Harry, by David Barrows
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For some reason I found myself at the Detroit Grand Prix auto race many years ago. I was a guest of the government of Michigan, and we had a very nice booth. We were outside and had the usual booth treatment: refreshments, drinks, and attractive young ladies to serve. The booth was at a corner, a turning point. I was told that this was very prestigious but I'm not sure why. There was an awful sound followed by a car turning the corner. That's it, nothing more and nothing less. After half an hour I was becoming suicidal, and I started to fantasize about a car turning the corner, crashing, and bursting into flames. Now that would have been fun. Of course, one would hope that the driver and bystanders would be unharmed.
I am now having the same emotions watching Prince Harry self-destruct. My response, and everyone else's response, is simply a matter of Freudian projection. My view of Harry has nothing to do with Harry, it is all about me and that is true for everyone else. That is why you see the range of responses: disgusted with his behavior, enjoyment watching the carnage, pity for someone who is obviously experiencing deep emotional trauma (PTSD), fear that we would behave just as badly or worse.