People of my generation fondly remember a song called Ode to Billie Joe. It's a perfectly-written song, in my opinion, using the ages-old literary technique (We're talking ages, as in all the way back to Homer's Odyssey!) of juxtaposing ordinary daily life with deep despair and looming tragedy.
The teenagers have been out working the farm, and come in for dinner. As mom reminds them to wipe their feet, she also tells them she heard that Billie Joe McAllister had jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge.
The family sits down to dinner and converses over biscuits and black-eyed peas -- about plowing the lower 40, and how Billie Joe "never had a lick 'a sense," but it was a shame "anyhow."
The listeners find out at the end, however, that the young female narrator was more involved in the story than the casual conversation made it sound. Mom notices that she barely touches her dinner, but doesn't pursue the topic any further, because this is where we live our lives... skirting the surface of deeper, life-altering things.
Life goes on. Daddy dies, Mama mourns, and the narrator spends a lot of time dropping flowers off the bridge where she and Billie Joe had been seen dropping something else off the bridge before Billie Joe's tragic end.
Yes, life goes on. We experience tragedy, death of loved ones, losses of all kinds, pain, injury, illness, rejection, betrayal, fear, ... and we continue to live our everyday lives.
What's my point? Do I have one? Maybe not... just an observation about art's reflection of life. No "shoulds" here. Dig deeper into life's pain ... or just pass the biscuits. Your choice.
.... Also, for the record, in the song, it's spelled "Billie," not "Billy." :) Hollywood. Do they ever get anything right?
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