Secret Sin

Well, I'm back from my hiatus! It's been a nerve-wracking few months, but it's over now! Now, all there is to do is wait.
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It's a new year again, and I'll be making some resolutions of my own this year, as I'm sure you all will be doing. Or you might not be bothering with that. I don't think I ever wrote a list of resolutions and seriously committed to them, so I'm going to change that this year. I hope. (And yes, updating this blog at least once per month is on my list!)
There's one item on that forming list that I'm going to take the most seriously, and it has to do with my secret sin.
We've all got a secret sin. Some people's secret sins are worse than others, and other people's secret sins aren't all that secret. Secret sins don't have to be secret, after all.

(Irises in eyes? HOLY CRAP HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE)

"SECRET SIN" JUST SOUNDS COOL, OKAY.
In any case, my secret sin is lying. Lying is a bad secret sin to have since it is THE gateway drug to other sins, and I've noticed that my lying problem has gotten much worse. It's gotten so bad that I find myself lying for no reason at all!

This is scary! So I resolve to never tell a lie again, even if I feel like I need to. Somehow, I will prevail!
When did this habit of lying start anyway? I've read that you start lying when you're a baby, but I can't remember that far back, so I can't write about that! The first lie I remember telling was in second grade...

*flashback mode*

I sat in my seat and shuffled uncomfortably. I stared at the worksheet on my desk. Suddenly, I had the distinct urge to pee.
What were we supposed to do again? I hadn't been paying attention to Mr. Norman when he told us the instructions. It wasn't my fault! Okay, maybe it was...I had been daydreaming again of turning into a hummingbird after sliding down a slide and watching all of my friends turn into animals, too. But what could I do now? I glanced nervously at Paul's desk, which was to my right. He was doing all the problems on the worksheet. I followed suit, and did a few problems. But I soon turned my gaze toward the ceiling and lost myself in the wonders of my imagination.

[The fantasy sequence is drawn in a crude(r) way (than usual) because it is supposed to represent my second grade imagination through second-grade level drawing.]

I was soon startled out of my reverie when Mr. Norman said, "Time to turn in your worksheets!" He went around to collect it. Noticing that my worksheet was unfinished, he said gruffly, "Put that in your 'Overdues' folder. Looks like you have another overdue assignment to complete during lunch." I sighed and put my paper into my folder in my desk. I was careful not to mess up my desk this time, since I knew Mr. Norman would dump out all of its contents onto the ground and instruct me to clean up the mess and reorganize the mess if the desk was messy. I learned this the hard way.

(No, my second grade teacher did not look like a bearded Teddy Roosevelt. I have no idea why I drew him like that. Eh.)

The urge to pee was stronger when Mr. Norman dismissed us. I walked to the front of the school onto the sidewalk and waited next to the crosswalk, legs crossed to stop my bladder from exploding. I waited for the crossing guard who was also my second grade teacher to reach the sidewalk I was standing on. Just five minutes and I'll be home, I thought. My house was, after all, on the same street,  just on the other side and to the right of my school. I just had to walk along that sidewalk on the other side of the street to get to my house, rolling backpack dragging behind me, like I always did.

Mr. Norman finally reached the sidewalk. He then held up his STOP sign and walked onto the crosswalk, signalling for us to walk across. I walked across when I suddenly felt a wetness between my legs and a release of pressure in my bladder.

I had just peed in my pants.

I pretended nothing was wrong and continued walking home, contemplating what to do about the situation I now found myself in. My mother would kill me! I was too old to pee in my pants!
Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. I would just cover up the pee stain, and maybe my mom wouldn't notice.
I rang the doorbell, pretending nothing was wrong. My mother answered it and let me in. Turning my back to my mother, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Then, suddenly, my mother asked, "Why are your pants wet?"
Crap.

I wasn't a very good liar at the time (I hadn't had practice), but somehow, my mother believed me. "Oh, no, that's awful! When did this happen?"
"Um, at...lunch," I stammered, not expecting her to ask for so much detail.
"How could the teachers let that happen?" asked my mom, mostly to herself. I continued going upstairs, thinking that the whole situation with the wet pants was over.
It wasn't.
The next day, my mom called Childhood Friend's (also known as Otherclassmate) mother, telling her about the situation with the wet pants. CF's mother was angered by this apparent lack of supervision by the teachers. She called Mrs. A, my former first grade teacher who now taught sixth grade, who told her that it couldn't have been a sixth grader who sprayed me with the hose since sixth graders (and all the other upper graders) got out for recess after our recess was over. She supposed it must have been a third grader. My mom told me about this, and I agreed with Mrs. A, hoping that would be the last I heard of the matter. I didn't get my wish.
CF's mom and my mom contacted the third grade teachers, telling them about this horrifying incident with the hose and asking them to do something about this. The teachers asked their students to identify the culprit. No one came clean, obviously, which flustered my mom and CF's mom even more. I was flustered, too, but for different reasons.
Later that week, the teachers hosted an assembly on bullying, and one of the examples they gave was my "incident" with the hose. They left out all names, of course, but I knew they were talking about me, and that made me nervous. What if a mean third grader found out I was the one who tattled about something that didn't even happen?

Nothing of that nature happened (I know, anti-climactic, isn't it?), and soon, everyone forgot about it. Everyone except me and my family. In fifth grade, I had an essay about bullying, and my mom suggested the hose incident that "happened" back in second grade as an example that I could use. I almost told her the truth, but then decided against it.
I'm pretty sure she's forgotten it now, but if the topic arises, I'll tell the truth. After all, honesty is (usually) the best policy.