The Whole Truth

Oh, it happened 54 years ago but I remember it as if it were yesterday. My aunt Jennie had just re-married, and acquired three new kids. She had two of her own already, and now the three from her new husband's first marriage made it five in all. I was going to add to the confusion by spending a week with the blended family in their sprawling suburban house. (It had to be sprawling, with so many people needing to fit in!)

Anyway, when I got there, Aunt Jennie was all a-flutter. Her youngest new daughter, Marcia, was in the nursery school play and Friday nights were rehearsal nights. It was almost time to pick Marcia up, but her (own) teenage daughter Christine had a twisted ankle and needed attention. Nobody else was home.

"I don't know what to do," Aunt Jennie gasped. "I can't leave Christine, but Marcia needs to be picked up."

"From where?"

It turned out the school was walking-distance, so I dumped my suitcase in the living room and volunteered to go and pick up my new cousin, whom I had met just once, at the wedding. I hoped I'd be able to recognise her -- all small kids looked the same to me.

Aunt Jennie wrote a note authorising me, and sent a text to Marcia's drama teacher. "Let's send a selfie with you and me, so it's a sure thing," I suggested, and we did that.

Then, I walked to the school. I handed my authority note to the security guard and went in. "Follow the noise," the guard grinned.

I did. The rest of the school was empty, and the noise came from the hall. I followed the yells and got there. Marcia's teacher recognised me and called out, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!" above the din. A small person detached herself from among other small people and walked over to us. Thank goodness the teacher did the recognising and placed the child's hand in mine. "Here's your cousin come for you," she said.

The child was silent as we walked together down the street. Maybe she was shy of meeting a new cousin ... ? But she hadn't been shy at the wedding. Walking beside her, our hands linked, I tried to look closely. She seemed to be lost in thought. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen such a small face look so thoughtful before and my curiousity was aroused.

"What are you thinking of, Marcia?" I asked.

She started, apparently having forgotten I was there. Then she gazed up at me for a long minute.

Finally, she said, "Promise you won't tell, if I tell you."

"I won't tell."

"I used to like my teacher."

"Used to?"

"Yes, but now I don't."

"Why not, Marcia? Why don't you like your teacher now?"

"She makes me tell lies."

"Lies?"

"And it's wrong to lie, but she makes me tell lies and she makes all the kids tell lies!" Marcia was working herself up, almost sobbing.

"What lies does she make you tell?"

"And in front of everyone, too. I'm supposed to get up there in front of everyone and say I am a little sunflower. But everyone will know I'm telling lies and then Father Howell won't love me any more and nobody will love me any more. I don't look like a little sunflower even if I put a mask on, a sunflower doesn't have feet."

You must never laugh when a problem is serious to a child.

"But that isn't lies," I said.

"It isn't the truth," she protested.

"It's make believe. Everyone knows you're a little girl who is making believe."

"So make believe is okay?"

I should've seen the trap and dodged it. I should've let the parents handle this existential discussion. I didn't. I wanted to be the nice big cousin.

"Yes, make believe is okay."

The next morning, being Saturday and no school, Marcia offered to bring me breakfast in bed. Wow, I thought, I've made an impression on this kid, she loves me already.

She came in 10 minutes later, bearing a tray with some covered dishes on it. I sat up in bed and bent my knees to balance the tray on them. She put the tray down carefully, her tiny face pursed in concentration and her small hands steady.

I uncovered the first dish. It was empty. So was the second. So was the mug.

"It's a make-believe breakfast, because make-believe is okay!" she yelled in triumph.