Francophilter

A couple of packages came in the mail today: a book and a soccer jersey for my two oldest boys. I'm stockpiling little treasures with each paycheck, getting ready for the big smooshfest* that is Christmas.

*Smooshfest is a word I just now made up which can be applied to pretty much any and all celebrating we do as a family.  It is appropriate because whatever revelry we're getting up to is usually a crazy quilt of customs, some of which are rooted in shared observance or family traditions, some of which are completely invented by us, to be abandoned or changed at whim.

Case in point: when I asked George and Mae what we should make sure to include in our Thanksgiving day celebration, they suggested muffins and fireworks, respectively. Sounds fun! We'll see.

Anyway, back to today's mail, which arrived around the time the "Why didn't all the profile pics change when X tragedy occurred?" talk started on Facebook today; a reaction to the global reaction to a massive, heart-breaking terrorist attack in Paris, France, last night. Of course, that conversation needs to happen. But does a big bustle of clicktivism retroactively diminish the humanity of others who have suffered something similar? 

Why do people seem to care more about some things than others? I mean, we can say we care, but when do we really hurt along with someone else? Easy, when it feels closer to us. 

The whole world is welcome in this house, as long as you don't track in too much mud. We love art, food, ideas, and sports from all the places. Still, as my son and I watched the terrible news yesterday, the pain we felt was closer to our hearts because it was happening to Paris. 

There is nothing accidentally occidental about our fondness for Paris, that's exactly it. For my son, Paris is home of the team of his favorite futboler, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, a Swedish player and son of a Bosnian Muslim and Croatian Catholic. Quite a smooshfest, no? For my oldest son, who has been baking baguettes, teaching himself French, and planning to travel there as soon as possible, this has to feel like someone just attacked the place of his dreams. 

Glittering, gritty, rich, and poor, Paris has been a magnet, attracting artistic souls from all over the world for centuries. Thanks to its daring diversity, it will always be a place where there are no easy answers, and never will be, and how beautiful that is. So many people from everywhere else, living together, and today, grieving together. Nous vous aimons.