I once had a goldfish. I think his name was Henry. Or Jonathan. Or some other bland Caucasian name (sorry!). My memory of the little guy is hazy, but I remember feeding him the moment I got home from Pre-School. One fateful day however, I bounded down the stairs to see the tank as usual, but no…ok let’s call him Henry. No Henry to be seen. The simple, crushing explanation from my Mum was that I had not fed him enough and he had as a result gone ‘belly up’, and been disposed of.

Ah the white lie. What actually happened to Henry? (this name is growing on me). Apparently my grandma told my Mum that it was bad luck to own a goldfish. Skeptical, but unwilling to handle the ensuing guilt should any bad luck actually befall us, Mum instructed my Dad to go to a nearby lake and slyly throw poor Henry in. Can goldfish even survive in lakes? Any fish experts please let me know in the comments. It took ten years for my Mum to casually tell me this truth.

White lies are a common part of many a parent’s arsenal. Why? Primarily to save time I feel. The true story of Henry’s demise could have been explained to four year old me, but it would have been confusing, lengthy and resulting in a lot of questions about luck.

My most ridiculous white lie story involves a beanbag. I’m not sure exactly why, but I loved that maroon beanbag. You know when you became attached to a particular soft toy as a kid? I did, but it was a beanbag. But as beanbags do, they become musty, not the best piece of furniture for a asthmatic child. So in similar vein to Henry, one day the beanbag (did I have a name for him?) was gone to my horror. This time feeding him was clearly not the issue. Mum, a high school English whiz, had a more creative idea in mind. Taking me upstairs, she showed me an open bathroom window. “We were robbed, someone broke in through there!” “What did they take?” I asked, suddenly less worried about the beanbag. “Just your beanbag”, she replied calmly, and I was stunned yet thankful more damage was not done. Quite why she couldn’t add some imaginary stolen items (like jewellery) I will never know. Needless to say, I found out the truth years later.

It is tempting to delve into how these white lies have fostered issues with trust in me through my adulthood, and plug the ‘honesty is the best policy’ mantra. But I just don’t feel that way. Maybe I wasn’t attached to Henry enough. What is truly traumatic for children obviously varies by circumstance, but what is more damaging is unpleasant environments, such as a toxic school culture (ahem…James Ruse). I don’t feel affected by lies such as the shopping centre rides being ‘out of order’ despite the lack of a sign (yes that happened often).

Where’s the balance between truth and distortion? It’s hard to say, but I love the magic and mystery deception can provide. I like to look back on myself as a relatively thoughtful and ‘clued-on’ child, but I steadfastly believed in both the tooth fairy and Santa for longer than many- well into primary school. But the excitement, like in my feature photo, has left me with many vivid priceless memories. I didn’t question when Santa sent me a long letter explaining why it was too dangerous for me to get a scooter, despite there being no problems with him delivering them my friends. I’m not saying that it should be exploited needlessly, but playing on the naivety of children can add colour to a childhood.

It is a common sentiment to share now that children have less innocence than ever with the rise of technology the major culprit. Previous acceptance is now replaced by a google search on an iPad. I certainly did not expect my ten year old cousin to be blasting out 21 Savage when I naively passed him the aux cord. But I’m still in awe of the magic of youthful innocence. So whatever the level of belief in my young cousins, I still look forward to ‘Santa’ making an appearance at our family Christmas party. Because unlike Henry the goldfish, memories last forever.