"Eddie Did It"

Me with 2 of my 3 brothers. L to R: Don, Ed, Ron

It's been said, and oft repeated, that the weakest ink is stronger than the strongest memory. For this reason, countless people keep journals, genealogical and legal records as well as baby books. Our diaries, and photos, preserve our memories. 

According to our family's baby book, where (among other things) my mother recorded my our first words, my brother Ron's very first sentence was “Eddie did it.” 

I was his older brother by two years. With this utterance of “Eddie did it,” he was simply proving that at a very early age he had entered the “Adam and Eve Blame Game," the age-old drama of finding creative ways to avoid responsibility and shift the blame to someone else.  

When we dislike the negative consequences of poor choices we make, we let others take he rap. How hilarous that this was my brother's first sentence! 

It's a profound insight when we finally learn that we are responsible for the things we say and do. This truth runs contrary to the Freud-based pop culture assumption that my parents or circumstances or society made me the way I am, that I have no choice but to be this way, to behave badly or whatever.

Politicians are especially good at this blame game. When an initiative fails, it was not their fault. "I inherited an impossible situation," they often say. Or maybe, "Don't blame me. My intentions were good." This is why the public lost respect for their elected officials.

In many work environments, the blame game can make it almost impossible to learn from previous mistakes because rather than get a proper diagnosis of what happened, all the players become more concerned about covering their tracks. In his book On Advertising, David Ogilvy stated that when we have autopsies without blame, only then will we discover what killed the patient.

Mistakes are inevitable in life, and in business. Some decisions in business are simply educated guesses. New product introductions do not always find welcoming arms to greet them. For example, the Polaroid Camera required a very long runway before it got off the ground. It took a lot of faith and persistence to stick with that one. Many other products, however, were doomed before they left the lab. Does this mean we should simply stop trying? No, each failure is an opportunity to learn.

The real tragedy is not that we fail; it’s that we waste the failure by refusing to own it and learn from it.

When a company launches a product that bombs, the first instinct is rarely “What did we miss?” Instead people say, “Who can we pin this on?” Marketing blames engineering for a buggy prototype. Engineering blames sales for overselling features. Sales blames the customer for being too stupid to “get it.” The corpse lies on the table, but instead of an honest autopsy, everyone reaches for the makeup kit. In the next launch, thecompany is doomed to repeat the same mistakes, only with better PowerPoint excuses.

Healthy cultures—whether families, teams, or communities—grow precisely because they replace the question “Whose fault is this?” with “What really happened, and how do we keep it from happening again?” NASA’s turnaround after the Challenger disaster is a classic example. The Rogers Commission didn’t hunt for a scapegoat; it hunted for the truth. O-rings, cold weather, and a broken safety culture were laid bare without finger-pointing. The result? Painful reforms, yes, but also the safest space program in history for the next 17 years.

Owning our part makes us uncomfortable because it strips away the anesthesia of blame. But it is also the only door to real understanding. The moment we stop saying “Eddie did it” and start saying “I did it, and here’s what I’m going to do differently,” we step out of childhood—personal, corporate, or political—and into maturity.  

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Feel free to comment. Was there too much moralizing tacked on to what was essentially a personal anecdote? I was aiming for an Aesop-style insight. If I got carried away, I blame no one but myself.