I only heard his story

“Did you know the boy?” 

            I had to admit I had no Idea what she was talking about.  A woman around fifty or sixty stood in front off me with a look of discussed.  I didn’t even know what had triggered her words.

            “You said you were from Thibodaux didn’t you?”

            “Yes.” I was still waiting for her to get to the point of it.

            “Awful what happened, you didn’t hear.”

            “No, what?” I stood, waiting.

            “A boy was killed by his father.”  At that a gentlemen who appeared to be a few years older than his wife stepped to her shoulder to add,  “Cut him all up.” Then he just shook his head.

            I still had no Idea what they were talking about, but I still told them how awful I thought their information was.  Then I proceeded to tell them what my job commanded me to tell them.  “Thibodaux is one of the six sites of Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve.  The location focuses on interpreting the culture of the wetland Acadians.  They have Cajun music concerts every Monday evening and conduct canoe trips in the surrounding bayous.”  I just read the list as I pictured it in my head. 

            “I don’t think we will stray from the city, but thanks for the information.”  The old couple turned away and was out of site around the corner headed to Café du Monde probably.  I pictured them drinking their coffee and chicory with a touch of white powder on both their noses still shaking their heads.  “Awful” or “This country’s gone crazy.” But in the next breath they would comment on how delicious their pastries were. 

            I started to hear more and more from other visitors, as they came through the park.

            “He was only seven.” One visitor said.

            “He had cerebral palsy “ others confirmed.

            I finally took a break from working the front desk and looked at the Times Picayune.  The times article was written with the same tact the visitors exuded.  One gruesome detail after the next made it clear that a horrific murder had taken place in my hometown which commanded national attention.

            When I returned to the desk, I was resolved to avoid talking about Thibodaux including its National Park attractions.  I succeeded in my goal, for the most part.  I stopped claiming I was from the damn place, but a co-worker and fellow ranger mentioned in to one couple.  Of course they had seen the headline and read the article.  The question came at me again.  “Did you know the boy? This time the couple waiting for a response was much younger.  I think they were from jersey. 

            I snapped back.  “Do you know Snookie.”

            “No,” the woman said.

            “Well there’s your answer.” 

            They were not very appreciative.  I could tell by their look. It was a look that said, the nerve.  The look also said, we get it.  The man actually apologized.  I apologized right back.  I new I had made an overstep in tone.  My retraction was insincere. 

            What if I did know the boy?  Would a couple continue to talk to me after hearing that he was my first or second cousin?  Where would the conversation go?  What is the next brilliant question to follow a positive response?

            I didn’t know the boy only his story.  The day took its toll.  I knew that most visitors simply couldn’t be helped from the beginning, mainly because they came in looking for the wrong thing.  Most don’t even realize they are in a national park, but the off topic questions of the day were too much. 

I thought about how uninterested people are until tragedy strikes.  What if the park service felt that way? The 9/11 ground zero and Virginia Tech national memorials would be the biggest attendance grabbers in the nation.

I was wondering why others were so fascinated with tragedy, but I learned that I am no better than them.  All I could do was say, “that’s awful” and shake my head, just like the rest of them.  Personally I rather forget this process of insincere concern for my fellow humans. Perhaps the insincerity memorial would make a big splash, but I guess there would have to be a marker or plaque on every corner and one on my front door.