My heartbeat raced. I stood back to assess the damage after pulling over the shelf that I was attempting to climb. As expected, the damage was extensive from broken picture frames and shattered glass to divots in the wood frame of the shelf from striking the floor. This was bad. I could not tidy this up really quickly and no one would ever know. I was struck with fear as I knew that this would not be well received by my parents. They have instructed me countless times not to climb on the furniture with a particular emphasis on the shelf I had just taken down in the office. Trying to hide all the evidence that this took place was not an option. The shelf was too heavy to pick up and the broken pictures with shattered glass simply could not be replaced. So, I waffled back and forth on what move I should make next; should I come clean or do I try to make this look like an accident? At the time I thought it was too difficult to make a sound decision while I was under stress and decided to think it over for a little while so I could gather my composure and thoughts. I then locked the main entrance door from the inside of the office and exited through the side door. I went to my room to gather my thoughts and formulate a plan. Every plan I conceived would not fool my parents. I came to the realization that I was going to have to come forward and share what I had done. My final thought was maybe I could go back into the office and make it look less bad, which may soften the punishment I would inevitably be receiving.
I reentered the office through the side door and began evaluating where I could pick up some things without getting hurt. I picked up several papers and placed them neatly in a pile on the desk next to the shelf. I picked up other small objects and placed them throughout the office. Then something caught my eye. There was something that looked like liquid near the top of the shelf. I maneuvered my way over to the area to get a closer look. My discovery was additional unwelcome news. The liquid spreading over the floor was ink that must have been on the shelf and leaked out when the shelf crashed. I thought, “I can clean this up with a paper towel.” Then I dashed out the side entrance to grab some paper towels. I returned and started my attempt to clean up the ink. With no experience cleaning up ink, I just decided to jump in and start trying to absorb it with the paper towel. Each swipe I made seemed to make the problem worse. I stopped and took a second to examine myself and the area. My hands were nearly completely black and there were ink stains on my shorts. The ink spot that was originally about 3 inches in diameter was now about a foot in diameter. At that moment, I recognized I had made a bad problem a lot worse and it was time to panic. I took a second to mentally prepare myself before engaging my parents.
Before locating my parents I strategized on the best approach to inform them that I had pulled over the shelf and settled on the shock and awe approach. I ran into the living room where my parents were sitting and yelling frantically, I said that I had inadvertently pulled over the shelf. I thought my parents did not know exactly when this happened so I maybe if I acted shaken by the event that would help sell the story that the event just happened and I came forward to admit my wrongdoing immediately. My mother took me aside and tried to calm me down while my dad headed to the office to evaluate the damage. My clever attempt to disguise when the events actually took place was foiled when my father returned to the living room. My father discovered the paper towel with ink on it that I had poorly disguised in the garbage can. My father then examined the ink spot on the floor and could see I attempted to clean the area. To remove all doubt in his mind he asked me to show him my hands. I reluctantly turned over my hands, which were covered in black ink. My father then proclaimed that I was being disingenuous in my description of what took place. There were too many facts piling up against me to continue to try to press on with a lie, and I said “I did it. I tried to clean it up to make you less mad.” My parents glanced at each other, which I interpreted as a semi encouraging sign. After a long pause my Dad notified me that I made the situation a lot worse by withholding the bad news, stating “Bad news does not get better with time.” He expounded further, “Had you told your mother and me of the “accident” when it happened, we may have been able to clean up the ink before it spread on the floor.” I cringed in an effort to show acknowledgment that things could have potentially turned out better if I told my parents what I had done immediately. I profusely apologized for all my actions. I realized my poor actions would not go unpunished so I braced for the worse. After a moment of silence, my father instructed me to go to my room until I was told come out. This was an aberration; my father usually had a pre-calculated punishment in his head that he administered immediately after a lengthy lecture.
I waited in my bedroom anxiously waiting to hear my fate. One hour, two hours, and then three hours passed while I agonized in the fear of the unknown penalty I would receive. If it was my father’s plan to play psychologic games it worked. I would have gladly accepted whatever punishment was handed down at that time. Finally, my father summoned me to the living room. The odd thing was that I was almost happy to receive punishment, which had never happened before. My father stated that two of my favorite toys would be unavailable for use for two weeks and I could not watch television for two weeks. No television for two weeks seemed egregious, but I kept that thought to myself and accepted the punishment as stipulated. I promised I would not withhold bad news anymore. My father responded, “I don’t think you are making that commitment on behalf of your teenage self.” His comment was lost on me but he got a chuckle out of it. Getting a laugh out of my dad after a tough day was a small win for me at that point. We concluded our conversation by patching things up with a hug, followed by my request for ice cream, which was met with a “don’t push it” response.