Voting and Lying

1972. My dad catching me by the ankle as I scramble up the stairs in a vain attempt to escape the quasi-deserved spanking I was about to endure, him fresh-home from a double shift in the stock room at the Northwest Paper Company, having learned in the car ride home from the mill, from my mother, about how I’d lied about spilling a gallon of white paint on the living room floor while using it as a step stool to get at the piggy bank my sister had hidden behind the ceramic elf on the mantle.

“It wasn’t me!” as the wailing commenced. My dad not saying a word, his silence evidencing resentment toward Mom, more than anger at me. Lies drifting around like dust bunnies…

(Note: the word “Lied” and “Replied” are linguistically related, suggesting the “reply/replie” is simply a response to an original lie. The ie vs y ending, a simple variation in spelling/derivation.)

Lying, despite how handy it can be, is exponentially worse for the liar than the lied-to. Take it from a retired professional. In the short run, the advantage all goes to the liar, which is the insidious, addictive nature of the relationship between the liar and the lie itself.

At the risk of sounding like an apologist, the very real, very brutal, Rule-of-Nature reality is that lying, like any other sinning, inevitably torches the sinner.

Meanwhile, no one likes to be on the lied-to end. Be it large or small, with dire, immediate consequence or red-faced annoyance, being thusly victimized is an explicit robbery of respect…