The Big Lie - Part I

The Posture of Truth

I have always prided myself on being honest, so finding out so late in life what a liar I am is downright upsetting.

I certainly can’t blame my dishonesty on my upbringing. My Dad was so honest that it was sometimes to his detriment. I remember how his face beamed with relief, and release, the day he shook hands with his neighborhood financier because the loan for the house was finally paid off.

But upon reviewing the figures, he realized the mistake. And in a flash, those twinkling eyes clouded over. And so I watched him get into his truck and drive to the lender’s place to expose the error. The loan was not fully repaid as originally concluded. At the time I was only a child but I couldn’t help thinking what a stupid thing for my father to do.

But as I grew older, deeper in my soul, I had to admire such moral perfection. And I longed to be like that.

I determined to match that standard and ultimately thought I had. Didn’t I take the boss aside one day when my supervisor was harshly disciplined for a careless mistake? Didn’t I boldly inform him that I was equally responsible and should also be punished? That it was my mistake initially? That my supervisor was only guilty of signing off my error without noticing?

The boss listened to my ‘wholesome’ confession then just shook his head and said, “Roberta, I have never known an employee quite like you.”

I took it as a complement. And then he told me it was up to him, rather than me, to determine who should be disciplined and he wanted no more discussion about it. Of course, I now suspect that at the time I had an ulterior motive – mind expansion for a boss that consistently hid all his screw-ups in the hope that they would never be discovered.

But I am talking about my own determinations here and more specifically I am talking about the day I had to face the realization that without knowing it, or realizing it, or understanding it, I lied and lied and lied some more.

You see when I met Hub, I deceitfully hid the real me. I only allowed him to see that part of me that I felt he would find attractive. A girl, light at heart, flexible about plans, highly attentive to his needs. A girl that smiled through pain and laughed through disappointment. A girl always carefully groomed. In those days I even accepted criticism as a positive thing – a way for me to know how I could readjust to be more pleasing.

I creased Hub’s jeans and polished his shoes. I pressed his shirts with sweat dripping from my brow I slaved over the ironing board while thinking to myself…“What delight in doing this special thing for someone I love”.

And I suppose right now, my dear reader, you are beginning to feel skeptical. Well, don’t. These are the things I did!

(to be continued…) Part II – A Mother-Load of Lies.