The Begining

All hail the liar.

I was the first grandchild and as such was greeted with all of the fanfare that you would expect and more. My baby book, lovingly created and curated by my mother is choc full of photos, relics and factoids about the fist year of my life. My brother as second born, had a slightly different experience as happens in most families.

My paternal Grandmother treated me like diminutive royalty and until her dying day would exclaim that I was her favorite grandchild, even in the presence of my brother and cousins. As a kid, I found this easy praise remarkable and early on found ways to exploit it whenever possible.It wasn't until I was older that I realized what happened and started to feel ashamed of my "title".

My parents were for the most part progressive hippies. My father an artist and mother an anthropology student, were incredibly liberal in their views on child rearing. I had an incredible amount of freedom and was always allowed to express myself and my views from even the earliest age. I felt as if I was a golden child, unable to do any wrong, and so yet so unsure of myself.

As far back as I can remember, I have had self doubt. Was I really living up to all of the hype? My mother to this day would most likely bronze a turd if given as a gift from me. She is the perpetual champion of the under dog. My parents were always my greatest ally, deserved or not. I became incredibly uncomfortable whenever anyone was less than enthralled by me. I craved the praise and came to love the rush of energy the over the top enthusiasm brought.

Even at a young age, I was aware of the advantages of being agreeable to my elders and saw the stark difference in my experience versus my brothers. My younger brother was a disagreeable child, but I believe very honest about his feelings. He may have suffered more than I, but it never dampened his spirit. To this day I have a tremendous amount of respect for his ability to be himself no matter the cost. He is truly one of my heroes.

My father is a highly decorated veteran of the Vietnam war. Like many returning soldiers, he struggled with past and the things he was forced to do to survive. He battled PTSD for most of my early years but was always a gentle and loving parent. He is the person that understands me the most today and in the past few years have had an incredible amount of very real and emotional conversations. I think the fact that we both have had to wear masks to survive, brings us closer together. As an FYI, I do not for a moment think that my issues can compare to a soldier, a hero of any war who has faced what they have seen. I am thankful for their sacrifice and courage. It is because of these heroes that we live in country where I have the freedom to create this blog.

I am a Liar....

When asked as I child if I wanted to do something, I always agreed no matter how it made me feel. I would lie to your face, tell you that I was going to do some chore or task and then most likely decide not to do it. The answer was always yes...

I am a pleaser and even today frequently over extend my abilities at work or in my private life in order to be pat on the head and praised. I both crave it and hate myself for needing it.

I am a Coward....

Even as an adult, I find it hard not to be adored and admired. It scares me to not be the center of attention or one of the guys. I always seem to make the safe choices outwardly anyway. I am a chameleon and always run with the middle of the pack. Not to brash or to opinionated, safely tucked away liked, maybe even loved, but rarely true to my feelings or honest.

I started out lying as a boy because I never want to stop being the golden child.