The first time I lied to our daughter, I declared “you can do whatever a man does.” Words shot out like a pressurized sprinkler onto her freshly formed frame.

The second time I lied, I spat out “he didn’t mean to hit you.” Words morphed into American-made bullets.

The third time I lied, I whispered “I will always tell you the truth, my love.” Words still like a stillborn life.