Dead White Guys and Their Lies

By Kathy Luder

Molly and I were late for a student council meeting. She had hurriedly tried to finish a can of pop before we ran down the hallway. Just as we rounded the corner, she let out a huge belch, and we both fell into Twig’s room laughing.

Twig is Mr. John Terwilliger. He teaches history and is easily our favorite teacher. He is the only teacher with a Ph.D., and everyone says he should be a college professor. But he says that would be too easy. He makes history come alive in class. His lectures are as gripping as movies.

Molly and I fell into the room like we were crashing a funeral. Our council mates were seated in the front row, and Mr. Smith, the school superintendent, was sitting awkwardly in a folding chair next to Twig’s desk. Jason looked angry, and Kame was crying. Twig sat slumped behind his desk. It looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

I felt a chill and saw from the corner of my eye that the color had drained from Molly’s face. She beat me to the punch as she croaked out, “What’s going on?”

“Have a seat, girls. I have some news,” Twig said. We sat down, but before Twig could say anything, Kame blurted out,“This isn’t fair.”

Twig started to reply, but Jason interrupted.“I’ll tell you what’s going on. Twig is a liar.” Jason stood up and started slamming his books into his bag. He went on, “He wasn’t in Vietnam. He didn’t march with Martin Luther King. He made that stuff up.” He hoisted his bag to his shoulder and twisted around to fix Twig with a steely gaze. “He probably made everything up,” he said. Then he headed for the door.

“Wait,” said Twig, standing up also and stepping toward Jason. “I’m sorry. Please hear me out.”

Jason stopped. Twig gestured for him to sit back down. Jason fell into a chair by the door, pouting.

Twig took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, and said, “I’ve hurt you. I lied, and I’m sorry. This is not Mr. Smith’s fault. It is my fault. I don’t deserve this job.” Then he sat down.

“No,” said Kame, her voice slowly rising. “You are a great teacher. You taught us more than anybody. So what if you weren’t in Vietnam? You didn’t hurt anybody. We can just forget about this.”

Twig grimaced and looked at his shoes. Mr. Smith said, “It’s not that simple. We have a code of ethics. This clearly violates the ethics.”

“That’s stupid!” glared Kame, punching the air. “You’re going to fire him just because he exaggerated? Because he told a few fanciful stories to some kids? He taught us. He made us love history. He inspired us.”

“It’s not...” Smith began, but Twig cut him off with a gesture.

“I am not being fired. I am being suspended...for one year...without pay. And I am not protesting.” Kame started to speak but Twig stopped her. “Listen, Kame, this is a generous offer. I committed a terrible breach of trust. Mr. Smith and the administration are doing the right thing for me and for you.”

“But why?” I asked. I was in shock. My mind was reeling. “This doesn’t make sense. Why did you tell us stuff like that?”

“I don’t know,” Twig said quietly, rubbing his eyes. He looked out the window, “I guess I wanted you to like me.”

I felt myself grow angry and surprised myself when I slapped my desk. Molly jumped in her seat. All eyes were on me. I said, “But we loved you! Wanting us to like you is totally stupid.” Then quietly, “I just don’t get it. Why would you lie to us?”

Twig looked right at me. I could see tears in his eyes. He said, “I really don’t know, Kathy. I knew I was lying. But I got caught up in the story of history. I wanted to be a part of it all. I could have been and nearly was. And as dumb as it sounds, I really did want to impress you. I wanted to be admired.” He exhaled loudly, then paused and looked at each of us. He said, “I really love my students. And I love history. So I put myself in where I wasn’t. I was in the Army during the Vietnam War, but I never went to Vietnam. I heard about the march in Atlanta after it happened. I didn’t understand the significance at the time. But years later I did as I studied these things, and I regretted that I missed it. So I lied. It is as simple as that. I wanted you to like me, to think I was interesting. I suppose I even wanted to be a hero.”

“So it’s just over? You lied, and now you’re leaving?” Jason asked.

“The lies are over. And I will be gone for a year, but I hope to come back. I still want to teach.”

“What will you do?” Molly asked.

“I don’t know exactly. I have some ideas. But certainly I will do some soul searching. Really, I will do some penance. This was a sin. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a serious character flaw. And the only thing you can do about that is repent, confess, and ask for forgiveness. And you’ve got to suffer the consequences for what you’ve done. I can ask Mr. Smith to forgive me, and I hope he will, but I’ve still got to take the year off. I want to make up for this but don’t know how. That is why I wanted to tell you myself. I am terribly sorry. I am ashamed. I am full of regret. I wish like anything I had not lied the way I did, and I wish that I had not hurt any of you or made you ashamed of me. I hope you will forgive me. I hope we can be friends again,” he said, smiling weakly.

I could feel tears on my cheeks but did not wipe them away. “We’ll be graduated before you come back,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “That is part of the consequences. I really am sorry.”

Mr. Smith cleared his throat and started to tell us about how the council would continue and who would advise us, but all of us just stood and wound in a big group hug with Twig. I heard Molly whisper, “I forgive you. No penance needed.” Then I said, “Me too,” and so did Jason and Kame. Twig just said, “Thank you,” but he said it about a thousand times. Then Molly really impressed me. She said, “You should come to our church.”

I hope Twig comes to church. His classes were great because he made us see all sides of history. He was always telling us that all great men have their flaws and blind spots, that life is complicated. “We rarely have all the information we need to make the best decisions,” he’d say, “but we have to make decisions nonetheless.” In the end, it seems Twig was talking about himself. I’m going to send him a letter and suggest he spend some time during the next year studying one of the greatest men of history, Martin Luther, and considering what “the Just shall live by faith” means.

Kathy Luder is Why can't I figure out this Facebook thing?