Among Other Tragedies

Normally the news of a star’s death wouldn’t make me personally upset. But it’s just the stuff like this that is affecting me lately. Stuff that you think wouldn’t matter, and now you wonder how you were so callous that it never mattered. Like my finance class essay, Heath Ledger’s death brings a tear to my eye. He was a pretty good actor. Brokeback was a bold choice and I liked it. And he had such a cute baby.

In “Fatherless Women” I just finished the chapter about girls who lose their fathers at a very young age. It can have debilitating effects on her ability to relate to men later in life. Even having a bad father is better than having no father, according to some studies. It depends on how bad of course, here they are talking about garden variety absentee fathers and those who are generally unsupportive, saying things like, “Oh you’ll never make it as a ceramicist.” (Fathers who are abusive are another category.) Because somewhere in a daughter's heart lies the hope that Dad might change his ways, and somehow this is psychologically healthier than no chance at all.

Additionally, finding a surrogate father who takes on the committment whole-heartedly is critically important for those girls. A surrogate father who fails to protect the daughter at critical times or backs down when the daughter gets bullied for example, leads to the daughter internalizing that burning “Hey, you’re not my real dad” feeling as something wrong with her, and can lead to long-term dysfunction. Let’s hope Michelle finds a daddy for Matilda Rose.

It’s shit like Heath Ledger dying and stock markets crashing and our government supporting socialist policies that makes me want to check out. What was that phrase from the 70’s? Plug in and check out. Ugh who knows. I’m not an historian.

Neither am I an essayist or journalist. I’m a blogger. I write like a blogger. I think like a blogger. I’m going to make sweeping generalizations about bloggers. They are free-wheeling fresh thinkers. Foaming at the mouth types and people are reading their blogs to ignore their own lives, even for a moment. That’s why I read blogs. I love them. They can be the sugary-sweet brain decay kind or the inspiring, knock you off your chair kind. Blogging is an official form of “media” now. For who's purposes I don't know, but Thank God for classifications. How else would I make it through the mire of media without it? If you have a blog, you can say you’re a journalist and deduct things on your taxes. You are legit just for saying something, anything. The saying “something” is the part I like. Heck, look at my cheesy sub-heading. “The something I’ve always wanted to say.” It’s stupid yet droll crap like that that makes blogs, blogging, and bloggers so damn appealing. I love it and hate it at the same time. It’s dorky and it’s cool. It’s self-congratulatory and self-effacing and it’s…

Shit. Heath Ledger died. I hope there’s a heaven, ‘cause now my dad gets to meet Heath Ledger. Not that I think Heath Ledger is going to heaven. Not that I particularly think he isn’t. Hypothetically speaking. ‘Cause I’m not sure I believe in heaven but I sure as Hell hope there is one. I hope he does. Get in. That we all do. Even bad people. I hope bad people can get good and get in. I might be one. I can’t know. If there is my dad and Heath will be playing soccer.

I keep imagining my dad is playing soccer in heaven. I’ve had this vision repeatedly. How weird is that? Like he’s wearing this yellow and white striped rugby-style shirt, white shorts, is about the same weight and hair shade as in the 80’s and he’s playing soccer. I have no clue where this comes from.

Geez. Heath Ledger. Oh well. Shit happens.