Are There Unnecessary Accidents?

Or are all accidents necessary?

I'm at the top of the driveway at Evergreen, probably about to cause an accident in a homemade hill trolley. Photo by Rob, who built it.

I found myself at a sporting event recently.

My daughter Merribeth was swimming 2 km, then cycling 25 km and finally running 5 km.  All I had to do was cheer and take a photo every time I saw her flash past.

While the air around me hummed with anticipation and adrenaline, I wondered why people voluntarily ruined a perfect sunny Sunday morning by indulging in personally inflicted torture.

My philosophical meanderings were interrupted by a young and very excited woman warning spectators over a megaphone not to cross the running track unless it was clear of participants.

‘We don’t want any unnecessary accidents!’ she said, repeating it for emphasis.

As I joined a snaking line at a coffee van, I dissected this sentence to gain clarity. The woman with the megaphone didn’t want any unnecessary accidents, which implied that she was okay with necessary ones. Bring ‘em on! seemed to be her undercurrent message.

Further dissection involved me pondering what made an accident necessary as opposed to unnecessary. And who would decide which was which? The woman wielding the megaphone? The ambulance officers? The wounded? The crowd?

I looked up and spotted the woman clutching the megaphone as she stood on an overhanging balcony where she could see almost everything that was happening. Should I go up the stairs and ask her what she had meant by her ambiguous comment? Surely many in the milling crowd were as confused as me. No, better not. She was surrounded by several young women in flaming Lycra and a couple of men who looked like city councilors having a pleasant day out, on full pay. I doubted they’d appreciate me intruding with a mumbled semantic question.

Merribeth had finished her swim and was now cycling a road circling an enormous artificial lake. After taking several photos and cheering her and all the other women on in their mammoth efforts, I found a patch of lush green grass in the shade, sat down and sipped my now lukewarm almond cappuccino, musing on accidents . . .

Was the woman’s phrasing a forgivable faux pas, a mere slip of the tongue, or a Freudian slip?

What would she regard as a necessary accident? Someone getting in her way and being conked by the megaphone, thus teaching that person a necessary lesson not to get in her way?

Would it be an unnecessary accident if, say, her iridescent green, seamless Lycra shorts got caught on a nail and ripped so badly she had to stay seated until everyone had gone home?

The solving of this conundrum seems to depend on point-of-view. Personally, I might regard the former accident with the megaphone as unnecessary, and the latter one, where her Lycra shorts rip, as necessary. (Into each life a little humility must fall.)

Merribeth is now doing her 5 km run. More photos. More cheering. More mind-numbing questions. This morning is proving exhausting.

How does the woman in the perfect shorts define the word accident? To me, an accident is defined as something unexpected, unintentional, a chance thing. Necessary or unnecessary doesn’t come into it. Accidents just are. They happen. They must be dealt with.

My highly imaginative thoughts slip into overdrive:

‘Yes, over here, Ambulance Officer,' says Megaphone. 'The woman’s nose is bleeding. It could be broken. It’s her fault. It was a necessary accident. I mean, if I’m waving this megaphone around, she should know to keep her distance. No, sorry, I can’t move out of the way. My expensive, sporty shorts have experienced an unnecessary accident.’

At last Merribeth has finished her incredible test of fitness and agility with flying colours. She’s sweaty and pleased. While she’s congratulated by her admiring husband and two little boys I continue my mental gymnastics.

What’s confusing the issue even more is that I’ve just recalled what a psychic once told me in a deep voice while a flickering sandalwood candle barely illuminated her face amidst the dark mid-Victorian furnishings in her lounge room:

There is no such thing as an accident.

Should I inform the woman with the megaphone of this fact?

No. Just let it go, Marlane. Let it go.

With love, Marlane