lies & the lying liars who catch them

One night when I was about 17 years old and slogging through late night shifts at a waitressing job at a truly abominable local ice cream parlor, I backed into a light post on my way out of the parking lot. The car belonged to my parents, so before I went to bed I left a note on the refrigerator telling them that I'd found the car that way; some unscrupulous jerk had obviously hit me and run off.
Before I crept back out of bed that morning, my dad, who could have effectively prosecuted Michael Jackson, had driven to the ice cream parlor and actually -- I am not exaggerating -- found the light post, with its telltale streak of paint. There was no way out, I had to confess. And even today, thinking back on it, I get goosebumps of shame.
This morning I had a similar encounter with my son Joey, the 9-year-old living proof that karma exists. I can't go into the details -- this is a guy who has threatened to sue me if I defame him, and whom I must take seriously, not least because he recently called 911 after I took away his Gameboy.
Let's just say I caught him red-handed in a truly big whopper and he finally had to concede how he would have told me anything not to take the blame.
As parents, part of our job is to make our kids believe that we have X-ray vision, that we're larger than life, that we're, in a sense, the Eyes of God. Yet how excruciating it is to remember how powerless we once were, and are still, in our darkest hearts. I am fully aware how much my parents influenced my early empathy for Nicaragua's Sandinista rebels -- initially, at least, young idealists who rose up against an oppressive dictator. Today I'm that much more conscious of how hard it is to show courage of conviction without the arrogance of someone who has never had to learn the hard way.
Thanks so much for the comments while I was away. I welcome more....