What does Jimothy Teach Us?

I would have missed Jimothy entirely if someone hadn’t asked what I thought of him. I’d scrolled right past the headlines. Some special raccoon, Seattle’s newest folk hero.

Circling back, I saw a brief video of an oddly round-shaped animal moving in a stilted manner on spindly legs, and one miffed person saying, “What am I looking at?” As for me, I saw a strange-looking raccoon.

What millions of others saw was an animal that, despite a rare congenital deformity, had survived and thrived in the wild.

One Instagram post had swept through news outlets and social media like wildfire. More videos surfaced. Millions commented — expressing love, joy, and protective feelings. Strangers bonded over him. Suddenly there were memes, t-shirts, stickers, songs, paintings, even a video game.

I confess, I didn’t get it. My first reaction wasn’t delight but skepticism. Why were millions of people pouring their hearts into a raccoon when so many human beings are struggling?

Then I caught myself. The better question is, What can I learn from Jimothy? He’s one of life’s wonders, capable of capturing the attention of millions without trying. That’s no small thing — a moment of relief, in days when people are worn down by financial insecurity, political division, a world gone unsteady.

Next I ask, what’s possible when millions of people are uplifted? We know that outrage spreads. Fear spreads. Cynicism spreads. Kindness spreads, too.

For a time, millions of strangers smiled at the same thing. Some made art. Seattle artist Ryan Henry Ward auctioned his painting of Jimothy, raising over $6,500 for the Ballard Food Bank. Some donors said they knew they wouldn’t win the painting, but gave what they could anyway. Others simply laughed together.

Jimothy won’t solve our divisions. But moments of wonder have a way of softening us — and softened people pass kindness forward. Maybe that’s enough.

PS: It occurred to me that the massive response Jimothy evoked is not unlike that of Punch, the little rejected monkey who, with the help of a funny-looking stuffed monkey (and more than a few caring souls), found his way.

It makes you wonder. . . perhaps these little ones uplifting our spirits are no accident.

Monica Wright, retired speech-language pathologist, enjoys reflecting on life’s transitions through creative nonfiction.