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One really strong childhood memory of mine involves exaggerating the truth and a deep need to feel superior.

Somewhere around second grade, my teacher presented the class with an activity that was intended to demonstrate how we were all unique and special. We were supposed to ask questions that divided us up on a tree diagram until we had each reached our own branch on the tree by ourselves. I had learned approximately five Spanish words from my neighbors just a few days before and I was tremendously proud of myself, and so I helpfully offered the first division: Those that spoke one language on this side of the graph, those that spoke more than one on the other.

It was a very lopsided first division — there were perhaps five of us on the “more than one side.” Including myself. The teacher asked me what other language I spoke, and asked me to say a few things and I claimed I was too embarrassed.. She thankfully let the issue drop pretty quickly.

The tone for the rest of the class activity was set — people continued to divide the sub-groups by talent and ability and we didn’t resort to physical characteristics until we were nearing the very end and the teacher herself suggested “boys” and “girls” as a division to split up some pesky remaining few people. She even remarked on the fact that none of us had thought about that one yet, even though the pictures on the graph had a boy on the left and a girl on the right, and that pretty much every class so far had always started with that division. I’m sure she thought we were all somehow a very enlightened class that had discarded the various unimportant qualities as candidates for the exercise. Closer to the truth is simply that children are highly suggestible, and I had boasting to do.

The memory of this day is burned somewhere into my mind — I can play it back at will, and with clarity. Somehow, I think not being exposed in my lie was worse. I wonder about myself at that age, about the need to create an elitist group in a second grade class (though we were only elite for a couple hours, the length of a second grader’s short term memory.) I think this is one of my earliest memories that expose my childhood depression.

Despite being only seven years old at the time, I still haven’t forgiven myself for turning five words of Spanish into “speaks more than one language.” Some of my friends may have seen me get upset about people who distort the truth in order to brag.. I think it’s because I’m still angry at myself.

- Pete