Small Lies

When my mother was away, my daddy often made Sunday breakfast - warmed up steak from the night before and baked beans with butter. We ate from plastic plates and sat at the small wooden table by the back kitchen door. If there'd been baked potatoes the night before, he'd reheat them and we'd peel away the skins and spread them with butter and sugar. Some Sundays he even let us skip church in favor of a game of Scrabble, provided we all swore not to tell. He said it was a small lie and that what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

There were a great many small lies told out of good intentions. If caught, he always took the blame, if not, we had secrets to bring us closer. The small lies soon became so routine that we thought nothing of telling them. Always keep it simple, he taught us, don't improvise or overdo it or she'll know. Nothing about this even seemed strange to us or wrong. It wasn't like stealing or doing any real harm, it was just small lies to keep the peace and keep us safe. Remember, he warned us, you're only allowed to lie to your mother and only about small things

My grandmother exploded at this, slamming her fist on the table with each word she said that a lie was a lie,no matter who tells it and no matter why. She and my daddy argued incessantly over it

but she never did speak of it to my mother and in the end, she saw the logic and bitterly gave up the fight, predicting dire consequences for all of us but understanding. She refused to condone the lies, but also refused to expose them. It was as much of a compromise as she could live with.

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