I’m a really, really good liar. Seriously, I am. When I was growing up, I learned at home how to do it right, even though the same person who taught me how to do it so well would punish me for lying to him.
From a very early age, I learned to answer the phone when my father was dodging certain phone calls. I was coached in exactly what to say to which people, completely without regard to the truth, of course. I was frequently casually informed of lies so I could be sure to back up one of my father’s lies if it came up in conversation.
For instance, we were one time on the way to visit my father’s boss when he told me to say that my foot was fine if I was asked about it. He had needed an excuse to leave work one day, so he claimed that I had been injured by having a lawnmower blade hit my foot. (He had read a tiny news item about it happening to another boy, so he just transferred the story to me when it was convenient.) Things such as this were common for me.
As I said, though, lying to him was strictly forbidden. If I was caught doing it — and I was, from time to time — I was severely punished.

When did someone decide we have the legal right not to be offended?
Check out Aya Katz’s interview with me about art and culture
Was he angry to lose his family? Or because he lost his control?
Fear of potential loss is a terrible reason to stay in the wrong place
Collective freak-out over tasteless shirt points to double standard
Cop pepper-spraying protesters is symbol for arrogant police culture
Identity crisis may be long-coming integration of warring parts of me
Being alone allows us to indulge our worst flaws and avoid change