After driving from Boston to South Carolina and back... twice... in three weeks, I am no closer to understanding the roadside shrine. You know what I speak of. The cross on the spot where 10 year old Mikey McIntyre was struck and killed by some 80 year old, shriveled man who can no longer see over the steering wheel. Or the ribbon on the tree that snuffed out that high school kid who had one too many Jager Bombs. I do not need to know where your crackhead, niece dropped dead when she was just starting to get her life together. Correct me if I am wrong but I thought that that is what we have cemeteries and mantles for.
It must have something to do with the place where your loved one took their last breath. Right? If that’s the case why don’t we all create shrines at the spot where we each took our first breath; our mother’s crotch! Celebrate life! Don’t dwell in the negative and don’t force you woe begone ways on everyone else. Why can’t we all be like the Brits and suffer in silence? Why do we have to advertise our pain?
I think the only thing more offensive to me is the gang banger who’s been eulogized in the rear window of his brother’s Escalade. Get a tattoo and be done with it!
One more thing, if you insist on the roadside shrine, pass on the stuffed animal that after weeks of exposure to the elements looks like a third world dog. It’s a real downer.
Word of the Day
demorial (də-môr'ē-əl)
-noun
Anything intended to celebrate or honor the memory of a person but in the end corrupts or undermines with the use of fake flowers, popsicle stick crosses, and/or stuffed animals.
