For a Pessimist, I am Pretty Optimistic

Ever since I could remember, my step-father has been terrified of bees. I’ve seen him jump at the sound of buzzing, heard him scream when he’s seen a bee, and watched him run blocks while leaving my own mother alone to fend off an attack. As a child I snickered at his cowardice, for which my mother would scold me. “It’s not his fault he’s scared of bees. He’s been allergic ever since he was a child. His mother said that if a bee were to sting him, then he would die.”

10 years later at a family dinner, my step-father asked his mother if his bee allergy was a hereditary trait and she responded “What are you talking about? You’re not allergic to bees.” He reminded her that she was the one to have told him otherwise. “Oh that,” she scoffed. “I remember. You were at the park and playing too close to the bee hive so I told you that to make you stop.”

Just think, if my step-father had done a little internet research, he may have assumed the “allergy” was hereditary, never asked his mother, and ended up passing this fear to my brother. My brother then would have done the same with his children, thus continuing the cycle. I can’t help but wonder how many lies our parents tell us, lies that we may not even know about!

Oh sure, telling 4 year old Timmy that his sick dog has been sent to a dog farm upstate is acceptable in many ways. Same goes for Santa, the Tooth fairy, and the Disney ending of The Little Mermaid. There’s nothing wrong with letting a child believe in these things in order for them to hold onto some innocence while they still can.

The most common and easily told lie is the “tired lie”. You know the type I mean, you’re so tired of the kid asking or whining or begging that you make something up just to get them to stop. These lies should be harmless, such as telling a gluttonous child “Sorry, they stopped making hot dogs,” or an annoying child “Stop crossing your eyes or they’ll get stuck.”  Yet there are too many like my step-father whose lives have been affected negatively by the tired lie.

To this day, I am still creeped out walking through the hallway to my grandmothers’ apartment. When I was little, my dad would tell me that I needed to be as quiet as possible otherwise I would bother the other tenants.  Not listening, I would continue to yap away so he told me that a dragon lived in the hallway upstairs and would eat me if I made so much as a sound. Instead of making me be quiet, I began to wail whenever I had to visit my grandmother. It was months before a scared me would enter the hallway again, quiet as a mouse.

Of course, my dad has always been the sadistic sort. I can’t forget about the clown that he said would get me if I didn’t stay asleep. Or how he smiled when he tossed me in the ocean, moments after promising not to do so.

It’s because of the millions of lies my dad told me that I make it a habit never to lie to my brother. Even when he was 9 and asked awkward sex questions, I would bluntly answer him, much to my mother’s dismay. I like to think that my honesty has helped him grow up into as well rounded of a teenager as can be expected. 

The other day, we were walking through the hallway to my grandmothers’ and my brother began to tip toe. Though he’s 15 years old, he has the facial hair and the height of a grown man and I couldn’t help but giggle watching him. “Why are you doing that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. Just habit or something.”

“Just habit?”

“Don’t make fun of me, but once when I was little, you told me that a dragon lived upstairs and we always had to be quiet or he’ll eat me.”

Oops. “I did? That was so long ago, why do you still do it now?”

“Told you. Just a habit.”

Ah, the cycle continues…

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