To Tell the Truth     

So when my mother informed me that she was throwing a party in honor of my third birthday, I began dreaming of the sweets I’d be consuming. When the big day finally arrived and my friends from the neighborhood came over, they were each given a place at the table with a little bag of sweets placed in front of them.

Then Mindy walked in. She had not actually been invited. When she saw the other toddlers go into my house, she just joined them. This created a problem: there were no sweets for her, because my mother had bought an exact amount. My mother asked me to give Mindy my bag of sweets, but I adamantly refused. I may have been only three years old, but I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t going to wait another whole year for sweets!

My mother tried to reason with me. “She’s our guest and we can’t embarrass her,” she explained. “If she’s the only one without sweets, she’s going to cry.” Maybe I did understand, but I just didn’t care enough to give up my precious booty.

My mother would have just taken my bag and given it to Mindy, but then I, the birthday boy, would’ve thrown a tantrum. Instead she gave me a choice: Either I deliver a speech or I give my bag of sweets to Mindy. Without hesitation, I stood up on my chair and gave a speech. The Gettysburg Address it wasn’t; I just thanked my daddy and mommy for making me a birthday party and buying me sweets. As I basked in my moment of glory, enraptured with the applause, my mother gave me a hug that seemed to take just a bit too long. When I finally sat down, I saw that Mindy was happily making her way through my bag of sweets. While I had been distracted, my mother had stealthily given Mindy my bag. (It’s rather fascinating that my mother already knew, when I was only three, that I would never turn down an opportunity to give a speech!)