The family name

My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family.

That’s my first memory as a child. I’m not sure if that says more about me or him. I pretend to be honest with my wife, and for some time I was.

I had seen on the morning of Monday, 6th of July, my grandfather with another woman. It hadn’t occurred to me at the time what they were doing, or maybe it had, I’m not sure. Considering that I can still hear him now, clear as day, “I have been at the garage all morning sweetheart,” he said, looking straight into my loving grandmother’s eyes.

I remember wondering why he had lied, but most importantly how he did it so well. I wasn’t yet aware it could be done so easily. 20 years later with two decades of watching my father do the same I have also gained the ability, and hate myself for it.

On Tuesday she asked me the most peculiar question.

“Bill, honey, has your grandfather told you anything about his whereabouts yesterday?” My grandmother asked me, holding a bag of sweets as a bribe.

My first reaction was pity. I remember feeling a lump in my throat, as one does when stuck between a rock and a hard place or in this case a white lie and hurtful truth. Having to stoop to the point of asking her 8-year-old grandson about her suspicions on her cheating husband. I did not blame her though.

It is strange how much a child can understand without acknowledging what is right in front of them. Never had it occurred to me what was…