Confessions of a 5th Grade Liar

I was the awkward kid. The one who felt so painfully self-conscious I could hardly think. My feelings were so strong they seemed to short-circuit my brain.

Also, I was frequently the new kid at school. I was moved from home to home so often I didn’t develop friendships.

So, into this soap opera comes my friend, the librarian. I‘ve tried so hard to recall her name but I can’t. It breaks my heart because her kindness and her attempt to connect with the kid who was so disconnected still effects me strongly, even 60 years later.

I’ll call her Miss (not Ms.) Marian because “Marian the Librarian”* doesn’t offer the same respect. It was the late 50s, so in keeping with the manners of the time, she is Miss Marian.

She invited me to help her in the library.

I was ten years old and completely enthralled. The library was my favorite place! I could work there?

It gave me so much confidence to oversee returning books, checking the card index (everything was paper and ink stamps then), and putting the index cards for the returned books back in the library card index files.

I was careful. I was good. I loved it.

And then I lied and cheated.

I still cringe when I think about what happened and why. I had forgotten a book was due that day. When my class went to the library room, I quickly looked for the index card, so I could dispose of it. Any card left over at the end of the session indicated a book was not returned. I was so embarrassed it never occurred to me to just tell her – and take the consequences. I was in a panic. I had to be perfect. After all, I was chosen for this special job. I threw the card into the wastebasket.

I wasn’t a thief, so the next day, I brought the book back and announced to her I had “found” this book. I went to my classroom, confident I had gotten away with my crime (but sick inside).

For some reason, Miss Marian didn’t need my help any more. When I offered, she simply said, “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” She never accused or confronted me.

Many years later, I knew why she stopped my “job.” Of course, she would notice an index card in a wastebasket (it was likely empty except for the evidence I wanted to destroy).

She also may have had another step in the checking out and checking in process. Perhaps I didn’t cover my crime adequately.

I still feel ashamed for trying to deceive one of the few people who tried to connect with me in my lonely childhood. I also feel sad I could never apologize or reconnect with her. If I had the means, I’d have done it even as an adult - even now.

I never saw her after I left school, but I’ll never forget her – her insight, her kindness, and her magnanimity-after-the fact.

*from The Music Man 1957