Oblivio: Stories and such by Michael Barrish

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Alfalfa | Sep 06 2000

A friend wrote offering her earliest remembered lies. Both occurred in the play yard at her elementary school. She writes:

It was a Catholic school, so I told these to other girls in the play yard. One, I told them that had I been born a boy, my parents were going to have named me Alfalfa. (This was during a period of high interest in The Little Rascals – I have been besotted with nostalgia from a very young age.) Two: I was hanging out behind the Catholic Charities box, drawing in the dirt, trying to have some down time, and some other kid came over and interrupted. I told her I had to be alone because my aunt had died.

I’m not an every day utility liar. My lies tend to be part of more fanciful schemes or wishes. For example, once with a friend, we convinced a boy that she was identical twins. She would appear in one or the other of the persona, sometimes changing outfits and showing up twice in the same day.