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For most of us, one of the earliest lessons we learn in life is the importance of always telling the truth. When the parental units ask you what happened or if you know how that thing got broken, you are already going to get into trouble. But if you don’t tell the truth about it, you are probably going to wind up in even MORE hot water than you would be otherwise. The truth will set you free, the old adage reads. But one awkward reality exists that challenges what we are all taught – sometimes the truth can land you in a pickle. After all, is there really any way to successfully get out of the “Do these jeans make my butt look big?” scenario?
One of my earliest memories of truth getting me in trouble spans back to grade school. When I was a kid, one of my absolute favorite foods was the simple English muffin. I didn’t really care what you did with it – toast it and apply butter, or cheese or make a sandwich. Who cares? MUFFIN! I used to absolutely LOVE English muffin pizzas. Some sauce – some cheese, some meat (yes, I remember many a slice of spam in my early days), and a quick broil in the toaster oven, and voila!
One day, I remember being on a play date with a friend. While in the middle of our game, his mom walked into the room with a big plate with English muffin pizzas. They were delicious! They were even better than my mom’s! And I didn’t quite understand why. So naturally, I asked. My friend’s mom said that she had never heard of English muffin pizzas before, until she just happened to see a recipe, which she then showed me. Now, bear in mind, I was the world’s most naïve kid. And as far as I knew, the world was very small with some absolute rules. And in my child’s mind, if it happened to be in print and in the form of a recipe, naturally there was one and only one way to do it. And if the recipe said to add oregano, and use different cheese or meat, then by the Gods, that is The One Right Way to do it. Right? And because I was a “helpful” kid, I was sure my mom would want to know.
By coincidence, the next night, my mom made some English muffin pizzas. I was in the other room when she happily brought me a plate with the pizzas. And with the painful and direct truth that only a clueless kid could utter, I looked my mom square in the eye to give her the information that I was absolutely sure she would want to know. “Mom. You make them wrong.”
Well, can you imagine? My mom was not pleased to hear this information. In fact, she was… oh how do I describe it… PISSED! She frowned, turned around, and began to walk out of the room… WITH MY PIZZA! But… But…But… I was HELPING! I was just trying to correct my mother’s clear mistakes much like she corrected mine when I made mistakes. Why was she not appreciative of this? What did I do wrong? I couldn’t just sit by quietly and let her continue to make The Wrong Pizza when the recipe was in print, now could it? Would that be ethical?
I yelled an apology, although at the time I honestly had no idea why I was apologizing, as I really didn’t understand what it was that I had done wrong. I really thought I was helping. Mom came back, still frowning, slammed the plate down on a table (nearly knocking the spam off of one of the muffins), and told me sternly to eat my dinner and not talk to her.
But… but… but…there was a recipe! But… but…but… I READ IT! And it mentioned all kinds of things that my mom didn’t do! Wasn’t she interested? Didn’t she care that she was doing it all wrong?!!!!!!
As I sat there in silence, savoring the slightly burned cheese, soggy muffin, and greasy spam (I look back and really wonder how I survived my childhood), I just couldn’t understand it. How did > I < managed to get in trouble when all I was doing was trying to educate? After all, that is what she, and my dad, and my four older sisters, and all of their friends, and my teachers, and pretty much every human being I ever met did with me all day long.
Adults! They can be such unappreciative poopy-heads sometimes!
One of my earliest memories of truth getting me in trouble spans back to grade school. When I was a kid, one of my absolute favorite foods was the simple English muffin. I didn’t really care what you did with it – toast it and apply butter, or cheese or make a sandwich. Who cares? MUFFIN! I used to absolutely LOVE English muffin pizzas. Some sauce – some cheese, some meat (yes, I remember many a slice of spam in my early days), and a quick broil in the toaster oven, and voila!
One day, I remember being on a play date with a friend. While in the middle of our game, his mom walked into the room with a big plate with English muffin pizzas. They were delicious! They were even better than my mom’s! And I didn’t quite understand why. So naturally, I asked. My friend’s mom said that she had never heard of English muffin pizzas before, until she just happened to see a recipe, which she then showed me. Now, bear in mind, I was the world’s most naïve kid. And as far as I knew, the world was very small with some absolute rules. And in my child’s mind, if it happened to be in print and in the form of a recipe, naturally there was one and only one way to do it. And if the recipe said to add oregano, and use different cheese or meat, then by the Gods, that is The One Right Way to do it. Right? And because I was a “helpful” kid, I was sure my mom would want to know.
By coincidence, the next night, my mom made some English muffin pizzas. I was in the other room when she happily brought me a plate with the pizzas. And with the painful and direct truth that only a clueless kid could utter, I looked my mom square in the eye to give her the information that I was absolutely sure she would want to know. “Mom. You make them wrong.”
Well, can you imagine? My mom was not pleased to hear this information. In fact, she was… oh how do I describe it… PISSED! She frowned, turned around, and began to walk out of the room… WITH MY PIZZA! But… But…But… I was HELPING! I was just trying to correct my mother’s clear mistakes much like she corrected mine when I made mistakes. Why was she not appreciative of this? What did I do wrong? I couldn’t just sit by quietly and let her continue to make The Wrong Pizza when the recipe was in print, now could it? Would that be ethical?
I yelled an apology, although at the time I honestly had no idea why I was apologizing, as I really didn’t understand what it was that I had done wrong. I really thought I was helping. Mom came back, still frowning, slammed the plate down on a table (nearly knocking the spam off of one of the muffins), and told me sternly to eat my dinner and not talk to her.
But… but… but…there was a recipe! But… but…but… I READ IT! And it mentioned all kinds of things that my mom didn’t do! Wasn’t she interested? Didn’t she care that she was doing it all wrong?!!!!!!
As I sat there in silence, savoring the slightly burned cheese, soggy muffin, and greasy spam (I look back and really wonder how I survived my childhood), I just couldn’t understand it. How did > I < managed to get in trouble when all I was doing was trying to educate? After all, that is what she, and my dad, and my four older sisters, and all of their friends, and my teachers, and pretty much every human being I ever met did with me all day long.
Adults! They can be such unappreciative poopy-heads sometimes!
