My mother once told me that when I was little, she caught me doing something naughty ... who knows what -- kids are always up to something. She said that I knew I was in trouble and began to cry.
Finally, in the midst of chewing me out, she asked the key question: "But why did you do that?"
And in a fit of absolute, wet-cheeked anguish, I replied, "I did it on purpose."
Talk about the truth coming "out of the mouths of babes!"
How many excuses and explanations and meanings adorn human actions? The tinsel and lights hung on the trees of action can be so bright ... as if explanations ever really explained. How much responsibility is eluded or camouflaged or given an improved meaning?