Photo taken by J.B. Lundemo
I cannot remember where I learned to be honest, I would like to think it has something to do with the time I jumped the neighbors fence when I was 9 years old. I grew up on 3 acres of land right next to some railroad tracks. Behind them was a meadow, followed by BLM land and then Peavine Mountain.
My neighborhood was spread out for the most part and everyone has owned their pieces of land since the 1970’s or so. A very old man owned the property to the east of my childhood home. My brother and I liked to jump our barbed-wire fence and hang out in his yard. We never did any vandalizing, just hung out. I am not sure why we found this so fun, it seems really silly at the moment.
One day while my brother and I were playing in his yard, he drove up the driveway and saw us running for home. He came over to speak with my Father about the situation and I denied it to the fullest. I was so afraid of being punished. My brother even stood up for me saying I wasn’t there. I must not have been a good liar from the very beginning because my father gave me a speech about how telling the truth is so important.
I felt so guilty for not telling the truth to my Father and my neighbor, Vern. I felt even worse when my brother was punished and I got away scot-free! It was surely that day when I decided I couldn’t bear the weight of lying about anything. It just wasn’t worth all the guilt, and it certainly wasn’t worth the pain of watching someone I loved be punished for something I did.
To this day I am not sure if I ever confessed to my Father that I had jumped the fence…he may find out for the first time as he reads this blog. What I can tell you, is that I learned my lesson about truth and the importance thereof.