Drunk with power

I can make my children believe just about anything. I can make them squeal with laughter or tremble in fear just by adjusting the angle of my eyebrow. I can still use comments like "I'm your mother, I know everything".

Sometimes the absolute power thrills scares me. I have these Zach Braff moments, where time stands still while I recognize the moment before me and have to decide, do I behave like the adult or seize this chance to wield my control and selfishly act on impulse? For example, the time I tricked Rascal into giving me the bigger piece of birthday cake-- but I digress.

When I was young, I was the most gullible kid in the neighborhood. My playmate next door would spin stories about his escapades as I sat there in total awe. The hero worship opportunity must have been irresistable to a 7-year-old boy.

"And then I killt him with my magic sword. For real!"

"Gosh! You gots magic? How come I don't got any?"

"You're a girl, you have girly magic. It's invisible and anyways, it don't work on us boys."

"No way!"

"Yuh-huh. Now I'll do a magic trick on you. See how many rhymes you can make with the word 'duck'."

"Yuck, muck, buck, f---, puck, gu-"

"She said a bad word!" he hollered to his mom down the hall.

I burst into tears and ran home. I didn't even know which one I said was the wrong one. My mom didn't know what to make of it all, with my face mashed against her lap and me blubbering about a duck. It was years later when I suddenly realized how that trick worked.

Ohhhhhh.

My family and friends say Tweenie is my clone. We look alike and, according to those in the know, we have very similar personalities. Turns out she's every bit as gullible as I am was. When I'm in a smartass mood, I like to lead her down the garden path a bit. We usually have a good laugh about it afterward.

There are certain things that I don't feel right about tricking her, such as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Early on, I decided that if she asked me straight out if they were real, I would answer truthfully. And I did.

It turned out that was the wrong answer, but you can't unring a bell (although I sort of tried and then lost a ton of credibility. It took a few days of persistent lobbying to re-establish my position as Person of Absolute Knowledge and Trustworthiness). Now, any time I try to tell her anything she challenges me, as in:

"Mom, seriously, don't mess around. For real? I am not joking here."

"Mom! I know what you're doing when you cover your mouth with your hand! Mother! Why are your eyes watery? Why are you breathing like that?"

So there were a few holidays where we had to have the fantasy-character discussion again, which always ended in my earnest assertion that there are no such things as elves (jolly or otherwise), flying reindeer, rabbits that poo chocolate eggs, or fairies that buy teeth. Although, on that last one I am diligent in paying up. She knows who to lecture if I forget or leave a measly quarter.

Now that she knows the truth, she has taken it upon herself to educate her starry-eyed cousins, brothers, and friends. She is universally met with staunch denials and hurt feelings. This often sets off a new round of inquiries to her all-knowing mama, who each time has the renewed opportunity to announce it was all a big joke and by the way, Santa prefers oatmeal raisin cookies and skim milk for his girlish figure.

But the memories of my friend and gullible past prevent me from using my power of persuasion and force me to tell the disappointing truth. I kick myself each time as I see her little face fall, and then, in desperation I say that we can pretend it's all real and oh my goodness, did I just hear sleighbells?

"Mom, seriously. Mother!"

mwa ha ha ha ha haaaaaa!