Lies I’ve Told

Lies I’ve Told

When you’re a kid, Show-and-Tell is the most amazing thing. You get to stand up in front of the class (just like the teacher) with something that is very important to you. For about two minutes (or an eternity in kid-time) you get to be the expert about a topic that you dearly love… your own stuff. It seems like I always ended up at school empty-handed on Show-and-Tell day. As each child would take a turn I would grow increasingly panicked that I didn’t have something to show. I would franticly search through my desk, my book bag (note, I went to school before the days of backpacks) or purse, and my pockets to find something… anything I could show off to the class.

There were several times I just made stuff up. I couldn’t miss my golden opportunity for the spot-light. So I did what any red-blooded American kid would do. I lied. Here are a few of my better tales:

~*~*~ Story 1 ~*~*~

Show-and-Tell was often after lunch. This would give me a chance to scrounge for stuff on the playground at lunch time. One time I found a really dirty, disgusting hair brush. It was full of hair, particles of dirt and twine, and other junk. It was down-right gross. But I couldn’t find anything better so I slipped it into my coat pocket for Show-and-Tell.

When it was my turn, I calmly got up in front of the class. I held my brush up for everyone to see and I slowly turned my body so everyone in the class had an equal opportunity to see it head on.

Then I began: This is a Pig Brush. I have a friend who owns a Pig Farm in upstate New York (I lived in Pittsburg at the time). This brush is used to scratch the backs of the pigs. It also helps keep the dirt and mud from getting to built up on them. And pigs have a little bit of hair on them and this brush keeps it looking neat.

~*~*~ Story 2 ~*~*~

My great-grandmother emigrated from France. She was a beautiful and graceful and elegant. I wanted to be just like my great-grandmother. She was smart, funny, and independent. She was a roll model. We would visit with my great-grandmother several times a month. During one visit she gave me a scarf. There was nothing special about the scarf, except that she had given it to me. It wasn’t a special present or anything. It was just lying around in her closet and she said, “Here do you want to play with this?”

The next time Show-and-Tell came around I happened to have the scarf in my pocket. I got up in front of the class and gently unfolded the scarf and held it up for everyone to see. “This isn’t just an ordinary scarf.” I started. “This scarf is from France. It’s pure silk made from oriental silk worms.” Most likely it was really 100% polyester. I held the scarf up again and slowly waved it in front of the class. “My great-grandma gave me this scarf. She’s from France and she brought the scarf back from France.” (Really she hadn’t been back to France since she came to America as a child.) “My great-grandma is a very important person.” I said. “She is a call girl and that is important work.”

The teacher sat quietly at her desk for a second. She was wringing her hands. I remember that because it worried me. “Elizabeth,” she said, “Do you know what a call girl does?”

I turned to look at the teacher. “No, not exactly. But if my great-grandma does it; it has to be important. When I grow up, I want to be a call girl. I want to be just like my great-grandma.”

The truth is, I didn’t know what a call girl was. I’m not even sure why I said my great-grandma was one. I must have heard the term on TV or in the movies. To the best of my knowledge no one in my family has been employed in any profession even remotely related to being a call girl. I have often wondered what was said at the next parent-teacher conference.

~*~*~ Story 3 ~*~*~

My dad was a minister, but before his conversion to Christianity he was a chemist. All through my life he alternated between being a professional minister and a professional chemist. Sometimes he had both jobs at the same time.

During one of his stints as a chemist, I decided that I was going to wear perfume all the time. I had a bottle of Toilette Water that I carried around in my book bag so I could dab a little on my pulse points whenever the odor got too weak. Show-and-Tell time rolled around again. In a panic I grabbed the bottle of Toilette Water.

Standing in front of the class I took the lid of the bottle and took a deep dramatic whiff. “This beautiful smelling compound is my dad’s latest secret invention.” I took another whiff. “Do you know how there are often bad smells in the bathroom. My dad has invented this chemical that smells good and makes everything around it smell good, too. All you have to do is take off the lid and set the bottle down behind the toilette and everything will smell great. You can even poor some in the toilette bowl. It works that way, too. See,” I said pointing to the perfume’s factory label, “that’s why my dad calls it Toilette Water because it makes the toilette and everything around it smell great.”

~*~*~ Story 4 ~*~*~

In art class we did a project where we used colorful yarns to stitch designs on little squares of burlap. That morning we had finished the project in art class and were allowed to take our crafts home. As the children around me were taking their turns at Show-and-Tell, I quickly pulled all the colorful yarns out of my square of burlap.

When it was my turn, I took the burlap square up front with me. “My great-great-great-grandpa was one of the Three Kings that visited baby Jesus at Christmas. My grandpa was the one who brought frankincense. This piece of cloth,” I held up the piece of craft burlap, “is a piece of baby Jesus’ swaddling clothes. It’s been handed down in my family ever since my grandpa got it from Mary. It’s proof that my grandpa was really there.”

~*~*~ Post Script ~*~*~

I have often wondered if my teachers remember me. I wish I could find them now. I’d love to know how they managed to keep a straight face week after week.