Many readers graciously have offered their opinions regarding our country's recent supernatural disasters: Firstly -- President Bush is to blame for the tragedy in New Orleans. Secondly -- President Bush is NOT to blame for the tragedy in New Orleans. Thirdly -- Pets are people, too. Fourthly -- Brett Favre had a really good excuse for rushing -- not to the aid of his hurricane-stricken family -- but for yardage in his team's final preseason football game. Oh, oblong-inflated egos, hast thou forsaken thee? More Outside the Box columns Woefully, I endured the wrath of Mayor McCheesehead, who currently resides in a pre-declared disaster zone also known as my 17-year-old son's bedroom where a Brett Favre jersey hangs heroically above the mutant clutter, affixed to the wall with two thumbtacks in a testament to his testosterone-inspired, teenage ingenuity. In the ultimate act of maternal contrition, I offered to spend an entire NFL Sunday wearing my son's cheesehead, just in case he locates it amid the twisted rubble of his toxic wasteland, I mean bedroom. Doing the math, I figure the chances of that happening are equal to or greater than the odds of FEMA actually answering their toll-free hot line. (beep ... beep ... beep ... ) Two of my hormonally challenged heathens are diehard Brett Favre fans. The youngest favors Atlanta quarterback Michael Vick. On Monday night, sibling battle lines were drawn, fantasy football's seasonal fate in question: "Brett Favre is a fumbler!" "Oh yeah ... well ... it's NOT because he has the herpes!" (EJECTION! Too much information.) But seriously, when it comes to disaster management some bureaucratic truths have become self-evident: Those who can, DO. Those who can't, MEET. Doers hit the ground running. Meeters hold press conferences to cover their assets. Meanwhile, back at the disaster, doers can be observed committing random acts of selflessness. Of course, no national crisis would be complete without the mother of all meetings -- congressional hearings. During last week's castration-by-committee of former FEMA director Michael Brown, I wondered what high rank or lofty public status would qualify an individual for such an awesome responsibility? Superhero? Perhaps. Trusted White House lawyer? Maybe. Patron Saint of Political Patronage? Not so much. There is only one life experience that could fully prepare a person for a promising career in cataclysmic conversions -- single parenting. Solo parents defy disaster on a daily basis. If mayhem management were profitable, single parents would be millionaires. In true Rumsfeldian fashion, they understand the battle's harsh reality -- You raise your kids with the family you have, NOT the family you wish you had. Failure isn't an option. Single parents are quite capable of wielding the bipartisan butt-kicking necessary to put the "fun" back in dysfunctional. (THIS HAS BEEN A TEST ... Had this been an actual emergency, you would've been instructed who NOT to contact for news and official information. They're in a meeting.)
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