Opinion: My impeachment, too, was just a matter of time

In my house, as in the House of Representatives, leaders must answer for their 'willful' lack of rule enforcement.

I can’t say my impeachment came as a total surprise. It’s been in the air. Those around me had grumbled about my most flamboyant or frequently recurring failures. My inability to apply rules consistently or to follow through on executive orders. Underenforcement of policies, they said.

There were the things I promised I would do or just repeatedly said I would do and then didn’t. Rules I established for my constituency — which is to say, the family members I live with — and then, as can happen, barely enforced, sometimes with blatant favoritism.

It was I, for example, who issued the decree about making one’s bed. No one, I said, should leave the house without making the bed first. It’s important, I explained, to set good habits. The underlying principle was entirely aboveboard and had even been endorsed by a four-star admiral of the U.S. Navy and bestselling author as “a little thing that can change your life” and “maybe the world.” Adm. William McRaven’s commands were undoubtedly carried through without delay or excuses.

But me? I could say, “Don’t forget to make your bed!” several times in a single morning and occasionally into the afternoon; it didn’t make a whit of difference. Did my kids forget? They did. But the fault lay with me, creator of the rule. It was on me to inspect the beds, to rearticulate the rules and, if necessary, to ensure consequences were put in place in response to lapses.

My refusal to enforce

Instead, sometimes I “didn’t feel like” going upstairs to see if my daughter had complied. I made excuses for one or another of my sons because I understood that they were busy and that the opportunity cost of making the bed might be arriving at school without a charged-up Chromebook. Kids came and went out of the house, crossing the border without even a cursory fling of the bedspread.

Was this a “willful and systemic refusal” to enforce on my part? Did I, in fact, obstruct efforts to hold me accountable?

Granted, I sometimes failed to apply those same rules to myself. Consider that it was I, too, who established the rule that whoever got out of the marital bed last has to make it. Who wants to come home at night to a tangle of sheets and pillows on the floor? Did I, while lounging under the covers, occasionally dash out of the room when I heard my husband beginning to stir? When our work schedules shuffled and he became the early riser, did I sometimes not make the bed because the cat looked cute nestled in the duvet?

In my defense, I don’t think that this last infraction rises to the level of personal corruption. Other wrongdoing, perhaps. Maybe, OK, a breach of trust. Certainly not high crimes and misdemeanors.

Abuse of power

There were other charges, to be sure. Policies I’d established, some passively handed down from my predecessors (which is to say, my own parents) that I perhaps never critically examined. Were they, in fact, still relevant to the world in which we live today? Many of these pertained to the consumption of food — how much, when and what kind. No snacking in the bedroom, for example, but if you do, make sure to clean up all the crumbs and put the dishes away.

It’s true that I have no paperwork to back any of this up. I can’t say definitively who came up with all the rules or what the original reasoning was, only that I know it preceded my leadership. I have distinct childhood memories of being scandalized to discover my mother eating Nilla wafers in her bedroom and feeling put out to find food wrappers in my dad’s recliner when I wanted to watch TV.

Of course, back then, parents could get away with anything. Those were the early post-Watergate days when people took abuse of power seriously. Not everyone committed high crimes and misdemeanors, but when they did, by golly, there were consequences. But stuff like this? Forget about it.

Not like now, when parents can be arrested for letting their child walk to the store to fetch a doughnut or play, momentarily unsupervised, at the local playground. Parents back then weren’t publicly shamed on social media for failing to breastfeed by strangers who’d never even babysat.

Sure, kids these days have all kinds of issues, and parents overwhelmingly say they are overwhelmed. But for crying out loud, parents getting impeached?

You might call this impeachment petty. I do. It’s obviously unprecedented. Then again, what does any of this matter? Irrespective of guilt or innocence, despite any delays, and even if the charges aren’t dismissed, I will surely be acquitted. In my house, as in the House of Representatives, it will all have been a flashy distraction, a way to keep all of us on our toes, just a little less certain about how things are supposed to operate. It could happen in your house next.

Pamela Paul is a New York Times columnist.