I was 6 years old when we got a cute little puppy, and I was besides myself with excitement. I couldn't wait to tell my friends at school!
On the drive home, as we were holding our new squirming puppy and discussing names, my mother suddenly grew serious. "You can't tell anyone that we got a puppy. Not anyone! It has to be a secret for now. I'll let you know when it's OK to tell people."
I have no idea why my mother felt a need for secrecy. She may have given me a reason, but it didn't make sense to me at the time and I don't remember it. What I do remember is that this was my first big lesson in secrecy. Here's what I learned:
1. There were certain things that, for very important reasons I didn't understand, people outside the family shouldn't know.
2. I was a blabber mouth with no sense, and I needed stern warnings about things everyone else already understood.
3. My brother was not a blabber mouth, and thus he could be trusted.
4. If I couldn't keep this secret, then my mother would never be able to tell me anything ever again.
5. Our family was special. Other kids could talk about their new pets, but that's because they weren't us. We were so special that other people didn't need to know everything that went on in our house.
6. I didn't understand. Obviously I must be stubborn or dense.
Maybe this was an "experiment" to see how long I could contain my excitement. Maybe it was the beginning of deliberate training in secrecy. I have no idea what my mother's motives were.
There were many more lessons that followed.
