A genuine show of honesty

George Washington’s father, apparently, really loved cherry trees.

So much so that when he came home one afternoon from doing whatever people did during colonial times and saw his favorite specimen lying on the dirt, he was livid. It’s unclear why the elder Washington loved the tree so much, perhaps he planted it with his own hands, or maybe he had carved a swear word in the trunk to impress someone. But at any rate he was irate to see it turned to firewood, though cherry wood is fine fuel for a cooking fire.  

He confronted the future first president seeking an explanation. The young man famously replied, “Father I cannot tell a lie. I cut down the cherry tree.” It didn’t help that he was caught holding an ax with wood chips in his little powdered wig. The father was so moved by his son’s honesty that he handed down only a trivial punishment of limiting his screen time for the afternoon but not taking away his cellphone. 

This, of course, is a myth. There’s no evidence to back up this tale that has been handed down as gospel truth for generations. In one account George is only 6 years old and only marred the tree with a hatchet given to him as a gift. Who gives a 6-year-old boy a hatchet for their birthday? That sounds like the last-minute preparations of a nearly-always-inebriated uncle. It’s only asking for trouble. The tall tale is just one of many that surfaced after the death of the larger than life figure whose image graces everything from our money to portraits in fine museums. 

The story has become a parable about honesty. Honesty is always the best policy, yet it’s strange that we teach that by making up a lie. 

A recent trip to the store brought upon a show of honesty that revealed I must be doing something right. I volunteered to do the weekly grocery run with son in tow. After walking the aisles, filling the shopping cart, waiting in line and checking out we made our way through the parking lot to the car. While loading up the haul the boy finds an unbagged item at the bottom of the cart. 

“Uh, oh,” he said. “I think I forgot to put these on the conveyor belt.” 

I handed him the receipt and he scanned the long strip of paper. Sure enough, it was not to be found. So back in he marched to hand over the inadvertently stolen item. He didn’t give me a chance to convince him otherwise, nor did I try. He still sees the world in boyish innocence, a wrong had been committed and it needed to be corrected. No gray area. 

That in fact did happen. No twisting of the truth to teach a lesson. No myths or fables. Just a boy who told the truth. He didn’t even have to have an ax.