O'Reilly's ingrained sense that he's come a long way has less to do with overcoming financial hardship than familial hardship. Even though he calls the concept a "cliché," he clearly lugs around some pretty heavy emotional baggage. "There was plenty of tension in my house," he recalls. "Along with a lot of yelling and martial arts." At the center of the maelstrom was O'Reilly's dad, an ornery and occasionally abusive figure. "There were times when I hated my father. I admit it. He knew it. The punishment that descended upon me was mostly uncalled-for and born of the frustration of his life." And his paternal grandfather wasn't exactly a role model, either. O'Reilly describes him as a crusty Brooklyn beat cop who practiced "a kind of low-grade vigilantism."

For armchair psychologists, this is pure gold. It's not too tough to imagine how a kid who grew up with an unsupportive father and a thuggish grandfather went on to host a show like the "Factor." The apple didn't fall too far from the tree. However, O'Reilly clearly wants to be a better man than his forebears. Hence his desire to be a crusader, albeit a pretty thin-skinned one. Just last week, he stormed off National Public Radio's "Fresh Air," accusing host Terry Gross of doing "a hatchet job on me." What triggered the congenital O'Reilly temper to flare? Gross had started to read an unflattering People magazine review of "Who's Looking Out for You?"

Despite his conflicted feelings about his father and grandfather, O'Reilly is loath to condemn them. His dad wasn't a great parent, but O'Reilly insists that didn't make him a bad person. Sure, he was a "suspicious guy" who "trusted almost no one" and "set a terrible example by inflicting unnecessary pain on his children." But, O'Reilly explains: "He did not do this on purpose. He simply could not control himself." Likewise, Grandpa O'Reilly's strong-arm approach to law enforcement didn't make him a criminal. "He was a good man, but some of his cohorts were not," says O'Reilly. Like his son, his downfall was that he didn't have a "support system," a phrase that sounds alarmingly touchy-feely for a guy who cringes at the idea of emotional baggage.

That O'Reilly gives his father and grandfather a moral pass is ironic, considering how quick he is to hold people accountable for their actions, even when those actions might partly be the product of economics, culture or circumstance. It's even more ironic, considering that O'Reilly spends the better part of two chapters instructing poor people and minorities how to be more responsible. He laments the disintegration of moral values in the inner city and the decline of the African-American family. During these harangues, his message is one of personal responsibility: Get married, get a job, and stop making excuses or blaming others for your lot in life.

Just as he laid down commandments for parenting, so he lays down a list of commandments for poor folks. "[F]or real change to happen in chaotic neighborhoods, there must be rules, strict rules," he asserts. Rules like "zero tolerance for adults who hurt or endanger kids." Never mind that his 10 commandments for suburban Fox-watchers condones "corporal punishment as a last resort." Now suppose that Bill O'Reilly Sr. had lived in the ghetto, hating his life, neglecting his kids, and taking the occasional swipe at them. Think he'd be excused as someone "who simply could not control himself" and who could have been happy if only somebody "gave him direction"? Fat chance. O'Reilly's got no problem giving white middle-class guys like himself a free ride while people with different-colored skin and skimpier wallets are taken to task.

But, as O'Reilly reminds us, "self-delusions can negate even the best advice."

In his unconvincing attempt to come off as self-help guru and nice guy, O'Reilly has inadvertently provided a pretty good idea of what makes him tick. As the son and grandson of two failed fathers, it's no wonder he's obsessed with dominating male figures. O'Reilly thinks what this country needs is a stern father figure, and he's more than happy to play the part, whether he's acting as a surrogate husband for single mothers and their children or making pronouncements about what music you should listen to or whom you should trust.

So who, according to O'Reilly, is looking out for you? George W. Bush gets a lukewarm nod, Fox News gets a thumbs-up, but otherwise it's a pretty short list. O'Reilly manages to hold back his ultimate answer for 212 pages, until the very last paragraph, when he goes for broke: "I hope I have looked out for you by writing this book. Thanks for reading it." Betcha didn't see that one coming.

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