When Accidents Aren't

The word "accident" and its derivatives have, over the years, become synonymous for "mistake," "careless," "irresponsible," and "negligent," among others.  All of these have negative connotations.  "Accident" implies excusable, blamelessness, no-fault, all helpful when rationalizing miscues.

Even dictionaries seem to allow for wiggle room when defining "accident."  My jiffy Oxford American Dictionary defines the word thusly:  "an unexpected or undesirable event, especially one causing injury or damage."  I can just see "Better Call Saul" Goodman salivating like a Rottweiler over a raw New York strip steak at the prospect of invoking this definition in defense of Heisenberg:

"Gee, your honor.  It wasn't my client's fault that fumes escaped from his cook house and sent half the neighborhood skying.  It was an accident!"

I prefer my definition.  As you can see, it removes the wiggle room:  "An accident is the unpredictable result of an action or behavior."  In other words, if you do something that has a predictable result, and that result occurs, the result, then, cannot be called an accident.  For example:  If you speed through a school zone, there is a reasonable probability that you may run over one or more kids.  If you do hit a kid, you cannot therefore claim it was an accident.

On the other hand, if you are window-shopping on Chicago's Michigan Avenue and a chunk of ice falls off an eave and hits you in the head, that may be legitimately called an accident.  Why?  Because there was no predictability that such an occurrence would happen.

It's easier to rationalize a total screw-up by claiming that what happened was an accident than to admit that you, well, screwed up.  That's human nature.  My favorite example for the misuse of the word "accident" is when someone uses it to explain an unwanted, unexpected pregnancy.  Pregnancy is NEVER an accident.  It may be unplanned, the result of a spur of the moment act of lust or a contraceptive of one sort or another having failed or not been used properly, but it is never an accident.

Which brings us to the case of one Alan Osterhoudt, Jr, of Spring Hill, Florida.

Alan called 911.  "I just shot my wife," he told the operator.

"Why did you shot your wife?"  asked the operator.

"We had an argument, and....  I'll be outside.  I'm not going to resist or anything."

The shooting and the phone call occurred on the night of February 25, 2012.  Between then and September 25, 2013, when he finally took the stand at his murder trial, his story evolved from a straight-out shooting, complete with motive, to an accidental discharge of a firearm.

In his latest version of events, Alan was asleep when he heard the dog barking and then a thump in the attached bathroom.  He grabbed his gun and went to investigate.  "I got startled," he testified.  "The weapon discharged and I realized it was my wife."

Ah, those pesky weapons.  They do tend to discharge, don't they?  Especially when you PULL THE TRIGGER!

Alan is 63.  I mention that only to provide you a frame of reference.  I would think that he is too old to act out of the thoughtlessness and carelessness of youth, and not so old that he is a man in his dotage who was rousted confused from his sleep and scared witless to the point where he turned to his firearm for solace.

The jury bought Alan's revisionist version, sort of.  When he aime a gun at the back of his wife's head and pulled the trigger, there was a predictability of result that she would end up dead.  But in the jurors' minds, this did not necessarily constitute murder.  On September 26 the convicted him of manslaughter.

"My life is over," Alan had told police when he was arrested.  No, Alan.  Even if you receive the max of 30 years, you could be out in ten.  You'll still be only 73.  So your life isn't over.  Only life as you knew it.

However, your wife's?  Hers is most definitely over.  But, hey--c'est la vie, huh?