We’ve got this war thing all wrong. History has taught us zilch. Interestingly, GW has much in common with a visionary warrior of some repute — one Caesar. By all accounts, Gaius Julius Caesar was a child prodigy. Heroic, charming and beloved by his legions and the people, he also was pragmatic, arrogant, relentless, envied and hated by his rivals. By his own admission, he was God–inspired and consumed by his legacy. JC, like GW, was excoriated as a warmonger. The comparison is striking. In 58 B.C., the most powerful, envied and feared civilization on earth was the Roman Republic, sustained by an invincible military machine. But, you see, Caesar wasn’t willing to keep his troops home on the assumption that barbarians would never march on Rome and use their weapons of mass destruction. His inspectors, spies if you will, reported military build-ups all across Italia, Germania and Gaul (that’s right behind the bladder). Caesar’s strategy was simple and decisive. He traveled north and west and eliminated real and implied threats to Rome with preemptive military action. To his credit, he sent emissaries to certain fortress towns and offered to negotiate peace. And there, any comparison with GW ends. When dictators (Kings) refused to abide by the rule of Roman law, their kingdoms literally were obliterated, wiped squeaky clean. The kingdom’s wealth was confiscated, some of it divvied among the troops and some of it to Caesar’s private stash. The rest went to the Roman Treasury. Get the picture? In barbaric times, war was lucrative. To the victor went the spoils, including slaves, livestock, land, gold and natural resources. Sounds reasonable enough. Get rid of the enemy; take their wealth to reimburse the victor’s human and material loss and cost. My, my, how times have changed. America, by contrast, is the nation of do–gooders. We wage war to protect, not only our own liberty, but also the liberty of peoples the world over. We routinely send our sons and daughters to their deaths, rebuild the lands we conquer, spread the message of freedom and protect the sanctity of native cultures. All the while, we tax our own citizens to care for the vanquished and restore their infrastructures. Of course, that’s what do-gooders do. America helped liberate China so that China one day could kill American troops in Vietnam so that China one day could suck the life out of American manufacturing. America suffered the sneak attack at Pearl Harbor, eventually retaliated with the A–Bomb and now the Japanese own half our country. America left thousands of its dead under European soil, liberated millions, created The Marshall Plan to help bring hope, peace and prosperity to the ravaged land and “tore down that Wall,” only to have the French and Germans sneer and jeer at American “aggression” in Iraq. If JC had been here to run the show in Iraq, there would be no Abugrab, no Gitmo and no hearings, because nothing would be living there except vultures — to clean up after the party. Makes a lot of sense, because nobody, but nobody, likes a do–gooder.

She was eighteen, free-wheeling down the road in her new pre-owned Honda, cell phone plastered to her right ear, loving the carefree life Iraqis can only dream of. That’s when she hit me. She didn’t lay a millimeter of rubber. Didn’t swerve a smidgen. Didn’t zig. Didn’t zag. From 60 feet I could see the whites of her eyes, frozen in panic. But the eyes and their brain were disconnected and, like a runaway Amtrack bound to its rails, the little sedan torpedoed the front end of my perfectly restored 1982 RX7. T-bone city. The entire bumper assembly in the street like a grotesque body part. It was a scene deserving of tears. Sure enough, the teenager was convulsing and hyperventilating as she babbled incessantly on the cell now growing out of her left ear. At least she was ambidextrous with something, if not the car. Of course, the cop charged me. Said I was in her lane. “That’s true, officer, but the van was letting me turn left and I could see about 100 feet and nothing was coming so I eased out but she was coming so fast and she had a turn lane to swerve into and I wasn’t halfway across her lane and she could have braked a lot harder and she wasn’t paying attention or she could have easily missed me and…..” Sorry pal. Open and shut. The intersection was loaded with eyewitnesses but no need. Open and shut. Guilty. Only later did it occur to me there was an ear witness. Whoever was on the other end of the cell must have heard the entire thing. Could have gone something like this: “Yeah, I gotta study but Danny’s comin’ over to see the car. Can’t wait til…..OH, MY GOD. WATCH OUT….THERE’S A CAR…THERE’S A CAR……THERE’S A CAR….WHAT’LL I DO….WHAT’LL I DO??? EEEEEEEEE!!! (crunch). Nothing is what she did. The only thing she was moving was her mouth which, when engaged, evidently disabled all her other bodily functions. On the bright side, nobody was hurt, the assistant DA dismissed the case with proof my insurance paid for the Honda’s face-lift and my 7’s now in reconstructive surgery. It’s just money. And somewhere out there, there’s a young blonde, gaily zipping along, chatting away on her cell, eyes seeing but unseeing, secure in the knowledge that it wasn’t her fault.

The Supreme Court has decreed that minors should be exempt from the death penalty, citing cruel and unusual punishment. This decision should gladden the hearts of decent people everywhere, knowing that teen killers can be spared, to one day mature into adult psychopaths. Except for the perfectly reasonable and justifiable practice of exterminating useless, unborn children, imposing the death penalty is a heartless, barbaric act, unworthy of a civilized society. Thankfully, every family in America now can breathe a sigh of relief, secure in the knowledge that their children are free to commit murder without fear of the ultimate penalty. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees with the sagacity of the high court. Millions among us — merciless wretches all — still spew the language of revenge. They cry for blood, an eye for an eye and all that nonsense. They would stamp out the precious life of misunderstood adolescents. Can’t they see that these young people are struggling to get through a tough period in their lives, to overcome abusive parents, ignorant parents, no parents, aloof parents and a drastic lack of self esteem? While these troubled juveniles may take a false step and butcher their grandparents or gun down classmates or strangle a playmate, we all know these acts are a cry for help. We know these acts are temporary lapses in behavior. And we know that, in time, with patience and understanding, these lovely children will develop into caring adults and become productive members of society. Examples of this rehabilitation are clear proof. When the gifted mystery writer Anne Perry (aka. Juliet Hulme) was a girl in New Zealand, her best friend’s mother refused to allow Pauline (the daughter) to join Anne on a trip abroad with her affluent family. Becoming frustrated as teens do, Anne and her friend arranged a walk in the park with the stern old bag, and they efficiently bludgeoned dear old Mom to death. They claimed she fell; but a bloody brick encased in a silk stocking, and 45 blows to the woman’s skull, gave police a different impression. Of course, the pair was convicted of the crime; but English law was lenient on minors and the two spent five years in “prison” before their release. You see — Anne may have been a vicious murderer then, but today Ms. Perry is a respected author of more than 30 novels as well as a sought-after lecturer. Had the authorities snuffed out her life, the world would have lost her talent. Anyway, the truth be known, Pauline’s mother very likely deserved to die. As difficult as it may be to suffer the loss of someone murdered by a teenager, the survivors should put aside their grief and resentment to realize that killers do have reasons for their actions — that, in time, these youngsters, given a fair shake in life, can shake off their juvenile hormones and be pillars of the community. Some diehards will nag about justice; but that precept is essentially obsolete, for instance, in the hallowed, intellectual halls of Europe. It’s time we followed suit. We should recognize that thousands of people will be murdered by teenagers and learn to accept the fact that casualties are part of The Master Plan. Once these victims are dead, we can’t restore their lives, can we? They’re going to die sooner or later, anyway; and some of them left to live out their lives, likely would commit their own crimes. No, it’s not our place to condemn minors and certainly not our right to execute them. After all, they’re victims, too. If you saw a teenager caving in the skull of an old man, or stabbing a classmate, and you were carrying a pistol, could you honestly bring yourself to shoot this tragic figure? Of course not. You haven’t that right. Later, after they haul the unlucky body away, you will feel gratified knowing that one life was spared and that very life would be rehabilitated as if nothing had happened. Ain’t life grand?