What if the Disney alligator had taken the life of a 22-year-old instead of a 2-year-old? Would it still be in the news? Would people still be blaming Disney? Dare I ask, would we care?
Of course I can ask, because of course we would care.
Toddlers are going to generate more sympathy than any other age group because they are seen as little innocents, trusting, with so, so much of their lives before them. But, I mean, would we still at least care about a 22-year-old who was taken by an alligator?
Sure, our age group isn’t the embodiment of innocence or trust by any means, but we still have some youth, and our lives are still open to thousands of chapters yet to be written. We would care… wouldn’t we?
“That kid should have known better.” “The poor thing, she had just graduated.” “He was probably drunk.” “That’s what she gets for sneaking out.” “He was going to be in London in the fall, working on his Masters.” "she was just trying to get attention.” “Fool thought he could take the gator! Bet he swam straight out to it so that he’d get some—”
I mean, yeah, we would care (technically) that the adult had died, and it would probably be terrible enough to make it in the news, but be honest: would you care more about the loss or who’s at fault?
Would you be reading the news and falling for clickbait to find out what the 22-year-old had majored in and cared about, or would you be looking for the how—how the person could possibly have died and who was to blame? Would you want to know anything about the victim’s baby sister or kid brother or single father; would it matter how they were holding up?
Again, yes! Of course! Well… At least, I mean, maybe. And what if I don’t? What then? What if I do care about the how? Are you saying I’m a terrible person?
No. Far, far from it.
I am not and don’t claim to be interested in every last detail of the dead’s life. When a person genuinely cares about the how, they’re searching for it because they want to stop the terrible thing from happening again.
The loss is too great to process, so people shut out the loss and focus on how to stop it from occurring again. They mean well. They want it not to have happened, and sure they never want to see it happen again. But it’s work.
It.
Is.
Work.
If we want to fix a problem, we have to be willing to do something. From my experience, though, humans aren’t a go-getting species. Not anymore, maybe, or at least not readily.
When was the last time you saw someone get out of their chair to grab something across the room for you? (Let’s not ask about the last time when we did it ourselves, because then I’ll get all sad.) They’ll do it if for a crush—maybe—or if they can expect consequences from not doing it, but a person has to be motivated.
So say you read an article that cared about the toddler. What if you found his favorite color was red? His favorite toy was this Hot Wheels gold car that moved only when he burbled his car engine noise. What if you heard his mom was selling the swing set in the backyard she couldn’t bear to see anymore? Or the dad couldn’t step on that spot in the hallway that would creak when the boy ran down the hallway?
We need details because we need to care if we mean to fix a problem. If we knew the details behind the life of a killed 22-year-old, maybe we could stop long enough to care—regardless of whether the adult was boastful, drunk, or naïve. Maybe we could care if we stopped to actually feel the loss. But will we?
