The Pale-Faced Lie

by David Crow

One day, I stopped by to see my friend Richard Kontz, who lived with his parents and eight siblings in the small house attached to the post office. His father, Rex Kontz, was the postmaster. He invited me to join the 4-H Club, which he led in their backyard, and penciled me in on the Little League team he coached. Our first 4-H project called for raising a sheep. When I told him about the grounding, he said, “I’ll reserve a sheep for you to feed, clean, and shear in our yard before your parents get home. You can keep the profit you earn from the sale.” That hour went by so fast. It seemed like five minutes. I couldn’t wait to return the next day. When the Kontz children and I made mistakes, Mr. and Mrs. Kontz didn’t yell, hit, or write outlandish punishments on a board. All they had to do was show disappointment in their loving, dark eyes. I wanted to please them, trusting they had my best interests at heart. When I did well, like hitting a home run, Mr. Kontz’s face lit up, and he gave me a huge smile. Over time, I learned from Richard that his dad had fought the Japanese in the Pacific, including the bloody Battle of Guadalcanal, but he never talked about it. That would be bragging, and Mr. Kontz would have no part of it—the complete opposite of my dad. Mrs. Kontz couldn’t have been kinder to me. One afternoon, she took me aside and held my shoulders. “If you follow the rules, and I know you will, you can always come to our house when you need a place to go.” Apparently,...