Flowers: Gorilla Gate: Should mom be blamed?

About 20 years ago, when I was teaching French in a girl's high school in Malvern, I was picked to chaperone 40 of my students on a class trip to Paris. Having lived in Paris a decade earlier, I knew the city fairly well and was excited to get back to the sidewalk cafes, the museums, the Left Bank and the sugar crepes that continued to fill my dreams, if not my stomach. Any apprehension I had about shepherding over three dozen hormone-filled teenagers across the ocean and through a city that gave the world Brigitte Bardot was outweighed by the prospect of free airfare and lodging. I was also comforted by the fact that two nuns would also be accompanying me on the trip to help out, although I should probably have worried about the effectiveness of women whose combined age was 173. I mean, how fast could they actually run?

The answer to that rhetorical question was, "not at all." I was the one who spent most of my time herding the happy crew together, making sure that the heads were counted, trying to keep the girls from doing things that the French consider educational experiences and Americans classify as felonies, some of which have statutory ages of consent. It is an understatement to say that this was difficult. In fact, I spent two nights at the local gendarmerie trying to calm several girls who had slipped out of the hotel with the intention of losing one thing and instead, lost something infinitely more replaceable: their passports. Needless to say, I was blamed for letting the little Lolitas evade the eagle-eyed gaze of two nearly-blind nuns.

And I accepted the responsibility, because that's what I was raised to do. Catholics are told that everything is our fault, and therefore, we just nod our heads when someone points the finger and says we erred. At a distance of 20 years, I actually do think that it was my fault that the girls got into trouble, because while I couldn't have a surveillance camera on them at all times, I should have figured out a way to keep them under lock and key. I had 20 years on the oldest girl, and I spoke French fluently while the only words they could squeeze out were, apparently, "oui, merci."

Fortunately, my negligence resulted only in a lecture from my supervisor, and pursed lips from the nuns. The girls were fine, and to this day I believe that being raked over the coals by French police officers scared them straight. It was better than a documentary filmed at Rahway prison.

You may be chuckling at my confession, and if you aren't, I wish you luck as you search for your misplaced sense of humor. But now comes the serious part, the part that forms the substance of the piece, the part that I needed to lead up to slowly so as not to sound preachy and intolerant. Which, of course, I will end up sounding anyway to a certain type of reader who is always ready to do battle with any hint of judgment.

As we all know, because we all spend so much of our lives on social media, a rare and endangered gorilla housed at the Cincinnati Zoo was euthanized over the weekend when a 4-year-old boy fell into its preserve. The child had either jumped over or under a fence on the perimeter of the preserve, and had fallen into the actual pit where the gorilla, named Harambe, lived. Video of the incident shows the little boy being dragged by the gorilla some distance, and then sitting in front of the animal almost as if they were having a discussion. It is a surreal circumstance, and one which should strike fear into the heart of anyone who has ever loved a child.

Ultimately, the gorilla was shot and killed, and the little boy was taken to the hospital where he was treated for non life-threatening injuries.

As expected, there was outrage on the internet. There were the usual suspects who believe that zoos are horrible places and that these majestic animals of the wild should not be caged for our human enjoyment. I always discount them as the PETA crazies, who have no problem with trashing medical laboratories that house experiments that might yield a cure for cancer, simply because some of those experiments are being performed on animals. I'm sorry, but while I adore my dog Chance and don't want to see any animal suffer, I'm of the surprisingly controversial opinion that human life is more valuable than that of an animal.

For that reason, while I mourn the loss of that majestic primate, I understand why the zoo took the steps it needed to. So do renowned animal rights activists like Jack Hanna and Jane Goodall.

But I am convinced that none of this would be necessary and that the tragedy could have been avoided if the mother of this hapless child would have done her job, which is to make damn sure her child is not placed in danger unnecessarily. I was surprised to find out that not everyone agrees with me. When I posted this opinion on Facebook, many otherwise intelligent people started talking about empathy for a harried mother, and told me that since I wasn't there and didn't know the whole story that I didn't have the right to criticize.

And there I was, Alice, falling down the rabbit hole. To me, when your child falls into a primate pit at the zoo, it is prima facie evidence of negligence. I don't care if you have other kids with you, I don't care if you are momentarily distracted, I don't care if you are otherwise mother of the year. If your toddler tumbles into a pit with a wild animal, your maternal instinct isn't as developed as that wild animal's.

This did not make me popular among many female friends. They saw this as "woman bashing," to which I replied that I'd say the same thing if the father were in charge. This is not a gender thing. This is a common sense "thing."

Some have tried to blame the zoo by saying the primate exhibit was poorly designed. That might be the case. But if so, it is even more incumbent on a parent to make sure their child is insulated from that heightened danger. This is not the lawyer in me speaking. This is the human being with a fully functional brain.

I am not a mother. But it is ridiculous to believe that you have to have given birth to understand the consequences of even momentary neglect. We can wring our hands and say all we want that it's impossible to be perfect, but when an innocent child depends upon you for his safety, you damn well better be as close to perfect as possible. And letting a child fall into the arms of a gorilla doesn't come anywhere close to satisfying that standard.

cflowers1961@gmail.com

@flowerlady61