Coming Clean, At Long Last

IN DECEMBER, 1966, I was in sixth grade, which remains among the most pleasant experiences of my life. Sixth grade, for me, was special. A time of maturing friendship formation and growing social awareness. In the NFL championship game that year, the Green Bay Packers played the Dallas Cowboys, the game I believe which would eventually be called "the ice bowl", played in sub zero temperatures in Wisconsin. It was a great, classic game, with the Packers pulling out a last minute victory with a famous running back getting a famous block from his offensive lineman, and taking the ball into the end zone for the winning score. I watched it on black and white TV. The game was played while we were on Christmas vacation, and when we returned to school shortly after the new year began, I was eager to talk about it with my friends. I was amazed when one of my classmates nonchalantly told me that not only had be watched the game, but that he had attended it, live, In Green Bay, Wisconsin. He had been in the freezing crowd, he said, with his father, all bundled up. My eyes must have gotten as big as saucers, as I looked at him in awe and amazement. I asked him if he saw the fans tearing down the goal posts after the game. "Oh yes", he said, "I was part of that". He himself had been perched on top of the upright, riding and rocking it to the ground. That should have sent up a red flag, but, somehow, it didn't. I was too enthralled with the story to do any fact checking, or to let the truth get in the way of a good narrative. I believed every word of what he said, although a little voice in the back of my eleven year old head gave off a vague warning sign, which I chose to ingore...The years and decades went by. My sixth grade classmates, including the NFL champiohship game attendee, went our separate ways,to different schools on our way to high school graduation and into our adult lives. I attended all our class reunions. When our fifty year high school class reunion arrived, I, like most people, felt amazement at how fast the time had passed, at how soon the big fifty had arrived. Together we gathered again, for one of the final times, what remained of our class, a few dozen sixty eight year old senior citizens, less than half the class, balding grey haired folks, to talk about our retirement and our grandchildren, our partying somewhat subdued by age. From across the room I saw my sixth grade friend, for the first time in several decades. The memory of our NFL championship ice bowl game came flooding back. Now a cynical skeptical old coot,I saw no reason to hold back. The statute of limitations, I figured, had long since expired. So,I mentioned to him the sixth grade moment, my vague feelings of unease of youth now fully bloomed into outright disbelief. "You told me that you were at that game.You weren't really, were you? All these years I have been wondering". Without hesitation he confessed that he indeed had not really been at the famous game, although I got the impresion that he had totally forgotten the incident, forgotten about his lie. But he seemed convinced that I was telling the truth in bringing up my versions of events, which indeed I was. "I'm sorry I lied to you", he said. As simple as that, the truth came out, and an apology, which I had neither needed nor expected. I hugged him. I told him I held no grudge. We had a drink together, then went on our seperate ways, mingling with other classmates, maybe for the last time. I doubt I'll ever see him again. The outcome of this story will warm my heart the rest of my life, as I realize that it is never too late to redeem yourself, never too late to make amends, never to late to set things right. If you can apologize about lying about attending a football game fifty six years after the fact of the lie, all things are possible. We can forgive ourselves and others for almost anything.