Sometimes it’s easy to shift the blame or not accept guilt.

When I finally mastered the… Sometimes it’s easy to shift the blame or not accept guilt.

When I finally mastered the skill of riding a bike, and the training wheels were banished to the shed, I felt pretty proud of my bad self.

When I was young, the neighborhood boys, my brother and I would run out of school at the end of the day and take off on our bikes. I was often left lagging behind, being the youngest and a girl, but I didn’t mind — I was the only girl, and I loved being considered one of the guys.

That is, I was the only girl until a certain blond brat and her little brother, who were the exact ages of my brother and I, moved in down the street. Suddenly, our entire routine changed. Every day after school, this little Lolita would call and challenge my brother and the other boys to bike races. Of course, I was part of the package, but she made it clear she could have done without my presence.

One day this girl particularly irked me. She had dominated in the bike races up and down the street, which led me to believe the boys liked her and were allowing her to win, something they never did with me. She threw her bike on her lawn and sat down to gloat and rest, her lower back against the curb of the street and her legs extended straight out.

So I “accidentally” ran over her legs. I mean, I was still mastering my motor skills, let alone my ability to fully control my bike. She should have stayed out of my way. I probably weighed about 10 ounces at the time, so don’t worry, she wasn’t brutally injured. But she did have some wicked tire marks across both legs.

She ran inside crying and I, of course, was reprimanded. I stuck by the excuse of my lack of bike-riding experience, offering my sincerest apologies while I was cheering “Bam! Brat went down!” inside. I think my parents confiscated my banana-seat bike with its Harley Davidson handlebars for a couple of days, but the sacrifice was well worth it.

It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I thought about that time and ‘fessed up about my true motives to my family. The brat had moved away by then, but we had seen enough of her antics that they didn’t exactly blame me for my actions.

But how bad is not taking the blame? Would it have made me a much more honorable person today to have admitted my desire to cause the brat pain when I was seven? Perhaps if I had turned into the next Unabomber, who, according to Wikipedia, wrote an entire manifesto detailing his reasoning for mailing bombs to university officials and onto airlines.

His argument, outlined in “Industrial Society and Its Future,” was that he needed to “fight against the dangers of modern technology.” Yet he pleaded guilty to his mission in order to receive a life sentence in prison, rather than the death penalty. It’s amazing what motivation it takes to force some people to admit their extreme wrongdoing.

There are also those who escape ever really being pinned down and forced to suffer the consequences of their actions. In perhaps the most publicized trial of the century, O.J. Simpson, former NFL star and Heisman Trophy winner, was found not guilty of the murders of Nicole Simpson and Ronald Goldman.

According to Wikipedia, more than half of the U.S. population tuned in to witness the announcement of the verdict, and I’m sure many can recall that tense moment. My entire fifth grade class gathered into one room and made bets on the outcome. It was nearly devastating to my 10-year-old psyche when they proclaimed him not guilty.

Guilty or not, Simpson has crossed the line several times with his actions following the acquittal. In 2003, he filmed a “comedy” special for Pay-Per-View in which he attempts to sell the white Bronco — that he drove during the famous police pursuit — to a used car salesman. As if that weren’t enough, he topped it off by saying:

“It was good for me. It helped me get away.”

Regardless, his career and reputation are ruined. No matter what he may say.

We all utter little white lies — “No, that doesn’t make you look fat,” “You’re a great singer,” “This is the best pot roast I’ve ever eaten,” etc. But when it comes to actions that hurt, it’s time to man (or woman) up and accept the consequences. It’s amazing how far an apology will go, but the important thing to remember for next time is to think before you speak or act.

Maybe I’ll look up Lolita and send her some flowers and a card.

After all, actions speak louder than words.

E-mail Jessica at [email protected], but watch your legs!