GEORGE’S DISTANT RELATIVE

I am not George Washington. I cannot say, ‘I’ve never told a lie’ because those very words would be a lie. What I must tell you first is this: over the years I believe I have become quite an accomplished liar. And let me add the most important point, my lies have never been malicious, have never meant to hurt anyone, whereas my truth would.

So many years have passed since I lied for the first time, yet I can go back to my early childhood and see my Aunt Rose, offering me a green lollipop. My eyes must have bugged out. I shook my head no and told her I don’t want it. My daddy doesn’t like me to eat so much candy and I have to stop. The green lollipop was my favorite kind, sweet and sour. I was up the creek , enjoy my gift or disobey Daddy. I lied. My Aunt Rose put that gorgeous green lollipop into a little brown bag, patted me on the head and told me what a good child I was.

When Theresa told Molly that I liked Harvey and wanted to marry him, I told Molly I hated that boy and he hated me and besides my mother wouldn’t let me marry him then. I had to get a lot older than six.

Then somebody flicked a switch and I was in junior high school, making good marks and good friends. Miss Swerdlin, the Vice Principal, asked me to help her Saturday morning. The stage for graduation had to be set up and she couldn’t carry all the chairs herself. It didn’t take me long to lie to her as I saw no reason for me to give up my Saturday when it wasn’t my graduation. Nat and I were going to see Superman Meets the Green Hornet. ‘Miss Swerdlin, I’m sorry I can’t help you. My cousin Marc is being Bar Mitzvahed and I am being dragged along. There is a big luncheon when the service is over so that will take up almost the whole day.’ Did I do her harm? Did I hurt her? No, she had plenty of schmos who were glad to get away from household chores with their fathers.

In high school lies became easier and more frequent. It was actually fun sometimes. I hated my history teacher because he was a lousy teacher and should have been de-teached. My avid dislike of English history was his fault. He made it boring as gray dust on a gray floor. Twice a week I lied to him and he never questioned my poor excuse.

Mr. Marsh knew I liked art so my lie seemed plausable.’ I and a few other art majors have been selected to paint original posters for the Red Cross. The posters will go on exhibition at Pennsylvania train station and people will buy them. The money raised will all go to the Red Cross.’ That was 1/4 true and the rest a big, whopping lie. Actually I did make one poster, a good one, and it was on exhibit in the school’s glass case near the principal’s office. Hardly anybody noticed it. Nobody saw my name on it and the Red Cross got nothing. Maybe I shouldn’t have used this one as an example, but it is too late now.

‘Hi, Zel. Do you like my hair like this?’ Oh, god. I looked at Bernice and her beautiful long blond curls that I had wished I had, were cut off. She looked like a freak. Her smiling face lost its glow, didn’t shine. ‘Bern, it looks great. I hardly recognized you. What a change.’ I never doubted she caught me, knew I was lying, but the alternative would have been worse.

And when I had a boyfriend, we did a lot of kissing, hugging and I did the lying. My mother would ask where we were last nite, yesterday afternoon, and I always was quick on the trigger. ‘Oh, we bumped into Sal and Becky at the park and just talked a while.’ We went to the movies with Jack and Jill. Merle Oberon is so pretty, isn’t she, Mom?’We were never in danger at the zoo, in the amusement park, walking along country lanes. Never did we go further than those tasteless, boring kisses, hugging, holding hands and I lied to my girlfriends about how in love we were. It was a really big lie. Two naive kids who knew nothing we should have known. I told my girlfriends how in love Bernie and I were and to myself so many times I believed me.

My best friend broke her leg. I visited her often. Watching her struggle to get out of her big easy chair was not easy for her. She managed to grab her crutches, lift her left leg that was enclosed in a ten ton plaster cast, take a couple teetering hops and sit on another chair. I did feel bad for her predicament, her misery and then uttered the most stupid lie of the year, ‘It hurts me worse than it hurts you. I can’t see you suffer so much.’ Hell, I could do the jitterbug, fly under my date’s legs, while she still had eight more miserable weeks ahead before the doctor took his saw and got that ghastly cast off.

And the final lie I’ll ever tell is this: If I am in the hospital, with no cure for whatever is wrong with me, I am sure I will have the courage to say, ‘Pull the plug. I am ready to go. I AM NOT AFRAID.’

My epitaph will be simple-just one word - ‘LIAR.’