A long, long time ago, when I was around 10 years old, my dad gave us a little duckling for Easter. (My parents were divorced by this time.) It was the cutest little thing, and (because we are soooo creative) we named it Donald. (Honestly, we don't even know if it was a boy or girl.) For a while, he lived in our (unfinished) basement. (Holy parentheses, Batman! That's a lot for one paragraph. (Even for me!))
One day, we were painting, and my brother dropped the duck beak-first into the black paint. Instant, permanent mustache for little Donald.
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Eventually, though, Donald and his poo got too big. He got booted to the out-of-doors. It wasn't too big of a deal, though, because of where we lived. There was a little creek along our property line, and lots of wild ducks would hang out near the water. Donald had plenty of feathered friends.
There came a day when I went out to say good morning to Donald, and he wasn't in the yard. I looked everywhere for that bird, but he was gone. I ran in, crying to my mom, and she told me, "I'm sorry, Honey. The wild birds left to fly south, and Donald went with them."
I was heart-broken. I cried. I pouted. Every single time we went to a park that had ducks (and for some reason, there were several parks with ducks) I looked and looked for one that had a black mustache. I actually envisioned our reunion. I'd see him with his 'stache, I'd call for him, he'd recognize me, and we'd be together again. No joking. I was that heartbroken. And lame.
Skip ahead many years. A Christmas celebration with lots and lots of people. (Are you seeing a pattern here? If not, you really need to go read the other post about the other lie revealed.) Somehow the topic of Dear Donald came up. Of course. And once again, my mom stopped the conversation cold.
Laughing hysterically, she said, "I was horrified when I got up that morning and found Donald feathers all over the backyard!"
My reaction (in my head, because I was a respectful daughter, even in the face of deceipt) Son of a &^*^! You have got to be kidding me! Did you lie to us just so you could have the chance to embarrass us many years into the future?!?!?!
Had it never occurred to you that Donald never flew one time before he "flew south"?
Shut up.
And that it wasn't even fall yet?
I said shut up. You are a horrible mother.
Here is...the rest of the story.
Donald most certainly did not fly south.
My mom always woke up really early in the morning. That particular morning was no different. Coffee in hand, she looked out the window and saw a big pile of feathers in the backyard. She immediately called my dad. The conversation went something like this:
Mom: That %^$& duck you bought the kids is now a pile of feathers in the backyard. Get your #$% over here immediately so you can get rid of the *&^% thing before the kids wake up!!"
Dad:
He got to our house, and the two of them put the remains in a box. They combed the yard, searching for every last feather, knowing just one would give the whole thing away. Dad left to dispose of it.
We lived in a newish neighborhood out in the middle of almost nowhere. There was a pond right outside our neighborhood, and this is where my dad decided to dump Donald. As he was walking away, a man came running out of the nearby house. Apparently, the owner of the pond saw my dad and was furious. My dad made some defense of "It's biodegradable!" but the guy didn't care. He made my dad put Donald back in the box and take it with him.
Serves him right.
My dad found another field, made sure no house nor human was anywhere around, and finally availed himself of the remains.
In the meantime, we woke up. My mom told the lie about flying south. It was never spoken of again, until that Christmas when Mom "forgot" that she had never told us the truth.
Did your parents ever lie to you? Do you lie to your kids?
Have a lovely day!
photo source here
