We've become so paranoid.Hysteria must fill the void left by
those other quantities like trust or decency.
A friend has asked for volunteers
to send a book, just one, the premise
being that if lots of folks agree,
eventually each one will get a steady
stream of favorite titles in the mail.
I bit. And friends of mine did too,
and then the steady stream of something
else: It's just a scam. A fraud! A chain mail
gizmo that snopes or someone else
has denigrated. Who cares if the
Canadian whose name I wrote upon the
extra copy of a Ferrol Sams book I always
buy when seen at secondhand stores (it's
good) just gets that book, not all the
ones she hoped for. She will spend
some pleasant days while reading
all about sweet Porter Osborne, whom
I truly love. But I digress, the point to make
is not my book, but how suspicious we
are (and need to be, I'm sad to say).
Not every compliment or situation is
fodder for MeToo or what Matters
at the moment. To me, hysteria dilutes
legitimate offenses, while all the wannabes
and coattail hangers on attract attention
and enrage the armchair quarterbacks
who lack imagination to consider that
sometimes, cigars are just cigars,
that things are said and done most often
by mistake or stupid chance or choice.
Conspiracies exist, no doubt, but looking
for them under every headline or event
distracts us from reality, detracts from
stories of the victims we must never
get so weary of, that we close our ears.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2018
