Probably created a few awkward parent-child moments, but hardly a national catastrophe.
This discussion reminds me of a dinner conversation we had about the time Clinton didn't have sex. I actually did a column on it at the time. You might get a smile from it.
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Now I will be the first to admit that our mealtimes are not the epitome of civilized behavior and intellectual conversation. I would like to claim that between bites of
elegantly prepared and appealingly presented, and of course very healthy dishes, world events are analyzed and their philosophical implications discussed. We do try, as good parents, to
stimulate some intelligent talk or at least head off at the pass such ominous topics as what John the Disgusting did in the locker room with his shampoo and a jock strap.
Unfortunately in the last few weeks, national events have not provided us with much in the way of edifying and uplifting subject matter as our noble president embarrassed us all with a pizza, a cigar and a wobbly impersonation as a dictionary. The wheels have been churning in our teenagers’ fertile and creative brains. The impact that the president’s actions might have on their moral lives was beginning to be absorbed.
CW reminded us that he had discovered the efficacy of the Passive Recipient Defense years ago, long before our president came up with it, and had been punished regardless.
When he was in kindergarten we had gotten a call from his teacher informing us that he had bitten a little girl on the arm. Of course we were horrified. We sat him down and
asked him what was he thinking. Why would he bite a little girl? Big brown eyes innocent and wide, he responded, “It wasn’t my fault. I was yawning and she stuck her
arm in my mouth.”
Now he realizes how unfairly he was treated. That wasn’t biting! After all, she was the one who thoughtlessly put her arm in his oral vicinity. He was a victim, the recipient of her aggressive bitability; his was a passive act. How did we not see this? How could we
have been so wrong! He reminded us of our parental limitations and said he hoped Bill gets a fairer shake than we gave him.
My husband sighed. I had the feeling that we weren’t meeting his level of intellectual expectations. I tried a little harder. “Clinton spoke today on the need for Congress to approve his education reforms and all the other wonderful things he wants to do. He pounded on the podium and yelled how their priorities were screwed up.”
“Misdirection,” said my husband.
“What do you mean?” asked Ammo.
‘When we tell you that you came home late and you say, but look, I made an A on my algebra test and I took the garbage out and you guys never appreciate all the good stuff I
do in this family.”
“That’s true!” CW was beginning to feel sympathetic toward the President, I could tell. Bill was just another poor misunderstood adolescent.
“Does that mean if I walk by a plate of brownies and one falls into my mouth and I eat it, that it wasn’t my fault?” asked Ammo, who was still exploring the Passive Victim
Defense.
“Sure,” said CW. “As long as you don’t put it there. That’s the important thing. You have to arrange it so that it’s on the edge of the plate and then you kinda jostle it while you’re kneeling under the table with your mouth open. That way, it isn’t your fault.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “Don’t forget that when Clinton smoked dope, he didn’t inhale. So you may get that brownie in your mouth, but you can’t swallow.” I sat back, proud of
my reasoning.
Ammo’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’ll just wait for it to melt and run down my throat.”
My husband interrupted this enthralling legal debate. “We’ve always taught you that the worst thing you can do is lie to us about your actions and that’s what the president did.
Wasn’t that wrong?”
“Well, he was probably embarrassed.” Now Ammo was sympathetic. He was irritated about the brownie.
“You know, the Republicans could look really good if they just told him to get back to business. Right now, it’s kinda hard to tell who’s the grown-up.” CW had finished his
meatloaf and was looking anxiously at the phone. He hadn’t talked on it in half an hour; withdrawal was setting in. “Can I be excused?” We nodded. The boys rose.
“Do we have any brownies?” asked Ammo. |
