Once upon a time, a little boy lived out in the countryside with his father. Their house didn’t have indoor plumbing, so they had to make do with an old outhouse — which the boy absolutely despised. It was sweltering hot in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, and it always smelled terrible, no matter the season.

The outhouse sat precariously close to a creek, and many times the boy daydreamed about giving it a little nudge into the water. One day, after a heavy spring rain swelled the creek, he decided to act. Grabbing a sturdy stick, he pushed and shoved until — splash! — the outhouse tipped over and floated away down the rushing water.

That evening, after dinner, his father looked at him with a stern face and said,
“Son, after supper, we’re going to the woodshed.”

The boy’s heart sank. He knew exactly what a trip to the woodshed meant.
“But why, Dad?” he asked, trying to stay calm.

His father folded his arms and said,
“Because someone pushed the outhouse into the creek today. And I have a hunch that someone was you. Am I right?”

The boy gulped, then nodded.
“Yes, it was me, Dad. But today at school, we learned about George Washington. When he chopped down the cherry tree, he told the truth — and he didn’t get into trouble!”

His father paused, then leaned in with a hard stare and said,
“That’s true, son… but George Washington’s father wasn’t sitting in the cherry tree.”