I read this morning that Michael Douglas’s son, Cameron, is blaming his many problems on the lousy job his dad did bringing him up. Folks need to be careful with that kind of accusation.

Everyone reading this can think of a person or persons who had a sucky upbringing, but still managed to avoid becoming felons. They somehow side-stepped selling crystal meth, using cocaine and heroin, beating their spouses and children, or squandering what many would call a life of extraordinary financial privilege. I know many people like this, as a matter of fact.

The cynics among us would say that Cameron’s lawyers are just trying to get him the easiest sentence possible, which amounts to basically doing their jobs as defense attorneys. But in doing so, it always seems to come back to the perp being portrayed as a victim. It’s a pervasive, almost inescapable concept in American courts. Why? Because it works.

If I had a dime every time I heard/saw that a student’s parent called in or visited the school principal in order to force the administration to rescind a punishment — even though the child was clearly guilty — I could retire tomorrow. Conversely, if I had a dime every time I heard someone my age or close to it say, “If I got in trouble at school, it was worse when I got home,” I could have retired a year ago.

When did everything change? As a teacher, I see it every day: people going to astonishing lengths to avoid personal responsibility or extra work (or work at all). I’m not so naïve as to think it never happened in my childhood, or that I never tried it myself. But in my day, it was usually confined to student machinations. Now it’s the parents who are doing all the wheeling and dealing, while the kid stands behind them, basically going “Neener, you can’t touch me because my dad’s here.”

I know there are still parents out there who teach their children about accountability. It just seems that the parents who don’t are the ones getting all the press — and as we all know, the squeaky wheel, the constant dripping of water against a rock…

So did Michael Douglas make his son sell drugs? Is felonious behavior directly related to crappy parenting? I say no. Not in most cases, anyway. The triumph of the human spirit over adversity is a scenario played out millions of times all over the world every day. Does its apparent breakdown in certain individuals equal entitlement to not paying the consequences of one’s actions?

Hmmm. The Fink thinks. What say you, fiends?

Photo credit: Wireimage.com

So here’s the tale:

We were driving along the interstate at 65 mph, about 100 feet behind a Ford F-150 pickup, when without any warning, one of the huge boxes the guy was hauling in his truck bed was catapulted into the air by the wind. In less than a second, a 3′ by 4′  furniture box (I was told it had a couple of chairs in it) was coming directly at us. At 65 mph.

Thanks to the Thriller’s fast reflexes (and the fact he did not freak and just swerve over lanes of traffic as a knee-jerk reactionary move, which is what I fear I might have done) and excellent driving skills, he was able to maneuver us out of the way enough so the box didn’t hit us square in the windshield, but instead on the passenger side of the front end, where it deflected off and tumbled over and over and over on the road behind us, causing other people to slam on their brakes. But at least they had another couple seconds’ warning before they had to react, which was more than the Thriller got.

We pulled off onto the stripes of an exit ramp — you know, that triangular place in between where the interstate continues and the ramp veers off? — as traffic kept whizzing by, amazingly, unnervingly close. The guy got out of his truck and looked pretty shaken. He apologized to us and got on his cell phone and called the law. They were there within five minutes, at which time one of them put on a yellow vest and went off to retrieve the box that was still being bumped around and grazed, although traffic had slowed a bit by that time. A police SUV arrived a few minutes later and stopped traffic altogether while the mess was cleared away.

It’s the game of inches that had me shaken up, you know? A few inches higher, and the box would have plowed right into the windshield. A bigtime direct hit on the driver’s side could have deployed the air bags, blinding the Thriller as he drove at high speed. It could have gone all kinds of wrong, is what I’m saying. And it didn’t.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences. The HP told us we could expect a repair bill that could reach $1000. One of the headlights was destroyed, and the hood is janked. The bumper is scratched up, and for some bizarre reason, the cruise control no longer works. Fortunately, the Ford guy’s insurance will have to pick up the tab, but that means giving up the F-mobile for several days. Fantastic.

Still, I’m delighted that nobody was hurt (or worse) in the whole incident. I was impressed by how the police took control of the situation and made sure the broken, battered box and its contents were cleared off the road before there was a *real* tragedy. But hey, ours was enough for me. I looked like this for awhile:

The Finkmobile didn’t fare too well, either:

I’m just glad to be home in one piece.

Peace.

Gotta hurry here, fiends, before they shut me down.

One more meeting and I’m out. Just had to tell you, though. The best thing about this convention is not the good music or the nice people I met or the tres exciting subject matter we discussed. The best part about the convention is Hyatt’s Web Checkout.

Oh, yeah.

I guess it’s been a long enough time since I’ve stayed at a classy enough downtown convention hotel that I did not know this fantastic option existed. Know what I hate more than standing in line at the front desk on a Saturday at noon, with all my garbage next to me, moving at a snail’s pace to check out at the same time 2,000 other people had the same idea? Um…not much I can think of.

So when I awoke to an email this morning informing me that I didn’t need to bother with standing in line, I was delighted. Good thing the Thriller valet parked last night; now all we have to do is call for the Finkmobile, schlep everything downstairs, and tralala. On the road again.

What will they think of next…

Happy weekend.

Fink (almost) out

Yippy, first meeting in 15 minutes. Then I get to meet my good fiend Bando for coffee. Looking forward to that.

It’s a swanky hotel. When the Thriller and I arrived at the front desk at about 10:45 last night, the guy said, “You are getting our very last room, and it’s being cleaned right now. It’ll be about 15 minutes.” OK, fine. Why they said I was “lucky” because I was getting the “last room” when I’ve had reservations at this joint since November is beyond me. Oh well. I don’t claim to know anything about the intricacies of hotel overbooking practices. At least I’m in, and not at the Motel 6 on I-71.

As you can see, I’m in the lap of luxury here:

Heh. Happy Finkday nonetheless. On to the weekend we go. Stay warm, Ohio fiends — 5 degrees this morning!

FO