Jeez, Sorry to Hear About That

What kind of cretins are we turning into that we have so monumentally trivialized life and reality, transforming it into a world where we send our every intimate and/or absurd thoughts through the ether to inform people whom we don't know, who don't know us, and couldn't much care less, about the trials and tribulations of our lives? Perpetually throughout the day. Got a thought passing through your hollow head? Catch it, fast, before it escapes. And post it, swiftly! (Or as the Victorians said, post-haste.)

I'd like to think it isn't only twits who tweet. After all, once this peculiar social phenomenon got going all manner of news organizations and generally intelligent and thoughtful people also signed on to the quirky attraction of posting whatever came to mind. Updates and absurdities, tidbits of information and reminders, and personal accomplishments and aspirations. Hey, public out there, cheer for us! We tweet, therefore we are.

This thing about posting brief little updates is kind of cute, actually. You're unloading thoughts, and sometimes they're worth unloading for whoever is interested - and that's a matter of additional debate. But this is a pastime, a brief diversion in one's day, a way to idle away a few whimsical moments here and there - in your spare hours. A boredom-reliever. This is not a necessity, a dire need to make contact with other minds existing elsewhere.

This may sound trite, but tweeting is not living. Get that? So it was kind of mind-boggling to read that a woman - supposedly in full possession of her mental faculties - posted entries several hours apart. One, when her infant son was in hospital emergency, when doctors were trying to resuscitate him after he'd gone into the family pool, and then again, when all attempts to revive the little guy were unsuccessful.

A two-year-old child - no one I'm certain needs reminding - can move in a flash. That old adage about children not being careless, but care-free is true, very true. Two-year-olds cannot envision harm coming to them as a result of something they initiate. Their curiosity must be assuaged at all costs; they don't realize the potential costs. If no one is there to supervise them they charge straight ahead. Into a pool from which they'll never emerge alive.

Across a busy highway, straight off a summer-cottage dock, into a hornet's nest; whatever appeals. And at that age a whole hell of a lot appeals to these children's sense of adventure and exploration. It's what children do. It's how they learn. But we hope that their learning opportunities don't result in the kind of finality visited upon the child of this woman living in Florida whose gut reaction is to post whatever happens.