Questions and Lies
Once upon a time in a land far away called Huntsville Alabama, a man married a widow with two sons, aged seven and ten. The younger son, we’ll call him “Junior” to protect the guilty, was a charming, good-looking, intelligent, precocious little pita who was the apple of his mother’s eye. Junior dominated the household either as the center of attention or because he was in trouble, generally the latter. Trying to teach good manners, we insisted that no one would interrupt while another person was speaking. This suited Junior just fine, as he never shut up.
Junior struggled with the truth. Though it hurt her at the time, Junior’s mother admitted much later that what I had said was true: Two things came out of Junior’s mouth, questions and lies.
Junior was about ten when we got our second cat, Magnolia. She was VERY fussy in the litter box that she shared with the other household cat, Natchez. Magnolia would not use the litter box if a deposit had already been made, she would find somewhere considerably more inconvenient and inappropriate to achieve success. Both boys had chores and it was Junior’s chore to make sure that the litter box was cleaned out each day when he returned home from school. It had to be done daily.
Magnolia was leaving deposits elsewhere, so I checked with Junior… was he cleaning the litter box every day? ‘Oh, yes’, he swore, ‘every day.’ Magnolia seemed to be testifying otherwise.
We used litter tray liners in order to make the job as simple as possible, just a white kitchen trash bag with the litter pan slid into it and filled with litter. To replace it, pull the kitchen trash bag inside out, tie it up and dispose of it. Then get a new white kitchen trash bag, slide the litter tray into it and fill the sleeved litter pan with clean litter. I got a magic marker, picked up the litter pan and put an ‘X’ on the bottom, marking the white kitchen trash bag.
The next night I came home and checked the litter pan. Sure enough, the ‘X’ was still there. “Junior”, I asked, ‘did you change out the litter?”
“Oh yes, “he said, “as soon as I came home from school.”
“Junior, are you positive?”
“Oh yes, absolutely.”
I showed him the ‘X’ and asked him how the ‘X’ could still be there is he changed out the litter.
He didn’t know but he absolutely swore that he changed the litter, breaking down into tears as he hugged his mamma. (Keep this Academy Award-winning performance in mind.)
The next morning I got a call from Junior from the school office. He asked me to check his pant’s pocket as he had left a note that needed to be signed. I checked his pant’s pocket, no note. Nor did I know anything about a note that needed to be signed.
The mystery was solved later on when I was checking a different pair of pants before I loaded them into the washing machine. I found the note from the teacher wanting his parents to be informed of some infraction, or an assignment not completed. The note had been signed. Apparently by me.
I then remembered Junior asking me the night before if he could see my signature. I signed a blank piece of paper. Junior tried his best to duplicate my signature then, I guess, decided it wasn’t good enough a copy, so he half fast rubbed it out.
I confronted Junior with the note and the attempted forgery, he claimed he didn’t do it…. “I swear!!” says he.
“Junior, you lie about everything. You lied yesterday about changing the kitty litter…”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I lied about that but I’m not lying about this.”
Remember Benghazi? The raid and the deaths of four Americans that was blamed on a video?
Now we have vague, unfounded allegations from forty years ago that seem to be nothing more than a smear campaign.
“Oh yeah, we lied about Benghazi but we’re not lying about this… we swear!!”
Junior, if you had stuck at your schooling, one day you could have been Head of the Democrat Party.Share