Never Tell a Lie

“Mrs. Wilson, may I see you for a moment before you leave?”

Collecting Jimmy’s backpack and jacket from his cubby, I glance over my shoulder at my son’s usually overly happy kindergarten teacher. The tone in her voice today could best be described as tense and uncomfortable. Surely, this can’t be because I didn’t volunteer to bring the pet rabbit home over break. Everybody thinks just because I’m a stay at home mom, I’m able to do everything. I can’t possibly take the rabbit no matter how much she guilts me. For Heaven’s sake, we already have three dogs, two cats, a lizard, and a ferret that we’ve been keeping ‘for just a few days’ for my sister-in-law.

I force a smile, turning to face the young teacher. “Yes, of course, Ms. Horn. Is everything all right?”

“Let’s have a seat and talk.” She pulls a purple chair out from a round table that has an alphabet line on it. Her slim frame seems to be made for furniture geared to those six and under. I clumsily set Jimmy’s things on the floor, joining her. I attempt to appear to be comfortable as half of my backside is hanging of the chair and my stomach kind of rests on the table. Was I ever this small?

“You see, Mrs. Wilson, this week is Red Ribbon Week. You know, where we teach the children about drugs and alcohol. It really is a fun and educational week for our kiddoes.”

Speaking of ‘kiddoes’, I look around for Jimmy. Such a good boy, he’s playing with the blocks making a masterpiece.

“Yes, Jimmy’s told me all about it. We’ve done all the take-home activities. See, he even wore a red shirt today as you requested.” Where is this going, and could she get there quickly? I have to meet with the PTA president in fifteen minutes.

Ms. Horn looks down at her hands as if a script will magically appear providing her with the right words to say. “You see, it’s like this. After our Red Ribbon time this afternoon, Jimmy was a little upset. Not wanting to embarrass him in front of the other students, I took him out in the hall to see what was bothering him.”

And then she just stops talking. Come on, get on with it. I wave to Jimmy as he picks up a rectangular block trying to balance it on the others.

“Okay.” This is all I can think to say. It is a conversation where she holds all the cards, and I’m not even sure of the game we’re playing.

“How do I tell you this? Well, Jimmy said he had to tell me something important, but he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“Go on.”

A long sigh, “Jimmy revealed that you usually drink and drive when you bring him to school.”

I’m completely numb, jaw-dropping numb.

“Now Mrs. Wilson, I know it must be difficult with four boys under the age of six, but this will have to be reported to the authorities. It’s the law. My hands are tied.” She looks down at her perfectly manicured nails.

“What!?” That is the most intelligent thing I can get out of my mouth. I don’t even drink at parties, though right now a shot of something isn't sounding too bad.

“I’ll repeat it for you, Ma’am. I’m sure it is a lot to take in.” Why does it sound like she’s singing when she talks? “Today . . .”

“Jimmy, come here!”

Ms. Horn stands, alarmed. “Oh no, you mustn’t punish him for doing the right thing!”

Jimmy half skips over. For some reason, he can’t quite hop on his left foot yet.

The conversation is now mine. “Ms. Horn, please sit down. Jimmy did you tell Ms. Horn that Mommy drinks and drives on the way to school?”

Bowing his head, Jimmy squeaks out, “Yes, Mommy. I had to tell the truth.”

Confused, I lift his chin, “But Jimmy, you know I don’t drink and drive. I would never do anything to put you in danger.”

Ms. Horn’s arms are crossed, and she rolls her eyes.

“But you do, Mommy. You even asked me to get you a drink today before we left.”

It is Ms. Horn’s turn to be speechless as she looks at me as if I've transformed into the Dragon Lady.

But to me, all is clear now. “Sweetheart, what kind of drink did you get Mommy.”

“The same thing you have every day. You said you are addicted to it. Diet Coke!”

I’m thinking someday this will be humorous, but right now I just want to put Ms. Horn in her place, a very special place.

“Oh my! He didn’t say that, Mrs. Wilson. He just said you drink and drive, and so I thought . . .”

“Perhaps, you should have asked him. Jimmy, they mean drinking alcohol like beer or wine, not soda, Sweetie. It’s the law, and I would never break the law.”

Jimmy looks relieved, yet still curious. “Is it against the law to drive without a bra on?”

“Ummm, no.” I look at Ms. Horn for some kind of help.

“Oh good, because you never wear one when you just drop me off and don’t have a reason to come in.”

“Jimmy!”

“Is it against the law to say the ‘f’ word?”

“Oh my gosh! No, but it is against the rules. It’s not a nice word.” Please Lord, get me out of here.

“Daddy says it all the time!”

“You father does not say the ‘f’ word.” I switch my focus to Ms. Horn. “He really doesn’t!”

“He does too. Sometimes in the car, he will say, ‘Who let a ‘f’ word go’.

“Ohhhh, that ‘f’ word. Well, it’s still not a nice word, and Mommy will be talking to Daddy about that.”

This is beyond the scope of Ms. Horn’s training. She tries to escape to her desk, but Jimmy grabs the hem of her skirt.

“Wait, please.” He is such a polite boy. “One time Mommy didn’t do the dishes for the whole week, because she wanted to show Daddy it wouldn’t kill him to do them once in awhile. She was right; it didn’t kill him. My little sister ate dried up ferret poop one time. She didn’t die either. And another time, my mommy said that the Easter Bunny at the mall was real, but he wasn’t because I saw him take his head off in the bathroom. And. . .”

“Stop! Jimmy, what is wrong with you?” Attempting to stand, I trip over a block he has dropped and almost face-plant myself on the table made for gnomes.

“Mommy, I’m telling the truth! Remember the book we read last night, the froggy said, ‘Never tell a lie’. He was glad he told Giraffe the truth about the golden egg because lying is bad, and no one wants to play with a liar.”

My heart is beating so fast, I’m afraid I might stroke out in this room surrounded by bright colors, sight words, number lines, and a teacher that is too mortified to be able to dial 911. “We’ll talk about this in the car. Grab your jacket, Jimmy.”

Concern takes over his innocent face. “Are you mad, Mommy? Your face is kinda sweaty.”

I manage to push the words out. “No, Sweetheart.”

Pausing at the door, I turn and face Ms. Horn. “One more thing, Ms. Horn. Has anyone volunteered to take Rudy Rabbit for the break? We would love to.”

Jumping up and down, Jimmy screams, “Yesssssss! This is the best day of my life!”

If only, I could say the same.