For some reason that word admitting is one of the most difficult words for me to, well, admit.
For me admitting has always been a negative word. I remember many times growing up when Mom and Dad would search for truth and that feeling of impending doom would be crippling. Even if I wasn’t to blame, there were times when I wanted to take it just to get away. Raising three creatively active boys three years apart ensured the lineup happened almost weekly.
We were naughty, creatively naughty.
I don’t remember us thinking we were being naughty filling up the snowmobile gas tank with sand. We were simply helping Dad fill up.
Removing the cabs from the Tonka trucks to make them faster was really just an experiment in aerodynamics. It proved a big help later in life when we would dismantle our cars in the back yard.
Coloring on the bedroom walls was not vandalism, just a way of expressing our artistic creativity as Mom was taking care of our new sister.
Driving the garden hose deep into the sand was not intended to make it impossible to remove the hose, we were simply drilling to China. They needed water, why not some refreshing well water from Pine River.
Taking an afternoon walk to uncles house almost a mile away as a four year old with three year old brother in tow to pet the dog was certainly not naughty. The fact that we walked around the steep edges of stock pond to see the fishies is what happens when you are four. Living to tell about it is what keeps parents up at night in fear and relief.
We were naughty and most of the time I was the instigator.
In my defense, the reasons I usually got in trouble was not out of rebellion, deceit or manipulative plans, but out of insatiable curiosity. Invariably, I would find myself in the middle of a situation that was dangerous or harmful without any thought of wanting to go there.
Talking my brothers into hitting a thirty eight caliber shell with a hammer was not out of hopes it would fire, we were simply trying to get the gunpowder out to see if we could start it on fire. Hitting the twenty two shells and having them explode was quite unexpected and delightful. Sure, running in and asking Mom if she heard the firecracker the neighbor kids threw at us was a lie, but finding out that you can fire bullets with a hammer is a great discovery while living in town. Discovering you can hit the rest of the box undetected was just a bonus. Doing this in the middle of a crowded city block and aiming for the lawyer neighbors garage proves a complete lack of deception.
I wasn’t trying to be bad, it was curiosity. Simple naughty curiosity.
Starting fires in the garage with gasoline was really naughty. It was so neat to watch the flames race across the floor, and we had plenty of carpet samples to smother them before they made it to the walls. We took other precautions as well, like closing all the doors, posting a century outside, and moving the gas tanks to the back of the garage.
I often wonder what the neighbors thought seeing black billowing smoke emanating out of our garage. I think they simply chose to ignore us. Life is messy enough without having to testify in court on how the neighbor boys might be terrorists.
So I have a difficult time admitting.
Not so much because I know that I am wrong, more because most times I have no idea how I ended up being wrong. I can look back and see the path and determine that it was obviously wrong to eat the fund raising candy and lie to a Priest about someone stealing it out of the Sacristy during Mass, but honestly, I could never make that kind of stuff up ahead of time. I just go with it, and most times I find myself – self preserving. Its like a hundred little nudges of un-naughty things lead me to being naughty and I have no idea how it happened.
Like this thing with the Priest. Sure I said I couldn’t find my candy on the way out of the church before school. I couldn’t find it because I ATE IT, but it was true I could not find it. When asked where I left it, I told Father whats his name I left it in the Sacristy, which was a lie, because I knew I left it in my belly.
I remember walking behind the sanctuary along the back corridor to the Sacristy thinking, now what!? I had to go look for it it was my only hope. I was full of faith, it MIGHT actually be in the Sacristy. God could do stuff like that right? The thought of facing Sr. Claire Marie and telling her I ate twenty two dollars worth of Abdallah Candies was much scarier than lying to a priest. At least I could tell him I lied to him next confession, but Sr. Claire Marie was a Nun, a principal, short and angry with tight curls and tight polyester skirts and everyone knew – she hit!
No luck, God had left me out on my limb.
I have always been a good actor. Growing up with five brothers and sisters you learn a few things. “Faker” was used allot at our house, accurately I might add.
“It’s not here, I gasped” that wasn’t a lie. Saying “I left it on the table next to the window” was a lie.
Here is where things got weird. Father whats his name out of the blue said “I thought I heard someone back here during Mass”, and it hung in the air like a slow pitch softball. The next phrase was the home run hit and a complete shock! “Someone must have taken it” was simply too perfect to pass up. My limb grew a trunk. Considering the thoughts I had been having leading up to the deadline to turn in money or candy about stealing the offering, this way out was much better. After all, how could I argue with the priest he hears from God, and besides it was his idea in the first place.
I know, it was naughty, so very very naughty, but it just goes to show how things work out for me. In case you were wondering I made restitution long ago. 🙂
There are other times when I feel like something is all my fault even when I have done nothing wrong. I am pretty sure I had nothing to do with the Challenger disaster in 1986, but I felt guilty nonetheless. I have blamed myself for so much over my lifetime. Pile enough guilt on me and I will confess because in the back of my mind I figure there must be some truth to it. After all, I am really good at manipulation even when I am not trying to manipulate. Thank God I am not a criminal because I could be really good at it.
So because of this, I shy away from facing things square on to find the truth. Part of me is scared that underneath it all there will be an underlying current of deceit. Part of me is scared that I will find something even if it doesn’t exist. A bigger part of me is concerned that the truth is I simply fall into stuff because I am not clever enough to stay out of trouble.
Admitting that is the scariest thing of all. Admitting that requires me to trust that God has been directing me all along, naughty and all.