It took Big Guy all of 3.6 seconds to get the truth out of Boots the night after the guys had gone on separate Christmas shopping trips for each other.

There was no need for beating, waterboarding or even mild rubber hosing. All Big Guy had to do was ask.

“So what did  you get me for Christmas?”

Before I could remind Boots that presents are secrets, he spilled his guts.

“Batman toy!”

“Is it a car?”

Happy nods from Boots. “Batmobile!”

“With Batman, too?”

“Yes!” Boots smiled.

“He told me what it is, Mommy. Can I open it now?”

And in exchange for his no-details-spared confession, Boots got nothing.

“What did you get me?” he asked Big Guy.

“I’m not telling. Presents are supposed to be secret,” he replied with a Chesire cat grin.

That’s the way they are. Boots, blabs all. Big Guy, would take a secret to his grave.

It’s not due to the differences in their ages, either. Big Guy knew at 3 how to keep his own secrets. He’s never blabbed about a Christmas or birthday gift in his life. He showed this summer that he could keep someone else’s secrets too, when he stumbled on Boots’ birthday present and kept a lid on it for almost two weeks.

Big Guy loves the subterfuge, the sneaking purchases into the house, the quick and covert wrapping. Unless, of course, the present is for him, then he’ll pester the life out of his brother for however many moments it takes to get him to spill it.

Boots takes after his dad, who’s been walking around for a week asking, “Want to know what you’re getting for Christmas?”

Um, no. I’ve already figured out what Big Guy’s getting me, so spare me the details on the rest.

I doubt he’ll be able to hold out. This is the man, after all, who knocked on my door nine Valentine’s Days ago, held out a tiny silver package with a pink bow and said, “it’s a ring.” That’s the longest he’s ever been able to keep quiet.

One of these days, I know I’ll be grateful that Boots can’t keep his mouth shut. That trait will come in handy when he’s been into some teen trouble and just can’t stop himself from confessing.

Big Guy will be harder to crack, though I’m lucky that he’s also inherited an important trait from his dad: Neither can stop themselves from grinning when they lie.

The irony, though: Boots’ initials are the same as an acronym for a spy agency. Looks like we misnamed the kids.

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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