Editor’s note: While Patty Kimerer is on leave, we present this Classic Kimerer column originally published Aug. 7, 2005:

I don’t know why, but it seems as though it is inherently human to lie.

It’s not that I’m happy about this hypothesis, mind you, but anyone with small children knows that they possess a natural-born tendency toward, let’s call them benign betrayals, if you will.

Because — I don’t believe kids concoct depraved deceptions, rather fabricated fibs; most of which are generated to avoid reprimand, methinks.

“Please stop hanging from the doorknob, you’re going to fall and get hurt; not to mention what you’re doing to the door,” I advised my 5 1/2-year-old son Kyle yesterday.

“OK, he shrugged, hopping off the pantry door — for approximately eight seconds.

I glanced up from filling the dishwasher to see my little primate’s posterior back in its gleeful swinging position just a few inches above the kitchen floor.

“What did I just say?” I asked loudly.

“Sorry,” he said, with as much sincerity as Tonya Harding showed in her knee-bashing confession concession.

“Do not apologize if you don’t really mean it,” I said, trying to get through to my malevolent monkey.

Lie No. 1.

When I caught Curious George using my bedroom dresser as tree-climbing simulator, I grabbed him by the tail and plunked him onto lower ground (namely, my waterbed) with a “What on earth do you think you’re doing? You’re going to crack your head open!”

“I was just trying to fold the shirts way up in the top drawer,” was his cunning comeback.

Strike two, monkey boy — although the quickness with which he produced his cover-up was rather impressive.

Then came the bold-faced biggie.

“Kyle Kimerer!” I yelled when I saw him leaping through the air from branch to branch, or in this case from one kitchen counter stool to the other.

“What? It wasn’t me,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.

How can this be? How can the sweet, swaddling bundle I’ve cradled in my arms and rocked peacefully into slumber — how can my once-innocent infant be telling lies right to my face?

After after much stressful reflection on the frequency with which my little angel locks eyes with me and wantonly waylays the truth, I did the only thing a good mother can do. I lied to him.

“If you lie to Mommy, your nose will grow long, just like Pinocchio’s,” I shammed.

“Nuh-uh. Really, Mom?” he said with a hint of panic — just on the off chance, you know.

“Um, yep,” I said, avoiding his direct gaze for fear I might have a snout sprout of my own.

Anyway, just as I was about to look into the purchase of a lie-detector, my sister and some of my friends confirmed that, indeed, their kids also tend to perjure themselves, particularly when faced with possible jail (also known as “no TV”) time.

In fact, a pal told me that her 12-year-old son once swore ON HIS LIFE that he hadn’t eaten the cherry pie filling she was saving as topping for a cheesecake to be served at a dinner party later that day.

“When I told him there was still some of it around his mouth, he said that was blood and we’d better get him to the doctor right away!” she cracked.

“Where do they get it?” I thought, as I caught the end of a phone conversation whereby my husband, Kerry, told a telemarketer there was no one living in our home named Kerry Kimerer.

Hmm.

Oh well, not to worry, fellow parents. I’m sure all the tall-telling is just a phase. Really. Honest.