my children

I have told lies to my children. There. I said it. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, and it’s time to stop.

To be fair, my kids lie to me all the time. They will look me straight in the eye and deny they ate the last tray of Tagalongs that had been hidden on the highest shelf of the tallest cupboard, even while their faces are smeared with chocolate and their breath smells of peanut butter. The big one is a poor liar – under enhanced interrogation (basically, looking her sternly and saying “Really?”) she folds like a cheap lawn chair and confesses to her sins. The little one is harder to break. Ask her if she’s brushed her teeth, cleaned her room, or completed her spelling homework, and the answer is “yes” even though the correct answer nearly 100 percent of the time is “no.” She knows that we know she is lying. She just doesn’t care. Here’s a typical morning conversation:

Dad: Did you practice piano?

8-year-old: Yes.

Dad: Rhetorical question, sweetie. I’ve been sitting here all morning in the same room as the piano and I know that you in fact have not practiced piano.

8-year-old: Yes I have.

Dad: >head explodes<

Nonetheless, “society” expects me to be the “responsible adult.” To be the “parent.” Ugh. Yet I love my daughters and I don’t want them to grow up to treat the truth as an abstract concept. I must lead by example. I must confess and repent. So, girls, you need to know the following:

1. I didn’t invent the “high five” while a sophomore JV basketball player back in the day. But I like to think I helped popularize it. Also, I didn’t invent bitcoin or the dental floss/toothpick combo. Pretty much I haven’t invented anything, so if I’ve ever told you otherwise, I lied.
2. Neither of you were born with vestigial tails that had to be surgically removed shortly after birth. Neither were either of your grandmothers. It’s not a family condition that skips every other generation.
3. I wasn’t the inspiration for the character played by Kevin Bacon in Footloose.
4.  I was never briefly engaged to Katie Couric, back before I met your mom.
5. That scar on my bicep is from a barbed-wire fence, not a knife fight.
6.  My government lawyer job is really a government lawyer job. It isn’t cover for a job as a CIA agent. And when I say “I’m going to Sacramento for work,” it’s not code for “I’m going to Pakistan to infiltrate the Taliban.” I actually am going to Sacramento for work.
7. Your mom isn’t really allergic to dogs and cats. We just use that as an excuse not to get you a pet.
8. Your Grandma never smoked pot with Ringo Starr at an after-party following a Beatles’ concert in 1964 at the Cow Palace in San Francisco while she was in the Army.
9.  That one Christmas Eve, I didn’t really catch Santa Claus rummaging through the dresser drawer where your mom keeps her underwear.
10. Your Uncle Clay didn’t used to be a woman.

This is not a complete list, but it’s a start. From now on, nothing but the truth. Honest.