Why is it that we seem to take more pity on those we don’t really know, instead of those we are closest to?
This morning, my brother Lin called and asked to talk to Mom on the phone. It turned out this weekend, he is bringing a bulldog home; according to Lin, this little poor thing is so miserable because his original owner abandoned him.
Mom loves dogs; in fact, she loves dogs so much that she asks me all the time, “Avery, when are we going to open an animal shelter for dogs?” But she doesn’t like the idea of having a dog in our house, for many we’ve had either died or got lost (probably got killed). Plus, Dad could lash out at dogs when he’s in a temper.
That was why Mom asked Lin to ask Dad first; after all, if Dad is a “potential” dog-abuser, Lin’d better ask him before bringing a dog home.
But who’s going to feed, love, and shed tears for the dog? My mom, of course.
That’s why I got so mad at Lin, because in stead of talking to Dad himself, he simply said to me, “Tell Dad I’m bringing a dog home.”
And the reason he’s bringing it home? “He’s so miserable.”
I thought of how rarely Lin comes home (four times a year?), how dependent he is financially(he’s got a master’s degree, is serving his substitute service so doesn’t have a job yet, but still borrows money from Mom and Dad to buy fancy stuff that he doesn’t need at the moment!), and how irresponsible he can be.
Then, when I called my brother an idiot, I remembered something—Don’t we all seem to sympathize more with people we don’t really know?
Like that poor child who just lost his parents in a car accident on TV? The families of those who took the crashed flight? Or some aged strangers who die alone in a old, shady, broken-down house?
In Tuesdays with Morrie, the professor (Morrie) once mentions something that really struck me. He says, we care so much about those being reported on the news (i.e. O.J. Simpson), but not those who are closest to us.
But why is that?
