I’m a big fan of old movies.
And among those old movies that rank up there as some of my favorites are The Andy Hardy movies that starred Mickey Rooney as the impetuous, excitable youth learning about life, love, family and friendship in his small town of Carvel in the 1930s and ‘40s.
From his ‘man to man’ talks with his father, Carvel Judge James Hardy, to his active involvement in the school and its social scene, to walking down the sidewalks of a quaint Main Street full of grocers, mechanics, druggists and any other essential store, manned by a smiling face tha knows everyone in town, to gliding beside the white picket fences that adorned the houses of people who lived beside each other, laughed with each other and looked out for each other, the Andy Hardy movies provide life as an optimistic, we’re in this together, looking out for your fellow man journey to being a better person, even if you get into a scrape along the way.
It defines that ideal that we look back on thanks to those movies (and later, TV shows) of life during those years of perfection. Of Americana.
And it’s not real.
Oh, how I wish it was, but deep down, I know it’s not.
The films, set in the fictional town of Carvel (somewhere, never named, in the Midwest) were sentimental comedies that celebrated ordinary American life as if it walked off the cover of a Norman Rockwell cover to the Saturday Evening Post. The people in Carvel were generally pious, patriotic, generous and tolerant.
But it was not real. Not even for the time.
The town of Carvel was a representation of what MGM movie mogul Louis B. Mayer wanted his adoptive country of America to be. It was an idealized vision.
As writer Victoria Balloon points out in a 2011 Matinee at The Bijou Blog post brilliantly dissecting the Andy Hardy film series, Louis B. Mayer was not looking to reflect what America was at the time. He was instead looking to instill an idea of what he, as the son of Jewish-Russian immigrants, wanted America to be. Rooney himself referred to it as “part of L.B. Mayer’s master plan to reinvent America….He wanted values to be instilled in the country and knew how influential films could be…”
I know this. Every time I watch one of these movies I know this, and yet, it makes no difference in my longing to find such a place for my son (and soon to be children) grow up.
We love our little house, purchased right before we got married. Our next door neighbor’s are always there with a helping hand and watchful eye when we need it, families across and down the road that are a pleasure to see and chat with, and up until a few years ago, we had two WWII vets (one next to us and one across from us) also among our daily cast of characters. Both have since passed away.
But I’m fooling myself if I didn’t admit that with our family expanding, we continue to be on the lookout for something a little bigger, something with a little more space. While our street itself is relatively calm (with a few exceptions), it’s becoming apparent to me that the surrounding area as a whole is not faring as well, be it crime, drugs, or other issues. Maybe it’s a residual effect of working in news and having the press releases constantly stream across your desk, making you realize what’s going on in your tiny village, but it of course has me concerned how long things can hold.
But when we do, even casually, look outward, I find myself constantly shrugging my shoulders at potential locations.
Because it’s not Carvel.
Maybe not Carvel specifically, but it’s because in the back of my mind, even if it’s not conscious, I am looking for Carvel. And it doesn’t exist.
It never did.
If I could just convince my subconscious mind of that…
Every now and then I get a new book to try out at storytime via the Independent Book Publishers Association. Storytime always proves to be the best litmus test, as opposed to me just reading a book and telling you what I thought.
Honestly, who cares what I think if the book is for kids. Let’s see what the little guy thinks.
So, with that in mind, the other night we read “Nap-A-Roo” by Kristy Kurjan and Illustrated by Tyler Parker. A board book from KPO Creative LLC, it’s the quick tale of a Kangaroo in a zoo in Timbuktu who is ready to take a nap-a-roo.
Sensing a pattern yet?
That’s right. It’s my favorite type of book to read at bedtime. One with rhymes. And boy does our little guy love rhyming. There’s times in the car, or when he’s sitting on the potty that all he wants to do is rhyme, shouting out a word (“cat!” “bat!” “rat!”) and waiting for me to chime in with words that rhyme.
It causes fits of giggles, and needless to say, so did the cute rhymes of “Nap-A-Roo.”
In fact, by the time we got to page 3 and the word “Timbuktu” he was giggling, rhyming and having a wonderful time., even anticipating some of the rhyming words to come. I was able to pause at the end of one page and he instantly knew, based on the rhyming pattern, what word was coming.
A quick, brisk read, it really was a lot of fun. Coupled with adorable illustrations by Parker, I think this is one we’re going to be pulling out again and again.
Three years. How quickly they go by.
It seems like only yesterday I cradled you in my arms, swaddled in a blanket covered in baby footprints, wondering how I was so lucky to get to welcome you into this world.
When we brought you home, I never thought I could feel so exhausted again in my life. I wondered how how your mom was even standing. And yet, as I write this, we’ll be going through it all over again in just a few short months.
I sat in awe the first time you smiled. I laughed when you pooped on my hand during a diaper change. I watched you roll over, then crawl, then stand up and walk and with each step you took, you walked deeper and deeper into my heart.
The awe in which you saw everything for the first time left me inspired.
You gave me new eyes in which to see the world.
I sat awake in a chair in the hospital while you and your mom slept, unaware that febrile seizures even existed, let alone it was what put you there in the first place. We hoped and prayed we would see you return to the exuberant force of nature you are. Lucky for us, you did.
And that was just the first year and a half.
You turned two and I thought how fast the time had passed. You impressed us with your counting and letter knowledge, and the way you’d chat up a storm. Now I look back at video of that time and realize how crude those words may have been in the beginning, but they were there, and we knew every word you meant.
Some days you were unhappy. It happens to us all. And when you’re a kid it can be magnified. Sure, it’s been 32 years since I’ve been in your shoes, but I get it. You’re having the time of your life, tons of fun, playing up a storm and suddenly being told you’ve got to go, that it’s time to go to sleep. You were just getting warmed up. Or it was a cool toy, a great book or the open space of green grass. I may tell you it’s time to nap or go home, buddy, but deep inside, I get it. I really do. Who wants to be dragged away from all of that with no choice in the matter?
Our car rides are legendary…well they are to me. The fact that you’ve made it your own game to guess which composer is on when I play the classical station makes me simultaneously chuckle and beam. Other days you want to listen to music from cartoons ranging from Thomas the Tank Engine to Winnie the Pooh, to DuckTales, and it makes me rediscover childhood all over again. Only I get to experience it with you.
To see you play with my old toys or watch cartoons that I watched as a kid and have just as much fun with them strikes a chord deep inside.
You help me stay eternally a child, little buddy. It’s something I’ve longed for and long-lost in this crazy world of adulthood. Some people never lose it, some never had it. Me, I’ve lost my way here and there, looking back wistfully at those bygone days. But thanks to you, I’ve been in touch with them all over again. And It’s something I’ve needed for quite a while.
I admit there have been times when I’ve wished we could speed through a troublesome phase or moment. But honestly, more often than not, I’ve wanted nothing more than to stop the sands of time, and live these moments forever with you.
I can’t believe I get to be your dad. Whether it’s the intelligence and thought you show in the decisions you make, the stories you tell, or the compassion and kindness you show to others, be they a baby, a fellow kid, an animal, or an adult, you inspire me.
You make me a better person each and every day and I thank the stars above every moment of my day (yes, even when you’re kicking and screaming) that you’re here.
Happy Birthday, little man.
When was the last time you were excited? I mean really, really excited? Not ‘hey, free coffee’ excited, but I mean, through the roof, all-consuming excited?
Because I don’t think I really have.
It came to my attention through, of all things, hockey.
You see, my hometown in just the past few years, has become home to an AHL team. While I’m not a sports person, I think it’s been a big boost for the area and many of the venues contained within. And it seems to bring people together. Like, really brings people together, en masse as they cheer on their team. I mean, for some, it’s like a ritual. They are at every game, they wear the paraphernalia, they know the players. It’s all-in. So there’s a lot of people enjoying it, which is great – for them, for the organizers, for the entire area.
And as the team progressed in their quest for titles or championships, or however it’s referred to (Meg often shakes her head at me for not really having any grasp of these things), I saw people reaching a level of excitability at the mere mention of the team’s name that I thought they would burst.
From social media, to news broadcasts, standing in line a day or so ahead of time, they were, as I say all-in like nothing I’ve ever seen.
And as I watched it all, I realized that aside from the birth of my son and getting married, I can’t think of too many other moments where I’ve been bursting from the gut excited. In fact, Meg will tell you that I was more nervous than excited on our wedding day. So let’s bring it down to the birth of our son.
So what’s going on? Is there something inherently off in me that I don’t seem to ever get that level of excited about things?
Of course, when I say never felt this way, I’m talking about adult-Dave. I’m sure, almost positive that as a child I felt that level of excitement. Heck, I see it in our little guy at something as small as getting to watch a cartoon he asks for, putting his hands together, a grin from ear to ear, looking like he’s about to leap off the ground shouting “goody! goody!” or “oh boy! oh boy!”
I don’t want him to lose that. The past month of seeing the excitement on the people of my hometown when it comes to their beloved hockey team shows me there’s many out there who haven’t.
So where and when did I? At what point did ‘oh boy! oh boy!,’ full of excitement Dave of youth become the ‘huh. neat.’ or ‘that’s pretty interesting’ Dave that seems to be so detached from the world at times that nothing ever rises to that level of exuberance any more.
I’d like to find him again. I’d like my son to meet him. But honestly, I have no idea where to start looking.
