佚名/Anonymous
As a child I always wondered how my mother knew what I was up to. How did she know I had not done my homework, had been smoking（and in my parochial school uniform, too），or had lied about where I had been and with whom?They were such well-constructed and convincing lies. And they had taken me so long to concoct. Now, looking back, the answer is crystal-clear to me. My mother did not have eyes in the back of her head, nor did she have a needie-sharp sixth sense of perception. The plain, unvarnished truth is……my mother was a hellion in her own youth. My grandmother was not alive to share this information with me. My grandfather, chief of police in our small town, never incriminated anyone, including his daughter. I simply know this is the answer. How else could she know what I was thinking, what I had done, and what I planned to do if she had not already trod the same path herself?
Take for example, the time our neighbor's canoe was stolen from their yard. Actually,“stolen”is too harsh a word.“Borrowed”is more accurate. With the assistance of my cousin we paddled across the river in the dark to participate in a clandestine meeting of our friends. Because of a slight miscalculation of the tides, we were unable to return until almost daybreak.
The canoe was immediately returned to its rightful owners. Okay, they claimed the side was bashed in. I prefer dinged. Stuff happens. My mother said she knew without a doubt I had been involved. I thought she had a lot of crust bandying my name about that way. The perpetrator could have been anyone.
And how about the time she insisted I had been driving her car when she had been away?It certainly was not my fault the gas gauge was down. There could have been a leak. For heaven's sake, I didn't even have my license then. Or the dozens of other peccadilloes she laid at my door, like the cozy little get-togethers I had put up. We were scrupulously careful not to leave any traces, yet I was always found out. Parties in the woods, occasional absences from school, fast cars, a glorious weekend in New York City, using false ID and being caught by my-gulp-grandfather.