My Mom is a Pathological Liar :: Personal Narrative, essay about my family

I think it was my mother who taught me the meaning of honesty. Not because she was honest, but because she be all the time. She felt that the easiest way come out of the closet of any given situation was generally the best way out. And, for her, that generally meant telling a little etiolated lie. As a young child I thought it was kind of cool. And, naturally, when I would come to her with a concern or question wondering what I should do, she generally advised me to lie. Mom, I told Theresa that I would go over to her house, but now I would rather go to Sues house to play. Tell Theresa youre sick, she would advise. And generally I did. But I didnt seem unholy with her lack of conscience. On many painful cause Theresa would find out that I really went to Sues house without her. These occasions taught me that it is more painful to be caught in a lie than it is to tell the truth in the first place. I wondered how it was possible that my mother had never wise(p) that le sson.   I started thinking of all the lies that Id comprehend her tell. I remembered the time she told someone that her favorite restaurant had closed, because she didnt indispensableness to see her there anymore. Or the time she told soda pop that she loved the lawn mower he gave her for her birthday. Or when she claimed that our phone lines had been down when she was trying to explain why she hadnt been in touch with a friend of hers for weeks. And what bothered me take down more were all the times she had incorporate me into her lies. Like the time she told my guidance counselor that I had to miss school for exploratory surgery, when she really needed me to babysit. And it correct started to bother me when someone would call for her and she would solicit me to tell her that she wasnt there.   So, I started my own personal fight against her dishonesty. When I answered the phone and it was someone my mother didnt want to remonstrate to, I said, Louise, mo m is here, but she doesnt want to talk to you.My Mom is a Pathological Liar Personal Narrative, essay about my familyI think it was my mother who taught me the meaning of honesty. Not because she was honest, but because she lied all the time. She felt that the easiest way out of any given situation was generally the best way out. And, for her, that generally meant telling a little white lie. As a young child I thought it was kind of cool. And, naturally, when I would come to her with a concern or question wondering what I should do, she generally advised me to lie. Mom, I told Theresa that I would go over to her house, but now I would rather go to Sues house to play. Tell Theresa youre sick, she would advise. And generally I did. But I didnt seem blessed with her lack of conscience. On many painful occasions Theresa would find out that I really went to Sues house without her. These occasions taught me that it is more painful to be caught in a lie than it is to tell the truth in the first place. I wondered how it was possible that my mother had never learned that lesson.   I started thinking of all the lies that Id heard her tell. I remembered the time she told someone that her favorite restaurant had closed, because she didnt want to see her there anymore. Or the time she told Dad that she loved the lawn mower he gave her for her birthday. Or when she claimed that our phone lines had been down when she was trying to explain why she hadnt been in touch with a friend of hers for weeks. And what bothered me even more were all the times she had incorporated me into her lies. Like the time she told my guidance counselor that I had to miss school for exploratory surgery, when she really needed me to babysit. And it even started to bother me when someone would call for her and she would ask me to tell her that she wasnt there.   So, I started my own personal fight against her dishonesty. When I answered the phone and it was someone my mother didnt want to talk to, I said, Louise, mom is here, but she doesnt want to talk to you.