It puts an end to the blame game. We step out from behind the bushes. We drop the fig leaves, the excuses and denials. We quit blaming others. We take responsibility for what we've done.
Confessions is a kind of death.
We die to our selves. In hiding, we live to die. In confessing, we die to live. He told his Dad what happened. I'm sorry about Mr. Weaver's window and the vase.