"Whatcha doing?" my Inner Child asked as I sat staring at my blank journal page.
     "Same thing I do everyday," I replied.  "Trying to escape the absurdity of the world by inventing even greater absurdity of my own.  On day's like this, though, it's kinda tough."
     "Yeah, sudden death at an early age is a pretty hard absurdity to beat," my Inner Child sympathized.
     "Oh, today's no different in that regard," I told him.  "What bothers me is that some sudden deaths at an early age are given absurdly more coverage than others.  Did you know that this particular sudden death not only got Dan Rather to work on a Sunday but was virtually the only story on tonight's CBS Evening News?  Do you know how rare that is?"
     "He was the son of a president," my Inner Child informed me.
     "I don't recall the death of Billy Carter getting hardly any coverage at all and he was the brother of a president," I pointed out.  "And I don't recall reading about the death of Todd Lincoln in any of the history books."
     "They weren't Kennedys," my Inner Child sniffed.
     "So are we supposed to feel bad about the death of someone to the degree to which they're related to JFK?" I wondered.  "When did we start mourning people because of who they're related to and not because of who they are?"
     "But the Kennedys are the nearest thing to royalty in America," my Inner Child pointed out, rather shocked at my ignorance.
     "Who told you that?"
     "The papers... the TV."
     "Well, consider the source.  For the sake of argument, let's pretend that they're right for once instead of merely trying to juice up a story for emotional effect.  Wouldn't American royalty be a bad thing?  Wasn't this country founded on the principle that royalty is bad?  And that giving someone power over us merely because of the family they belong to is a folly that has ruined many nations throughout history?" 
     "But JFK Jr. was the sexiest man alive!  People said so!"
     "So we're supposed to feel bad about the death of someone to the degree they're sexy?" I asked.
     "Why are you being such a cold-hearted bastard today?" my Inner Child changed the subject.
     "But I'm not!" I declared.  "I just have a limited amount of brain space and a limited amount of compassion - we all do.  And when over 6000 Americans die each and every day, I can't think about and feel bad about them all however much I might want to.  Instead, I have to make choices, and I have to rely upon the media to help me in making those choices.  And the media is letting me down in a big way."
     "His wife was with him, too," my Inner Child pointed out.  "And her sister."
     "It's tragic," I agreed.  "I don't wish accidents like this on anyone.  But virtually every one of those 6000+ deaths a day is a tragedy.  Many involve even younger people.  Many occur in even greater clusters, or take more members of a single family.  Is this one really so much greater that it should utterly eclipse all those?"
     "He could have been president himself one day," my Inner Child told me in no uncertain terms.
     "And how many of those other 6000 people who died today might have become president one day had they lived?" I asked. 
     "None of them were John-John," my Inner Child sniffed.
     "Well, JFK. Jr. wasn't John-John anymore, either," I said.  "It almost seems as if that's the real tragedy of his life - the real tragedy of the lives of the children of most famous people.  People just never let him stop being John-John.  And it almost seems as if they're using his death now as an excuse to relive the trauma of his father's assassination all over again. 
     "You know, Aeschylus and the other ancient Greek playwrights had this idea that tragedies served a cathartic function.  They let people feel bad about things in a very ritualized way, and after the play was over, they felt better.  It's almost as if society is now unconsciously attending a Greek play.  We all know the drill.  Sudden death.  Shock.  Mass TV viewing.  The grieving family.  The concern for the body.  The Curse Beyond Human Understanding.  Boohoo.  We come together, we shake our heads, we cry, then we leave, subconsciously glad it wasn't us - that we're not royalty - that we're mere audience members.  No need to think.  Just follow the program and life's mysteries will politely follow the script same as us, exit stage right in a week or a month.  Well, life was tragic before Friday, and it'll be tragic after the new millennium comes and goes, and no fancy TV graphics and catchy logos for the coverage is going to change that."
     "But he might have been a good president," my Inner Child insisted.
     "We're a democracy, and democracies are as good as their people," I reminded him.  Let's get off the president-as-alpha male-wolf pack leader-Big Daddy-God.  Let's take some personal responsibility for things instead of looking and longing for a Man On A White Horse to save us."
     "But he already had a name for his kingdom and everything!" my Inner Child protested.  "He called it Camelot!  Cool, huh?"
     "He was 38 years old and had barely passed his bar exam," I reminded him.  "He'd never run for public office.  Besides founding a not very popular magazine of middling quality and not learning to fly a plane very well, what else had he accomplished in his life?  And specifically, what had he ever done to make a liberal Democrat proud?"
     "What would you know about being a liberal Democrat - you sound like a Kennedy-hating Republican!"
     "Well, I'm not a Kennedy-hating Republican - far from it.  But what if I was?  I've heard enough of them to know that they exist and that not everyone in this country is shocked and grieving today.  I'm sure some are saying 'The spoiled rich kid with the big toy he couldn't handle got what he deserved.'  And like it or not, they're a part of this story, too.  So, why aren't they being interviewed and quoted?  Why are CBS reporters and others only interviewing those who are grieving properly?  Is it because those Kennedy-haters are only saying these things in the privacy of their homes and country club locker rooms or because the news has become more a calculated soap opera than an honest search for the truth?"
     "I think you're a secret George W. Bush supporter!" my Inner Child pointed a finger at my bleeding heart and yelled.
     "Yep, you're right," I rolled my eyes.  "How could I not be since his father used to be president?"
     "You really ARE a sarcastic son of a bitch just like everyone says, aren't you?!" my Inner Child marveled. 
     "Hey!  Behave yourself or we'll move to Louisiana where the law says you HAVE to show your Outer Man some respect!"
     "Gawd!  Bet you were a real joy to live with the week after Diana ascended to heaven as a sinless virgin!!"
     "Oh," I warned, "don't even get me started on THAT!"