I lied once, in kindergarten. There was a boy sitting next to me telling me about how his dog had died. I felt so badly for him. I asked what kind of dog it was. He told me it was a German Shepherd. He was crying and I lied. I told him we also had a German Shepherd that had just had puppies and he could have one. His face lit up. “Really?”
“Yes. You can have a puppy.”
I gave him our phone number and felt good about making him happy. I didn’t worry about the lie. He felt better.
That night, his mom called my mom to ask about the puppies. Of course, my mom said we didn’t have any puppies.
My mom asked 5-year old me why I’d said we had puppies and I told her. She explained that I’d hurt that little boy by lying even more than losing his dog hurt him. I never lied again.
The next day, at school, he’d asked me why I lied, and I told him, “you were so sad.”
He cried again. I don’t lie anymore. But, I’ve come to understand that everyone else does. And, sometimes, I could prove they’re lying, but I want them to have that pivotal moment like I did.
Lying may make someone feel better, but it’s still a lie. Carrying on with the lie doesn’t make anything better.
But, most people don’t get that pivotal moment.
That’s why, people lie.