The Littlest Fibber
Becky Suder
Mar 17, 2009
My littlest son Donovan is a fibber. It sounds cute. It’s not, although sometimes I snicker behind my back as I worry about his moral conduct.
Beau, however, told two lies his entire life while under the age of ten. After that I stopped keeping count but even at sixteen he’s pretty truthful though sometimes I think a little white lie might make his life easier.
“Beau, do you like the tattoo I’m getting?”
“No, I hate tattoos.”
OOOKKAY then.
“Beau, what do you think about the roast beef?”
“Chewy, definitely chewy.”
Allrighty then.
“Beau, how’s school going?”
“Not so great this week.”
Well then.
But as I said, when he was younger he told so few lies I still remember them.
Lie #1: Beau, at Disney, tries to step on a frog.
“Beau why would you try to hurt that little thing?”
“The sun made me do it.”
Points for originality.
Lie #2: In first grade I pick up Beau and his hair is shockingly stiffly standing out like a sunburst from his dome.
“Uhhm Beau?”
His teacher looks at me apologetically and says,
“He put glue in his hair, he said you do it at home all the time.”
Worrisome that you didn’t doubt him Teach, worrisome. Do you also think we put small tattoos on his chest when no one is looking?
Donovan however is a fibber. He feels bad when he is caught which Beau does not. Which one is worse? I ponder.
Donovan wakes one morning at Uncle Bill’s, slips into the bathroom seemingly unnoticed and uses the potty. He heads to the sink but by this time he has a visitor and doesn’t even know it.
He turns the water on, looks mischievously around and then turns the water off without a drop ever hitting germ infected hands.
FIBBER!
Donovan appears with chocolate on his shirtfront, his teeth, his lips, and possibly even his eyelashes.
“Donovan did you eat your Valentines Candy?”
“No, why do you ask?”
Perhaps it’s the chocolate mask that tipped me off.
And yet over and over, unsolicited, he will crow,
” I will never lie to you Mama never.”
Yes, I think, except when you do…FIBBER.
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