It’s amazing how early kids learn to lie. They’re already beginning to understand the consequences of defiance, so I guess it just comes natural to them to provide misinformation to avoid said consequences.
They’re unaware that we’ve told those same lies at that age and told more advanced versions as the years passed. And just like them, we hope that the recipients of these falsehoods will accept them as fact.
But for them, at this age, it’s just the little white ones. And maybe just to see how well they can sell it.
Like when Princess Gianna let out one of her silent but deadly classic gas releases (that’s MY DNA at work).
“Ugh, Gianna!” I blurted, catching the repugnant residuals, “Did you just POOT?”
I knew it was her because it was just the two of us and her baby cousin Kamari, aka “Cheeseburger Jones”. And he hadn’t learned the joys and repercussions of solid food yet.
“No,” she answered, not once looking away from the television. She knew she wasn’t going to be in trouble for flatulence, but she had also been learning the responsibilities of being a lady. So “toddler toxins” were beneath her, pun intended.
“Did you POOT?” I repeated.
“No, Grandpa! It was Kamari!” She answered again, more convincingly. She made it a point to keep her gaze from me, knowing I could and would break her.
I leaned forward, into her view of the television, smiling directly at her. And as always, in a matter of seconds, she put her head down and then ran over to Kamari.
“Kamari, did you poot?” She asked innocently, caressing his face.
“Kamari, didn’t poot either,” I interrupted. “Who pooted?”
(Silence)
“I pooted,” she admitted, giggling and tilting her head back.
Kamari sat quietly, watching her on the witness stand peacefully. He was too young to understand what was happening, still, he managed to conjure an expression of extreme disapproval as if he had been fully aware.
Funny as it was, I stayed on course.
“We don’t blame other people, sweetheart.” I began. “Kamari didn’t do it, so you don’t say ‘Kamari did it.’ If you do, Grandpa will get angry with Kamari, and it wasn’t Kamari’s fault.”
“Okaaaay,” she conceded, jumping in my arms and hugging me. “I love you, Grandpa.”
“I love you t-“
“Ooooh NO!” my wife yelled, holding her nose as she entered the room. “Who POOTED?”
I looked at Gianna, waiting for her to own up and shine in her moment. She looked at me and smiled.
“GRANDPA POOTED!” she exclaimed as she scurried out of the room.
“Where are you going?” I hollered out as she rounded the corner.
“Goin’ to the potty!” She fired back as she disappeared.
I looked at Kamari who sucked once on his pacifier before shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “Dude, you didn’t specify and you never said NOT to lie. You just told her not to blame ME. You’re gonna need her one day when she grows up and becomes a contract lawyer.”
He made me realize that he was right, so I had no cause to get angry; just laugh at the situation. If anything, I should be proud.
This is Columbus, Ohio.
These are the mean streets.
Where only the strong survive.
And this has been… …another Cookie Caper.
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