I have always been accused of being insensitive toward children. I would like to qualify this statement. I simply tell them the uncomfortable truth in most cases. Other times I lie through my teeth, or I just let them go on believing what they want. I don't consider that insensitive, I consider it a necessary well rounded exercise in life. Sooner or later, they'll figure things out on their own.

A few years ago, her daughter and I made popcorn and went upstairs to watch the annual rerun of "The Sound of Music". We were a little disappointed that "X-Files" was preempted, because we both loved that show. She would spend the entire time shivering under the covers, and I would relate to her what was happening. That way I could honestly tell her mother that I had never allowed her to watch that trash at such a young age.

The grand niece and I were watching the scene in "The Sound of Music" showing the von Trapp family hiding in the abbey, and she too was full of questions about the nuns and the statues. I told her what her mother had deducted a generation ago, that the statues were dead stuffed nuns. From then on, the grand niece has displayed a minor phobia toward religious statues. Who knew? Strike one.

The moment of dead silence was broken by shrieking and wailing. Aunt Betty began sympathetically patting my sobbing nephew's hand and telling my sister tearfully that she knew all along that Larry would never have just flown off like that. No one ate the chicken but me. Strike two.

Papa, pretty much blind without his bifocals, put his fork down and patted Spike, saying "Well, this is a good thing." I said, "Not so much, Bruce, the cat is dead, and we're going to bury it in the back yard beside Munchkin." All of the kids started bawling, there were several burning glares directed toward me from my sister, and a fiasco ensued. Apparently, most of the family still thought Munchkin ran away. Strike three.