I stirred my coffee in the Jonesboro, Ark., Waffle House, mentally
bracing myself to cover the first of five funerals.

I tried to cheer myself by reflecting on my two children, but the
waitress interrupted. "You're one of them newsmen, aren't you?" It was
said as a statement, not a question, and it was filled with contempt.

I nodded yes, and she knew what story I was covering. The shooting at
Westside Junior High was a town obsession by this point, and the
community bore the tragedy like a scarlet letter. Her contempt was a
common emotion toward the media, and I was certain it stemmed from the
very human need to blame someone or something for the killing.

Assigning blame does lead to solving problems, but the town of
Jonesboro seemed urgent, desperate. People wanted fast answers. And this
tragedy seemed too complicated for a quick assignment of guilt.

Since a direct confrontation with me was perhaps not good for business,
she offered another unsolicited assignment of blame. "Well, if you ask
me, they ought to lock 'em up and throw away the key," she sneered as
she filled my cup. She looked to be no more than 20. "They knew they
done wrong."

Her quick justice and lack of compassion terrified me. Surely Mitchell
Johnson, 13, and Drew Golden, 11 , didn't know what they were doing, did
they? It had to be just a fantasy gone too far, a gruesome Lord of the
Flies scene come to life. Besides, if we can't have patience and mercy
with 11 -year-olds, then to whom do we grant it?

Yet the planning and execution of that shooting gave even the most
compassionate among us reason for pause. The premeditation of the crime
haunted me, forcing me to search for answers. Was I letting my 3
-year-old watch too much television? Were time-outs enough discipline
for bad behavior? Should I resort to corporal punishment? Was I giving
my child too much independence - or too little?

My mind ached with questions, yet I was expected to be a detached
professional. Like the Waffle House waitress, I was looking for someone
or something to blame. And so were the Craighead County prosecutors in
Jonesboro, who for a full day after the shooting searched for some
loophole in the state's juvenile offender laws that would allow them to
charge the boys as adults.

Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee said he would ask state legislators to
review the juvenile code, a code that had already been revised and
toughened in 1994. "We may have to do it again," he told the Jonesboro
Sun. "But we can't just keep moving the line back because of kids'
activity."

Texas State Rep. Jim Pitts , R-Waxahachie , seems to think we can.
Under his proposal of last week, the courts could use the death penalty
against children as young as 11 if certified as adults. But by his own
admission, he is unsure of what the definition of "adult" should be.
"I'm not going to tell you I'm firm on the ages," said Pitts, "but its a
starting place."

That starting place is deeply mired in a dangerous, frightening and
slippery slope. How does one decide, without a reasonable doubt, when a
child is certifiable? I reached puberty when I was 11 , but a buddy of
mine didn't reach it until 14. Some girls reach it as early as 8. Pitts
is, in effect, declaring that childhood is over at age 11 .

Juries must follow criminal laws to the best of their ability, even
when the laws they are following are knee-jerk reactions to heated
public sentiment after a tragedy such as Jonesboro. Writing those laws
under the guise of greater court latitude is merely an easy way out.
Instead of looking for deeper causes and solutions, it is a
rationalization used to blame the killers instead of ourselves.

"That is so easy to do in this case," says Dr. Alex Siegel, professor
of psychology at the University of Houston. He is director of graduate
training in developmental psychology. "Adults like to point the finger
at the child, because they don't want to blame themselves." Indeed, with
my child yet too young to do any serious damage (save to my VCR), the
daunting prospect of my poor parenting being deemed as contributing to a
murder was still very scary to me.

Kids don't pop out of the womb wanting to kill, according to Siegel.
Yet, I cannot ignore the crime. Why would seemingly good children do
this?

From my own experience, I know that teen-age boys are basically very
impulsive creatures. My friends and I knew right from wrong, yet at
times we were unable to arrest our actions unsupervised.

Years ago, for instance, my high school buddy Graham couldn't resist
showing off his new Toyota at the senior picnic. He revved the engine
and peeled out across the park toward my car, with me standing in front
of it. I was impressively unfazed by his approach. Everyone in the
senior class was watching.

As he gained speed, I gained resolve not to move. He was playing
"chicken." I knew my best friend would stop in time, and so did he.

But there was something he hadn't foreseen. He did slam on the brakes
in time. But the grass was wet, and the car simply raced ahead. I leaped
out of the way a split second before his car smashed broadside into
mine, at the very spot where I'd been standing. Had I slipped and been
unable to move, he would have killed me. And my best friend would have
been charged with negligent homicide, or even murder.

We were 17. Twenty years later, I've never thought of his intentions as
evil, never blamed him for more than what it was - a prank gone bad, an
attempt to impress the senior girls that failed. Had I been killed,
however, the standard of guilt would have been much higher because
adults would have exacted that justice. An adult could have foreseen the
terrible consequences and stopped in time. But the decision-making
process in that child's head is the same, regardless of the outcome or
the standard of justice.

My friend made the best decision he could with the tools he possessed
for all his 17 years. Now, my friend is a successful businessman,
happily married and the father of three wonderful children. He now
realizes that his actions as an adolescent could have killed me.

Assigning blame by indicting him for murder would have changed nothing
but his future. The Waffle House waitress would have put him in prison
for life. Rep. Pitts might have put him to death. And I would be one
less friend in this world.

Two days after the shooting in Jonesboro, Mitchell Johnson's father
Scott agreed to meet me at a gas station for an interview. He walked up
to me with pictures of his son in hand - Mitchell on the football team,
on the cover of a music magazine, as a 3 -year-old with his infant
brother next to him. I immediately thought of my 3 -year-old and infant
together in a picture I'd recently taken of the two of them hugging,
much like Mitchell was hugging his brother in the photo before me.

Johnson's eyes looked into mine, pleading with me to listen. He told me
how devastated he was, how sweet his son had been all his life. He
pointed at the pictures as his proof. Then he grabbed my upper arm and
looked up at me, begging me to understand. "My son is not a monster," he
said. "He's not."

I believe him. But will the Waffle House waitress? Or Rep. Pitts?