Look Under the Bushes

The naughty boy can’t help himself.

Several years ago, my son and his family were visiting us in Minnesota when, just as I was about to bring them to the airport to return home, I seemed to have misplaced my wallet. A frantic search ensued–sofa cushions, pants in the laundry, and so on–until my 4-year-old grandson helpfully piped up “It’s not in the bushes by the deck.”

Which brings me to our president, whose penchant for clumsy self-incrimination is about equal to that of a four year old. His latest is the non-admission that he definitely did not mention the name of Israel when he divulged top secret intelligence to the Russian ambassador and foreign minister in the Oval Office last week–a charge that no one has accused him of. A few days previously, he offered that there was “no collusion” between himself and the Russians in manipulating the presidential campaign–another claim the press has been careful not to make.

When asked weeks earlier by a reporter what he intended to do about a recent wave of anti-Semitic crimes, he replied that “I am the least anti-Semitic person you have ever seen in your entire life.” Then he launched into a classic Trump tirade about the very unfair and insulting question and incidentally, how “Bibi” himself had confirmed his obvious love for Jews. All this after cutting off an attempt to clarify the question and ordering the reporter, a Hasidic Jew, to sit down. In the end it was the reporter himself, as well as Trump’s many enemies, who were accused of spreading anti-Semitism.

This broken human being is so tormented by doubt and self-loathing that he hears accusations when none are made, and attacks anyone who allows them to rise into his consciousness. In so doing he reveals his own guilt, just as a naughty child might do.

That said, it might be a good idea for the New York police department to scan their unsolved murders files to see if anyone has been shot on Fifth Avenue in the past few years. I have a person of interest in mind.