I’m pretty sure the other members of the Character Council just wanted me to present the trait of honesty because they thought it would be funny, since I’m a polygraph examiner and it’s kind of my job to figure out if people are being honest or not. As a tidbit of useless trivia on that subject, William Marston, who wrote the Wonder Woman comics in the 1940s, was also one of the early developers of the polygraph. If you remember, Wonder Woman carried the golden “Lasso of Truth”, which forced anyone in its grip to tell the truth, which is a subtle nod to Mr. Marston’s history with the polygraph. Over the 25 plus years that I’ve been a police officer, I’ve done hundreds of interviews, and I’d like to think I’ve developed a pretty accurate sense for when someone is lying, as well as becoming fairly skilled at convincing people to tell me the truth, even without the help of a magic golden lasso. But we’re not here to talk about the truthfulness of others, that’s not the point of the character trait of honesty. Honesty is being truthful in what “I” say and do. The focus is inward.

Now, since we’re being completely honest, I guess I should make a shocking confession of my own: I’m not “technically” an Oklahoma native. Despite several generations of Woodruffs being born and raised in Oklahoma, my father took a teaching position in the small town of St. James, Missouri, after graduating from NSU in 1965. He eventually saw the error of his ways and moved home in 1979, but it was too late; my siblings and I were born in that foreign land and forever tainted with the Show Me State shame. Looking on the bright side, at least it wasn’t Texas and I made some lifelong friends while I lived in Missouri.

My best friend in St. James was a kid named Mike Rippelmeyer, whose dad, Marvin, was the vocational agriculture teacher at the same high school where my dad taught industrial arts. Mike and I were out running around his family farm one day when we discovered a patch of berries. I was around 6 years old at the time, which would’ve made Mike about 8 years old. Since Mike was 2 years my senior and a “farmer”, I took him at his word when he insisted the berries were perfectly safe and tasty. We both sampled a few of the squishy purple berries and even filled our pockets with some extras to share when we got back to the house. As I proudly showed my mom my fistful of poisonous pokeweed berries, all the adults started freaking out for some reason. In what was an obvious overreaction in my opinion, our parents frantically and repeatedly demanded to know if we’d eaten any of the berries. I dutifully answered yes, which elicited an even more excited reaction. Seeing my mom’s negative response to my confession, Mike instantly decided to change his answer to “no”, and for good measure he even added, “I told Jason not to eat them, but he wouldn’t listen”. Thanks, Mike. Maybe it was the purple smear of berry juice on Mike’s face, but his dad somehow saw through the poorly executed denials. With some continued questioning, coercion, and possibly some threats of violence, Mike eventually admitted that he, too, had partaken in the festivities. We both earned a trip to the emergency room, but once the dust had settled, Mike got the added bonus of being in trouble for lying to his parents. That day I learned some valuable life lessons: #1 – Ipecac syrup and liquid charcoal were both created by the devil himself, #2 – Don’t blindly believe someone just because they claim to be an expert, and #3 – Sometimes you just have to admit when you messed up and take your medicine, however unpleasant it may be.

Most people have a similar story from their childhood, well, maybe not as dramatic as my near-death berry-poisoning episode, but there’s probably some event that taught you that lying always makes things worse and it’s better to take responsibility for your actions when you mess up. It’s been pounded into us since we were kids, literally in some cases. When 2 year-old you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar and your mother asked if you took a cookie, you may have mumbled “no” with a mouthful of Oreo mush and crumbs all over your shirt. Did you get in more trouble for stealing the cookies or for lying to your mom? Most of us quickly learned that the truth is the better option.

Do we have to be perfect? Do we have to be like George Washington and never tell a lie? Of course not; nobody is perfect, not even George Washington, who was probably standing there with a guilty look on his face, axe in hand next to the fallen cherry tree when he suddenly decided he “could not tell a lie” to his dad (after he got caught). The goal is not to be perfect; the goal is to strive to hold ourselves accountable for our words and deeds. Not just admitting when we messed up after getting caught, but making a purposeful effort to be truthful and transparent in the things we do and extending grace to the people in our lives who are trying their best to do the same. By being honest with each other, we build a shared trust in our relationships. Whether it’s the relationship between friends, family, coworkers, or even the relationship between those of us in positions of government and the members of the community, mutual honesty and the resulting trust is vital to keep those relationships healthy.

For those who might be curious about how Mike’s life turned out, we’ve remained great friends despite his early attempts to poison me. Ironically, he found success as the owner of several grape vineyards and berry farms. If you’ve ever stopped at any of the wineries or roadside produce markets along I-44 east of Rolla, you’ve probably sampled some of his products. Hopefully you fared better than I did.