A Lessen Learned

Sometimes in life, there are moments that can never be forgotten. The little lessons that reach their way into you mind and refuse to move. Weaving their way into our thoughts, words and actions, they become switch points. As a child grows, they will encounter many events that will change the way they think and feel forever. Set to the whimsical background of childhood mischief, I was taught a lesson that I have never been able to shake. The lesson is simple; sometimes you have to be brave and own up to your mistakes. Although it was not world changing, it was mind awakening. No matter what you have done in the past, lying about it does not make it go away.

Standing in the kitchen of my childhood home, I heard the sounds of my older siblings playing in the basement. Just like that, my inner devil came out. With a gleeful smile, and that impish look that only true a trouble-maker can have, I snapped into action. Creeping across the room, I checked for things that might foil my plan. In this case, that stumbling block was my mother. Like a secret agent, I poked my head around the corner to assess the safety of my mission. There she sat, eyes trained on her computer screen, and I knew I could get away with it. As long as she was looking at her Email, she was not looking at me or the basement door. Back across the room I ran, until I was standing in front of the door. Reaching arms up high above my head, I slid the dead-bolt into place. Now they would be trapped down there forever, and mom would never know it was me. With one last demonic laugh, I skipped off to my room to await dinner.

soon the banging started, and I knew that I had won. “Mom, MOM, we're stuck!” More thumps, bangs, and yelling followed. However, soon a flaw started working its way into my plan; mothers are a lot smarter than I gave them credit for. Soon their yelling was replaced by the stern bellow, “Rebekah Dare, you get in here right now.” Trading in my horns for a halo, I altered my expression to the other one that trouble-makers have trademarked; I put on a face of pure innocence. “Yes, is it time for dinner?” My big blue eyes batted up at her in a “there is no way you can pin this on me” kind of way. “Rebekah, is there something you want to tell me?” “No Mommy, why?” “ You know why, and I know you did it.” “Did what?” Now she gave me the look that any mother of four has mastered. Her eyes where drilling holes into the very depths of my soul and sucking every ounce of childhood joy out of my body. With proverbial steam pouring from her nostrils, she gave me one more chance. “Only five people live in this house, two were in the basement when it was locked, Katherine is too small to do it on her own, and I know that I did not do it.” Like a matador facing down a charging bull, I readied myself and simply said, “Well, I didn't do it.” There, she had to believe me now; I was free. “Go to your room and don't come out until you can tell the truth.” Now I lost it, “But I did not do it!” I screamed. Feet stomping and tears streaming, I tragically marched to my cell.

Throwing myself onto the floor, I plotted against the unjust regime that I was ruled by. For some reason, I continued to yell that I did not do it, despite knowledge to the contrary. I stayed in there so long that I missed dinner, unable to accept defeat, until, at last, it clicked. I had, in fact, locked them in the basement and there was no injustice in my purgatory. Contrary to my plan, it was me who was locked away as they roamed free. I was not missing dinner because I locked the door but rather because I was lying about it. There was only one way to make this right. I told my mother the tale and apologized to all involved. Soon, that night became no more than a far-off memory to everyone but me.  Though not every situation is as simple as that night, I often remember it when life gets hard. My mistakes are mine to bear. No matter what it is that was done, I can't hope to fix it until I own up to it. I will be stuck in my room with no dinner, until I eat the only thing left, my pride.