I’ve been devouring this book titled “Lies My Teacher Told Me,” and it dawned on me that I, too, am telling lies.  Lying doesn’t always mean being untruthful in my words — sometimes a lie is in the untold.  

I omit parts of our history, preserving the essence only superficially. It’s unfair to you – my reader – that you are subjected to this euphamistic life story.  But it might also be unfair to include some of the harsh criticism that I feel people in our lives often deserve.  I choose not to share some of my struggles with those I love because to do so might pervert opinion. People in my life cannot defend themselves here and to share my slanted take on their actions without offering them chance for defense would irreversibly taint your view.

There are three sides to every story- yours, mine, and the truth.

How telling is that statement?

I’ve been grappling with presenting more clarity. I want to be transparent.  I know that part of my legacy is within this blog.  The moments I share, the conversations I retell become forever preserved when I hit publish. Perhaps that’s why I sometimes subconsciously [or purposely?] elect to defer to images. You may not have the full context, but I can hope that your inferences are accurate. And even if the picture skews reality a little bit, I’ve tried to preserve our lives beyond mere memory.

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