Blame Game

As I was listening to the list of confessions attributed to Khalid Sheikh Mohammed on NPR the other day (apparently, he is responsible for every American tragedy from the Hindenburg to the mussing of John Edwards’ hair), I was struck by the fact that it is obvious my children don’t keep up with current events, because if they did, they would have been all over this story like a soccer Mom on an iced Venti Carmel Macchiato. After all, what could be more fortuitous for them–two people who seem intent on passing through life in an entirely blameless state–than the appearance of a man who is ready to take the blame for everything? (Or rather, nearly everything: I notice that even Sheikh Mohammed wasn’t foolhardy enough to take responsibility for inventing the multiply redundant layers of packaging that cocoon every newly purchased CD; this, no doubt, is due to the fact that–after he cut his finger opening the new Dixie Chicks CD–Osama himself is reported to have declared that particular individual to be the new “Great Satan.”)

Regardless, however, of the few things he won’t admit to (I think he’s also keeping mum on whether or not he was the one who shaved Brittney’s crotch), the sheer breadth of the things he has admitted to would be enough to keep Clementine and Clyde in fine form for years–if only they knew.

If they only knew the opportunities they were missing out on, they could replace their current method of assigning/avoiding blame (a thunderous crash, immediately followed by the sound of running feet and a double cry of “I didn’t do it!”) with a new, improved, and entirely blameless one. (There would be the same thunderous crash, to be sure, but this time, instead of the usual sounds of fleeing and denial, what would follow would be a casual stroll into the kitchen and a careless “Yeah, uh, you know that antique vase your Great Aunt Charlotte gave you? The one we were never allowed to touch? Well, Sheikh Mohammed just broke it. No, really, he did; if you don’t believe me you can ask him yourself–he’ll tell you.”)

With the new Sheikh Mohammed defense in place, instead of having to respond to my demands to know who ate the last English muffin; who started the toothpaste fight; who thought it would be a good idea bring the hose into the living room; with the same old shifty-eyed shrug and a mumbled “I dunno”, they could instead hold their heads up high, slip the hose behind their backs, and proudly declare, “Sheikh Mohammed did it.” And what could I say? After all, given the chance, he probably would admit to it.

Come to think of it, maybe that is actually his nefarious plan: to give the children of America carte blanche to commit any misdeeds they choose, secure in the knowledge that all of the blame (and punishment) will be given instead to the “master of confessions.”

Unfortunately for him, though, if that indeed was his plan, then he made a severe miscalculation when he estimated the media savvy of America’s children. One wonders, in fact, quite what he was thinking; did he really believe that a country that produces adults who–less than six years after 9/11–can’t find Afghanistan on a map could really be capable of producing children savvy enough to get their lost homework excuses off of CNN?

They say that youth is wasted on the young; I think a truer aphorism would be that age–and all of it’s accompanying treachery and cunning–is wasted on the old. After all, by the time you’re old enough to know when it’s time to shut up and call your lawyer (or your terrorist co-conspirator fall guy), most of your really good crimes are behind you. Especially those that involve hoses in the living room.

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