Me at about age 5, refusing to pet a goat at a petting zoo.
When I was about 6 years old, I came up with what I thought would be a brilliant prank. I filled a gallon plastic bag with water, twisted the top, and held it tightly. Then I carried the dripping bag up the railroad-tie steps to the garden in our hilly back yard. There, my Dad, wearing old pants, was busy pulling weeds.
He stood up to greet his little blonde imp, and I held the bag out to him. "Pop the bag, Daddy," I commanded. I giggled as I imagined his surprise, popping the bag and spraying water everywhere.
He looked at the bag and asked me, "What's in it?"
"Air," I lied, thinking that since the water was clear, he wouldn't be able to figure out the difference.
Dad reached out and grabbed the bag, dumping the contents on the ground. Then, calmly, he told me, "Your name means 'truthful one'."
Like that, without ever lifting his voice, my dad taught me not to lie. The fact that the incident still resonates in my mind means that the gentle rebuke had more impact than if he had yelled and sent me to my room. I only hope that I, too, can have such a lasting impact on the son or daughter now growing inside of me.
My name means truthful one, and to this day, I'm a terrible liar.
You can't pull one over on my dad.