About a year ago, my mom decided that she wanted to have a family tradition. Apparently, having traditions makes you a cultured Mexican, instead of just a regular Mexican, so she started Taco Sunday. If you’ve ever met my mom, or had the pleasure of being invited to Taco Sunday, you know that not only is she cultured (ie – the traditions), but she’s also an amazing cook. This specific Sunday was my older  brother’s birthday (Happy Birthday Fartface!), so Taco Sunday was in full birthday force.

During the course of conversation we started laughing about all of the crazy and untrue things that my parents used to tell us as kids.  They would tell us stories to make us stop crying, to try to avoid tantrums in public, or to give us “explanations” to end the ongoing barrage of questioning (“Why is the sky blue? Why do we have to stand in line? Can’t you make this go any faster? Why can’t I have candy…”). My mom laughed as she recalled all of the made up “truths” that consisted of our childhood, but as the stories piled up one at a time I started to find the whole thing not very comical anymore. Quickly, as the evidence was being laid out, a new truth was becoming very apparent.

My parents were big fat liars.

The thought echoed as it dawned on me. I was not having fun at Taco Sunday anymore – I was getting miffed! I looked at my parents and blurted out, “You guys were LIARS!” My mom looked at my dad. They both burst out laughing. “You try having four screaming brats, and tell me that you wouldn’t lie to them to get them to shut up!”

Now, I have to be honest, I am a little indignant over the little joys of childhood and life that I might have missed out on because I was such a good and gullible child. My mom still holds to the notion that they weren’t lies, they were just “good parenting”. But, considering that my opinion in the matter is not objective, I will discuss the evidence with you, and you can render the verdict on whether my parents were just “creative” or if they were indeed liars.

Exhibit A: The Music Truck

Most kids know that in the summer when it is hot, if you happen to hear music wafting from a big yellow truck it can only mean one thing: the Ice Cream Man. I am imagining that most kids begged their parents for coins so that they could frolic out to the street and wait for him to pull over. Choosily they would pick from the beautiful pictures on the side of the truck and the nice ice cream man would sell them a refreshing summer treat – maybe even one with gum ball eyes!

Yeah, except if you were me and my brother, that isn’t how the story goes. When we were small, and we would hear the music coming out of the truck my parents would exclaim,”Oh listen, the music truck is here! What a nice man! He drives through the streets all day long, playing his music so children can hear how beautiful it is!”

Was there ever a mention of ice cream and sugary goodness? Absolutely not. And like little idiots we would nod our heads and say, “Yeah, that man sure is really nice to spend all day driving around so that we can hear his music!”

Please notice this picture doesn’t include me as a child, standing in line. BECAUSE I NEVER DID.

Right. Thanks mom and dad. That’s years of ice cream that we were jipped out of.

Exhibit B: It’s A Small World…of Demons?

Most children go on It’s a Small World when they are small. Their parents sit in the long line so that their joyful children can sit in the little boats, and see the dolls from all over the world – proclaiming that we are all united and equal even though we are all different. Except, if you were in my family, you didn’t. I was in college before I rode that ride for the first time. Why? Because my parents told us that the dolls were demons.

Seriously. These days my mom adamantly claims that it’s not true and she never would have said such a thing. Both my parents say that they simply discouraged us from going on the ride because between four kids they didn’t want to hear “It’s A Small World After All…” for the rest of their lives.

The funny part is that us kids all remember being told that there were demons in that ride. Thanks mom and dad.

Exhibit C: Evil Grocery Store CEOs

This story is a classic example of my mom’s ability to lie. When we were kids, there were four of us and getting through the grocery store could be quite the trick. So, my mom made up a game. Each time we needed to go to the store, we’d look through the pantry and make a list. My mom would explain:

The CEOs who own the grocery stores are evil men. They put candy and toys at the eye level of little kids to make them behave badly when their parents are trying to shop for food. The evil CEOs want you to be naughty, kick, scream and cry to make your parents buy the candy and toys.  So, in order to win again the evil grocery store CEOs we have to get through the entire store, and ONLY buy what is on our list.

You know what I would do? I would waltz through the toy isle like a little schmuck. I would put my hands over my eyes and announce to my mom, “I am not even LOOKING at the toys mom. I see the candy bars over there, but I am not going to ask for one because then the evil CEOs will win!”

Then when we got to the car, my mom would throw a little “dance party” because we got out of the store without buying candy or toys, no tantrums were thrown, and the evil CEOs had lost the war.

I was jipped. There are years of Barbie Dolls and Candy Bars that I never got. Thanks a lot mom.

Exhibit D: Ace of Base vs. The Beatles

My first music video I ever saw was “I Saw the Sign” by Ace of Base. I remember it still, I was at a sleep over party for a classmate when I was in sixth grade. She was popular and cool, and I was…well… not. At that age my mom still dressed me in matching vest and short outfit sets – it was a particularly horrible and embarrassing part of my life. Fashion aside, I also knew nothing in the way of pop-culture. I didn’t listen to cool radio, I listened to bad Christian radio. In fact, my mom made it a point to tell me that non-Christian radio was demon possessed. Again, this is a claim that she would now fight me on, saying that “I would never say that!” But don’t be fooled, she used to say it.

It was late at night and all of the popular girls wanted to watch this oh-so-popular music video. I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch, but I was already wearing a short/vest outfit and couldn’t take too many chances. I was too embarrassed to tell the other girls that not only was I a fashion disaster, but I also couldn’t watch popular demon possessed music videos. So I what any unpopular girl in a vest set would do – I watched it. And I remember Ace of Base had all of their clothes on,  and were playing guitars and drums – arguable totally demonic.  Actually, the ironic part is that the stage was engulfed in flames at some point. I felt so awful while watching this oh-so-cool and “evil” video that I felt sick until I got home the next morning.

Bawling, I confessed everything to my mother – the video, how cool it was, the fully clothed band, the guitars and the flames. I didn’t want to be a “bad girl” that listened to demonic music. You know what my mom said to me!? “Now you know why I told you not to watch those things. Now those images will be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.”

Seriously. I’m not joking.

So, yes I can see every part of that sleepover, and every part of that video. But clearly, not because it was demonic. But because I was traumatically lied to. Thanks mom.

Here’s the kicker though. Growing up, my dad loved The Beatles. Which meant that all of us kids loved The Beatles. My first favorite album was St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I loved it because “With a Little Help From My Friends” was also the opening song for “The Wonder Years” and Fred Savage was cuter than cute.

Now for those of you who follow The Beatles music, you know that they did a lot of drugs toward the end of their career. Ever listen The White Album? Right. Acid trip induced music I am sure. Brilliant, and absolutely drug enhanced. BUT, let’s not forget that Ace of Base is demonic.

“Acid music? Yeah, that’s totally cool kids. Just don’t listen to “I Saw the Sign,” cause you’ll go to hell.“

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Exhibit E: Chicken Skin

Ok, this story is one of the more embarrassing stories in today’s line up. I say MORE embarrassing, because it is not THE MOST embarrassing believe it or not.

I grew up on a very healthy diet, thank you mom. There were no Doritos chips, Capri Suns, or Snack Packs to be found in my house. Only Juicy Juice (100% real juice!), fruit, and wheat sandwich bread. So you can imagine that boneless skinless chicken was also a staple food group.

Imagine this scene unfolding: I’m in college. It’s Premium night. Meaning, that every Thursday instead of the normal gruel, the cooking staff would pull out all the stops and make steak, or fried chicken, or some other fancy dish. It was actually pretty amazing. All of my new friends from my dorm had got their food, and twelve of us are sitting at a long table. As I began to eat, I peel away the top layer of crunchy skin, and begin digging into my chicken.

Much to my horror, my friends proceeded to bite straight into the chicken, munching THE SKIN! Now please understand, this act in my mind was on par with eating the intestines, or the eye balls. Never in my life had I seen someone eat the skin. It was part of the bird you simply threw away. As my friend starts chewing it, my mouth falls open. I have to stop her. I tell her, “NO NO NO. You don’t eat that part!!!”

The whole table gets silent. Someone says to me, “Jenni, the skin is the best part. Have you never had fried chicken before?”

Between astonishment and laughter from my dinner pals, I was quickly educated in the ways of fried chicken. I soon discovered that not only can you eat the skin, but IT IS THE BEST PART.

Promptly I finished my amazing dinner and called my mother. “What do you mean you can eat the skin!?” I yelled, “You’ve been holding out on me!!”

“Sorry,” my mom said. “I just always thought it was gross. Oopsies!”

Thanks a lot mom. Jipped again.

Exhibit F: The Prison in Irvine

This one might take the cake in terms of embarrassing parental lies. For those of you who are local, you know that there is a HUGE corporate building off of Jamboree and the 405 freeway. All of my life, when driving by this building, my dad has pointed to it and said, “Look, there’s the prison! See those huge silver towers at the top? That’s where the guards sit. And when people try to break out, they can shoot at them.”

It always looked like a very nice prison, very upscale and classy. But after all, this was Irvine – land of tan and taupe. So, I figured it was where they kept the upscale and classy prisoners.

My first week at UC Irvine, while driving by the prison, I said to a car full of Bio Majors (and every knows that they are some of the smartest kids at UCI), “Isn’t it scary living this close to a prison?”

Crickets. Dead Silence.

“What do you mean Jenni?”

I pointed at the building. “Right there. That’s a prison. With the big silver guard towers. Isn’t that scary?”

More Silence.

“Jenni, are you pointing at the building that says Samsung on the side??”

Now it was my turn to be silent. I had never imagined that it was anything other than a prison. I mean, my dad had been calling it a prison for as long as I could remember. But now that she said it, it was a classic corporate building. And it did say Samsung on the side.

I blushed scarlet. Utterly speechless.

Right there in the car I pulled out my phone, demanding to speak to my father. Hearing the story, he laughed so hard he wept.“I had no idea that you really thought it was a prison! It says Samsung right there on the side of the building!!”

“But I never figured that you would just randomly LIE to me for no reason! I’d never thought about it – I didn’t think I had to!!”

Thanks a lot dad.

The Verdict?

So as you can see, not all of the “stories” my parents told me were simply to keep me quite in the store, or keep me from having too much candy. Sure it started out that way – but obviously somehow they got carried away. Funny how the lines between “story” and “lie” can be so blurry sometimes. And sure, while telling your kids that it’s really just a Music Truck, I can think of no fathomable reason to continually tell your children lies that make them look like an idiot well into their twenties.

So make an assessment for yourself. I vote that my parents are just flat out liars.