A pack of lies

This week in Sunday School we get to learn about Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah, who traveled around actively seeking to destroy the church and lead its members astray, before a dramatic encounter with an angel and their subsequent conversion to the truth. It's a great story, which everyone should study. This will help.

Thinking about Alma and his cohorts led me to recollect about the times when I've been part of a group that actively attempted to mislead. I actually started on this path when I was in kindergarten. I would walk the three-ish blocks to and from school with the same kids. Mr. Bell was the kind, old crossing guard, and one day he asked me my name. For some reason I told him it was Charlie, and that's what he called me for the rest of the year, when he retired.

I was even worse when I got to school. At recess, my friends Bryant and Clint would chase down kids (most of whom probably didn't realize they were being chased) and hold them until I caught up (I've always been very slow). Once I arrived, I'd chant the following nonsense at our captive: "We don't care, we don't swear, we don't wear no underwear." It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, and at least on-third of it was patently false. But that's how we entertained ourselves on the asphalt playgrounds of Viewmont Elementary.

As I got older, I moved away from blatant lies, but I still sometimes joined a crowd that encouraged some of our friends to do things they would later regret. In 9th grade, it rained a lot on the day of the Dutch oven cook-off (probably the biggest annual event at Riverview Jr. High--the late, great sportscaster Doug Miller was the guest judge that year). By the end of the day, some big, muddy puddles had formed on the field next to the cooking tents, and a bunch of us convinced Abbie Oliver and Brandy Butterfield to battle for the middle school mud wrestling championship. I don't recall who won the match, but in a way, we were all losers.

Two years later, while watching the 4A state baseball championship game, my friends and I realized our valiant comeback against Provo High was likely to fall short (I could write a few thousand words on Murray High's late '90s rivalry with Provo. I hated them so much!). To avoid dwelling on the negative, we pressured our pals Jadee and Jeff (not me, another Jeff) to go streakin' through the grass beyond the outfield wall at what is now Spring Mobile Ballpark. We needled them over the course of several innings, and we finally got them to do it by promising large sums of money--something like $20 each from 15-20 of us.

They left our bleacher section, and then we didn't see them for a while. We figured they had chickened out. But then, in the final inning, two 17-year-olds wearing nothing but sneakers darted across the grass. I don't think they ever got paid.

As a missionary, I finally found a small chance for redemption. An Elder Olson in my mission had a penchant for telling tall tales. I took his place in my first area, where I quickly learned that he had convinced many of the local members that he had been in a small plane crash in Alaska and survived Scott O'Grady-style in the wilderness for several days. The story was completely made up.

Several months later, I moved to a new city, and one day the other Elders in my apartment were listening to a cassette tape. "This is Sting," one of them said. "He once dated a Mormon and later made an album of Primary songs." The tape was a copy, so there was no printing on it, no liner notes.

But I had heard the album before, and knew they were mistaken. I informed them that it was Brett Raymond, who I guess kinda sounds like Sting maybe a little bit if you're trying to convince yourself that it's Gordon Sumner.
 

"Who told you it was Sting?" I asked. "Elder Olson," came the reply. Figures...

It turns out, though, that this particular urban legend may not have originated with Elder Olson--or if it did it didn't stop there. Sting may not have recorded any Primary songs, but one of his classic tunes would make a great soundtrack for this post. And that's no lie.