Parents are sometimes called upon to make incredible sacrifices. I’m not talking about working three jobs to pay for college tuition, or launching yourself in front of a speeding bus to save your child, or even donating both of your lungs. Some sacrifices require much, much more, yet we make them nonetheless.
Last night, still in the afterglow of a postponed Christmas Day celebration, as we lay about the living room burping up bubbles of too many holiday cookies and eggnog, an old Christmas movie came on the television. And when I say old, I mean old, as in something forgotten in the back of the refrigerator since 1964.
I was nine at the time and, as was often the case, my mother was my play pal for the day. She offered to take me to a movie of my choice, probably hoping for some innocuous Disney nature film. Instead, as we arrived at the Sequoia Theatre in Mill Valley on that rainy Saturday in December, she joined a secret society of other parents who were unwittingly subjected to arguably the most awful Christmas movie of all time: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.
 |
| Picture from the comic book version of the film. |
Betty and Billy have the acting chops of a used car dealer’s grandchildren appearing in a low-budget commercial. The space helmets are constructed of flexible gas fittings and upside-down swim masks. The Martian makeup appears to have been applied by a New York bum with a dirty windshield rag. And the stunts are probably the worst ever filmed, worse even than in Batman, The Movie (1966). The only bright spots are the comic antics of Dropo, the Martian goofball who eventually takes over as Santa for the Red Planet; and the real Santa Claus, who plays it straight and actually has a decent costume. (For you trivia nuts, Pia Zadora plays the part of one of the Martian children.) Overall, I would give it a minus ten out of ten.
That my mother sat through it with me is a testimony to both her sacrificial nature and her ability to keep her lunch down. Little did I know that I would be one day be put to the parent test as well, by a purple dinosaur.
My dislike for Barney ran to loathing. I hated his voice, his plagiarized theme song, his platitudes, the fact that he was a commercialized PBS shill, and the saccharine overgrown child actors on his TV show, which exuded a cynical level of cookie-cutter multi-culturalism. For my 40th birthday, the centerpiece of the party was a big Barney piñata, which I gleefully kicked open with my cowboy boots. Barney may have loved me, but I did not love him.
But fate is a fickle friend. Three years later, I became a single father. As I navigated these new waters, I realized that I needed to be, in turns, dad, mom and play pal for my young daughter. I did everything I could to make her happy and that is how I found myself at the Northgate Mall one Friday afternoon in 1998, about to see the very first showing of Barney’s Great Adventure, The Movie.
Fortunately, the theatre wasn’t very crowded and, as the film progressed, I slowly realized there were much worse things I could be doing. To my surprise, Barney seemed to find a tolerable level on the big screen and, instead of being cloying, he was somewhat charming. The story had some interesting and silly twists. And even though the movie wasn't what I would call good, I concluded that if my three-year-old daughter wanted to watch a character whose principal message was to love everybody and follow your dreams, then I was okay with that.
The credits rolled and I applauded myself for having made a memorable cameo as The Devoted Daddy. Just as I rose to put on my jacket, Jessica turned to me and the words she spoke made my blood run cold. She said, “Daddy, can we see it again?” “You mean, right now?” I whimpered. “Yes! Please…” I almost asked her if maybe she wouldn’t prefer to see me throw myself in front of a speeding bus, but thought better of it and sat back down.
We watched the Barney Movie a second time. I survived. And then Santa gave Jessica the video for Christmas and we watched it a couple of dozen times more. Eventually, I made my peace with Barney, though I was relieved when my daughter finally moved on to Sponge Bob Squarepants, a much better role model, in my opinion.
I am not sure what is in store for Jessica as she grows up and becomes a parent, too. No doubt she will one day have her own “Barney Moment.” I just want her to know that when that humbling time comes, her grandmother up in heaven and her father, wherever I may be, will be pulling for her. Just close your eyes, Pumpkin, and keep telling yourself: It’s just a movie, it’s just a movie.
No comments:
Post a Comment