Time to eat humble pie
Life can be difficult when you have not quite grown up. Parents can be mean, siblings downright nasty and the children at school horrible. It is at such moments that running away from home seems the best option. I tried it when I was 10, and thoroughly recommend it - at least the first few hours.
After the novelty of freedom wears off, though, things get scary. The grass on the other side is usually more yellowed than green, especially when your face is being pushed into it by the bullying youth you met at the park who did not like your face and took it upon himself to do a little remodelling.
Such lessons of one's first brush with harsh reality are something that Iraq's interim leaders, preparing to face voters at the end of the month, would do well to note.
In my case, hair matted with vegetation, face streaked with mud and, most tellingly, stomach growling with hunger, I swallowed my pride and headed home.
Creeping to the kitchen window and peering in, a scene met my gaze that was terrible in its simplicity. My father and sister were seated at the dining table, tucking into the most sumptuous meal I had ever seen. Behind them stood my mother, arms folded and smiling in the knowledge that she had prepared and provided the finest that God's earth could yield. There was turkey, glistening and succulent. Fluffy mashed potatoes, crisp vegetables and a boat of gravy were laid out nearby. A golden-crusted apple pie and a mountain of cream made a triumphant finale to the feast.
I tapped softly on the window, but nobody noticed. As the meal progressed, my tapping grew more violent. Eventually, my mother looked towards me and proved that she still loved me by unlocking the back door. Without speaking, she handed me two dry crackers and a cup of water, and sent me to my room. As I chewed on my simple supper and listened to the satisfied sounds coming from the dining room, a storm erupted outside and rain thundered down. It was wonderful to be alive.
Now, consider that the bullies faced by Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Alawi and his colleagues in the American-backed interim government are likely to be suicide bombers. Nothing would make the insurgents happier than to see these Iraqi turncoats blown to pieces all over their dining table.
The terrorist group al-Qaeda's claim this week that it had more fighters in Iraq than the US has soldiers could well be an idle boast, but with rising numbers of officials succumbing to bombs and knives, only the foolhardy would test its validity. Daily attacks claim the lives of dozens of Iraqis.
Why, in such circumstances, Mr Alawi is stubbornly echoing the American line that the January 30 election will go ahead regardless of the threats is mind-numbing. Bringing about democracy, the reason the US-led coalition gave for invading Iraq 21 months ago, will be impossible with so much of the electorate too frightened to vote.
Many leaders of the Sunni Muslim minority have refused to participate unless there is a delay. Without them, any claim of a democratic process will be a sham. That the issue has been firmly pushed to the bottom of the international news agenda by the Indian Ocean tsunami exacerbates the problem.
I recommend that Mr Alawi do what I did all those years ago so that he can get a reality check. Stealing away from his army of bodyguards and home in Baghdad's heavily fortified green zone, he can walk among ordinary Iraqis and experience what they do.
After dodging a welcoming committee of suicide bombers, he will realise the folly of his insistence and opt for the only sane choice - delaying elections until a semblance of security has been created. Only then will he be entitled to turkey.
Peter Kammerer is the Post's foreign editor
