Liars should suffer bitter consequences

Published in The Orlando Sentinel, September 16, 1998

The hardest thing to teach children is the importance of telling the truth. It just got harder.

Ironically, most of us learned our first lesson in truth from a presidential anecdote: ``Father, I cannot tell a lie,'' said the young George Washington. ``I cut down the cherry tree.''

What a joke by current events. Now, when the president of the United States lies to the nation, lies to a grand jury, lies under oath, it's pretty hard to say, ``Tommy, you must never tell a lie.''

``Oh, but Mommy, I want to be president someday!''

My experience with truth surely influences my intolerance these days, as my childhood is defined by a life-altering lie. As a result, I don't have much sympathy for liars, and I can't bring myself to feel Clinton's pain.

My father always said, ``No matter what you do, no matter how bad, always tell the truth. It's lying I can't stand.'' Most of the time, I told the truth. One memorable night, I didn't.

We were just us two, which meant that sometimes I was home alone. One night in early March, my father was out of town on business when friends called to invite me to a party. It was a school night, which in my house meant no TV, much less parties.

I knew the party was forbidden, but I was 16, lonely and bored. I left a note saying I'd gone to buy notebook paper and took off.

When I returned home just before my father's scheduled arrival, he was waiting for me. He had come home early with enough time to scout the few convenience stores where I might have gone. I'll spare you the details, but by morning I was on the Silver Meteor train headed to live with an aunt and uncle in another state.

In my father's infamous words, I was ``kaputzkah.''

Which is to say, I lost everything that mattered -- family, home, friends. It was like being stripped of my identity and sent naked into the desert to pay penance for my sins. On the other hand, I knew the rules and I had broken them.

I've examined this experience hundreds of times in the decades since and have decided it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. One grows from such experience. Among the bonuses, I attended a better school and had an English teacher who taught me to write and to trust myself. Brutal honesty became my trade.

By today's standards, I probably would be considered an abused child. The punishment didn't fit the crime, my father's critics would say. And though I would never exile my child for such an offense, I nonetheless appreciate that I was raised with clear guidelines and clear consequences.

President Clinton's crimes of adultery and lack of judgment probably were forgivable by a tolerant America. But his lies have wrought disproportionate pain and humiliation on a nation, not to mention his family. To say he lied only about sex -- who doesn't? -- is true and perhaps even understandable. Yet, there is a lesson here we all might learn: It's always better to tell the truth as soon as possible.

Had Clinton admitted in January when Lewinsky's name first surfaced that they'd had an improper relationship, he could have made his apologies and sailed on. Instead, owing to his deceit, even our schoolchildren are privy to the First Perversions.

If any good is to come now, Clinton has to suffer real consequences. ``I'm sorry'' isn't enough. Hanging his head isn't enough. He has to lose something that matters, or the rest of us gain nothing. And our children learn the opposite of what our first president taught: I can tell a lie and get away with it.

Kathleen Parker's column is distributed by Tribune Media Services. She welcomes your views and suggestions. Mail: The Orlando Sentinel, MP-6, P.O. Box 2833, Orlando, Fla. 32802-2833. E-mail on the Internet: [email protected] Her columns are on America Online at Keyword: OsoSoundoff.

[Posted 09/15/98 5:07 PM EST]