Fremont Rule

We named everything as a kid. We named people (and sometimes renamed), we named pets, we named cars, and we named anything else we could. For instance, at one point my sister found out that there was such a thing as a "Philip's" head screw driver and a flat head screw driver. She thought it very unfair that one had a name and the other didn't. So she named the flat head "Harold." And it stuck. The rest of the world doesn't know what a Harold's head screw driver is but everyone in our family does.

We also have the famous Fremont rule. And by "famous" I mean -- our family. I am reminded of the rule partially because Ladybug has put it to use a lot lately (even though she doesn't yet know where it comes from), and because we just spent the last 2 days driving. So here is the story and lesson behind the Fremont rule.

My father and sister and I were on our way back from a long weekend at our grandparents house. I don't remember how old we were but I remember where we lived so that means I was younger than 14 at the time. When we were kids we always had cars that broke down at inopportune times. Like the time we were driving home from a vacation and the accelerator broke. And since it was a Sunday, all the mechanics were closed -- yes, there was a time when things actually closed on Sundays. The tow truck operator rigged it with a clothes hanger and we made it home. And there was the little red VW wagon that would honk the horn if you turned the car off with the lights still on. Nowadays they engineer little annoying dings into the cars if you forget something like that but our car let the whole neighborhood know we had just done something stupid.

So we were driving home from a long weekend when our car died. Yep, died. Wasn't going anywhere. It had to stay at the mechanic. And we were in a town called Fremont. My dad called a friend (on a payphone because this was before cell phone time) and had the friend drive (hours!) to come pick us all up and take us home. As we unloaded the car of our stuff, my father grabbed the handle of my sister's suitcase and ... well the handle was the only thing that came out of the car. My sister knew the handle was broken but didn't want to tell our dad. So she was careful how she handled the suitcase. This was when we really learned that lying by omission was still lying. Lying = big sin in our family. So my father coined the "Fremont Rule." If we know something is amiss and we do not tell, it is just as bad as lying. We must tell. Or we get the same punishment as if lying. And that punishment was being grounded.

Now, you must understand "grounding" in our family. First we didn't get a lot of TV. I was allowed 1 hour of TV a week (show approved by him) and I was allowed to watch any sporting event on TV -- now keep in mind this was before WWE and extreme cage fighting. But grounding in our house meant no TV, no radio, no music, no phone, and in our rooms. This was also before the time of computers and text messaging. We were allowed out of our rooms for school, chores, and meals. And if we ran out of homework to do we should be thinking about what we did wrong and how to better do it next time (and he didn't mean how to be more sneaky next time so as to not get caught). And at the end of the grounding we must be prepared to have a conversation about it all. And the punishment for lying in our house was 7 days of grounding. I wasn't about to get caught lying. Hey, I got caught at some many other things and spent so much time grounded that I didn't need to add the possibility of 7 days to my list of punishments.

But, as it turned out, we would not need to wait long to experience the wrath of the Fremont rule. My father (parents were divorced) also had things in the house that were his things that we were not allowed to use. These things included things like soda, chips, cookies (especially Pinwheel cookies), and breakfast bars. Now breakfast bars were not the same then as now. They were fabulous soft granola, chocolate covered treats. We (meaning sister and I) were only allowed them during camping trips. My father ate them more often. But they were his. And this was understood. So one day he discovers one was missing. He asks my sister if she ate it and she denies it. He asked me if I ate it and I deny it. Well, obviously, someone was lying. I mean, the cat did not eat it. And there is nobody else to blame. So, since he could not determine which one of us was lying -- we both got the punishment.

The problem? At the end of the 7 days, neither of us fessed up. And it has become "the" family story. Nearly 30 years later, we still talk about this. My father has relented that he now believes that one of our friends must have eaten it. My sister and I believe that he ate and just doesn't remember. But we learned that the rule was real and would be used. So it was always going to be best to tell the truth and accept the punishment rather then lie, get caught, and have 2 punishments. Seven days is a long time to be stuck in your room (and keep in mind we were not locked in our rooms -- we were sent in our rooms and expected to stay there, so we did).

So Ladybug has learned the Fremont rule but thinks of it as the honesty rule. So, often times, our conversations start out with "Mama, I need to tell you the truth." And my chin drops to my chest. Because I KNOW I am not going to like what she has to say but I know I will have to go easy on her because at least she is telling me instead of hiding it. Now if only I can get her to stop doing all the things she does that she must confess.

The things you think about on these long family car rides,
Mean Mama