Why can't we admit guilt?
What is wrong with the human animal? What is it about us that so fears the outcome of admitting wrong doings? This post is charged by the recent findings regarding Tour de France possibly winner/possible big loser, Floyd Landis of America, but in a bigger way, it is about us all.
When I was in grade four, I was in the bathroom of my school with a kid named Mike Willichko. He dared me on to flush a piece of cardboard (which was ontop the urinal tank) down the toilet. I am not one to turn down a dare, and tried. Of course, the carboard went nowhere, and we both fled the bathroom giggling.
Later that day, when the heat came down, he ratted me out.
If I were him, I would not be a proud man. I would loathe myself for pigeoning a mate. But the fact is that I too, did something I am not proud of. When interogatted, I said it was he that stuffed the cardboard into the toilet. The result being that we were both brought before the principal for a face to face. In that setting, seeing his fat freckled face, I could not lie. When asked who did it I said I did. I was given 100 lines to write over the Christmas holidays, one "line" being about 3 sentences long.
I don't regret it. Though I think he was a big mouthed coward that got off scott free for egging me on, I deserved it. I am the one responsible.
But why do we have the desire to deny what we have done when we know we it to be wrong? Can we so easily blame it on Adam and Eve and Original Sin?
Why did I so vehemantly defend Ben Johnson of Canada, when he so clearly won the gold with steroids in '88, regurgitating the claim that someone slipped it in his drink?
More than the fact that we don't want out heros to be bad guys, we ourselves, don't want to be bad guys. And our distorted self perception (not who we are, but how we feel others perceive us) is what drives us.
When I was in grade four, I was in the bathroom of my school with a kid named Mike Willichko. He dared me on to flush a piece of cardboard (which was ontop the urinal tank) down the toilet. I am not one to turn down a dare, and tried. Of course, the carboard went nowhere, and we both fled the bathroom giggling.
Later that day, when the heat came down, he ratted me out.
If I were him, I would not be a proud man. I would loathe myself for pigeoning a mate. But the fact is that I too, did something I am not proud of. When interogatted, I said it was he that stuffed the cardboard into the toilet. The result being that we were both brought before the principal for a face to face. In that setting, seeing his fat freckled face, I could not lie. When asked who did it I said I did. I was given 100 lines to write over the Christmas holidays, one "line" being about 3 sentences long.
I don't regret it. Though I think he was a big mouthed coward that got off scott free for egging me on, I deserved it. I am the one responsible.
But why do we have the desire to deny what we have done when we know we it to be wrong? Can we so easily blame it on Adam and Eve and Original Sin?
Why did I so vehemantly defend Ben Johnson of Canada, when he so clearly won the gold with steroids in '88, regurgitating the claim that someone slipped it in his drink?
More than the fact that we don't want out heros to be bad guys, we ourselves, don't want to be bad guys. And our distorted self perception (not who we are, but how we feel others perceive us) is what drives us.
posted by Akira Sundance at 1:59 AM
2 Comments:
Interesting post. Why, indeed? I've been there before too. When I was about 4 I was sick and tired of going to 'Beavers', and wanted to quit. It was that simple... at that age I just didn't want to go anymore. But when I said to my father that I didn't want to go anymore, I was sat down across from him and asked, in a stern tone, 'Why?' My dad is one of the least scary people on earth, but for some reason I knew I needed a reason more than not wanting to go. I said another boy was hitting me etc. Needless to say, the plan backfired. Not only did I STILL have to go, but my father told the boy's father, and when I saw him that night at Beavers he was forced, red face (obviously from crying) to come and apologize to me. I don't think the truth of my lie ever came to light, though people must have had their suspicions. I know that I never saw poor Dougie after that, and I know that that memory burns in me to this very day, in every detail, even though I was only 4.
I would love to ask Bush why he can't admit the truth, as well as those who still support him, but that's a whole other, and very ugly, can of worms.
That's a great story!
Poor Dougie, indeed.
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