When my father, rest his soul, died suddenly of a heart attack several years ago a bitch received a lot of regrets, apologies and sympathetic murmurs. The shock must have put my home training on autopilot, because I'm pretty sure my ass answered with the anticipated gracious responses.
I wasn't being honest.
No, I wasn't okay.
Yes, this bitch was angry...burning with it...crippled by it.
And I was incapable of being honest about that, even with myself.
I later recalled that my father actually made a study of that shit...in his own weird way. Whenever someone would ask him how he was, he would answer...well, honestly.
"Terrible. How about you?"
He was always amused when people responded with stunned silence. I was always amazed by those that didn't even notice.
"Great." they replied without looking him in the eye. "So am I!"
People may inquire out of real concern, but they sure as shit didn't want to hear the truth. Oh no...this was a well choreographed social dance and honesty was to be left on the sidelines.
I thought of that shit as I watched the press descend on the Gulf region...of the softly asked questions that begged for the politely absolving response.
One year ago Katrina hit...and hit...and hit.
And then come water.
Then come pain.
Over one thousand people dead...thousands upon thousands displaced...miles upon miles, acres followed by acres destroyed.
The rest...this coverage...appears as theatre for the masses. A visual sedative playing across 500 channels to soothe rather than inform, calm rather than inspire and acquit rather than indict.
At last, honesty?
Honestly, I don't think so...
May those touched by this tragedy find strength for the struggle...comfort as they mourn...and solid ground on which to rebuild.