Mongers

I believe the world needs more happiness mongers. If you have already made this assertion in your life, feel free to skip reading the rest of this entry, since it will not necessarily dwell on the glad but try to explain the fascination with sad. We, that is those of us still mired in the fear and war mode, are stuck with the dark side. It has only now occurred to me that when Star Wars folks talk about "The Force," they don't tend to discern the "light side." They only reference the dark. Probably just an anecdotal reading on my part, but it seems to fit in with the way many of us look at the world.
Like so many Americans, I went home on Wednesday evening and turned on the television to see what additional information I might garner from watching the split screen, breaking news, talking head, bottom of the screen crawl that was issuing forth from the twenty-four hour news cycle. Details. I wanted details.
Another mass shooting had taken place, this one in San Bernardino, and knowing the body count wasn't enough horror for me. I wanted to stick my head inside that trash can and sniff around a little bit. What other horrors awaited me as I watched the city's law enforcement attempt to come to grips with the war zone that had erupted in their midst. I watched a press conference where the city's police chief tried to give direct answers to reporters who seemed most interested in finding out just how awful things were, and how much worse they might still get. They wanted to know if there were subjects still at large. They wanted to know the ethnicity of the suspects. They wanted to know if there were explosives. Most of all, they wanted to know if it was time to start using the "T" word. Can we call this "terrorism?"
That's when my wife showed up. She came into the room and I felt as though I had been caught watching a dirty movie. "Of course it's terrorism," she said, "They all look terrified." Which was a pretty solid assessment of the situation. When was it going to happen again? How can I avoid becoming a victim? Should I start suspecting my neighbors because of the lack of Christmas decorations on their lawn? Suddenly I realized that it wasn't the idiots with guns that were frightening me. It was the crowd of cameras, lights, and microphones. How much worse was this going to get before it ever got better?
Not for the first time, I wished that they could have spared one camera crew to head on over to the zoo to take pictures of the new lion cub. Or dropped by my school to catch the after school program I have been running with fifth graders cleaning up our neighborhood. That's not where we live. Land of the free? Home of the brave? Homeland of the terrified.
How about a twenty-four hour cat video cycle?