One of the strangest phenomena of childbirth is the tendency of new parents to act as if, and perhaps to even believe, their little one is the first child ever born.
OK, it's pretty easy to refute that claim. But it is worth noting that raising a child is so life-altering, so foreign to anything that has gone before. it would be easy to see your experience as being completely one-of-a-kind.
Every day with your child dawns anew, full of fresh experiences the likes of which you're sure the philistine world has never seen.
And then your unique, special bundle of joy discovers Disney. And that clanging noise? That's the sound of the prison doors closing on your mind.
Because, just like lions after they've tasted blood, once your darling, precious snookums sinks his or her teeth into whatever you've foolishly presented on the television, you're about to come face to face with two realities of parenting. One, children can and will absorb the same blessed thing, endlessly, relentlessly, mindlessly, for freaking ever. And two, you just screwed up. Big time.
So let's be fair to the House of Mouse here. It's doesn't necessarily have to be Disney that swings shut that big iron door. And the problem really isn't with Mickey or Ariel or Belle or any of the other beloved characters who populate both the Happiest Place on Earth and your fevered nightmares. (Well, they're beloved at least to someone who hasn't had to hear "The Circle of Life" all day every day until you're more than willing to give up the name, rank and serial number of every member of the Army if it will ... just ... stop.)
The offending character could easily be the Pokey Little Puppy, who, after a few months of non-stop bedtime reading you'd like to introduce to Fred the Not Particularly Friendly Dogcatcher. Or it could be something called "Bubble Guppies," who will have you re-thinking the actual criminality of dynamiting fish.
My personal Vietnam was "My Neighbor Totoro," a Japanese cartoon hailed as a "warm-hearted masterpiece" by critics. It features a huge, furry, blank-eyed sort of gopher-bunny-zombie-thing before zombies were hot. It couldn't have been any creepier if it came dressed as a clown. And despite that "masterpiece" status, it was dubbed into English in a manner that makes the lip-syncing in "Godzilla" movies look like Shakespeare.
It also had a thermonuclear-worthy, earworm of a song that played constantly because ... well, yeah. Add all that together and you get a cartoon you'd jump in front of a train to get away from. I mean, who would subject themselves to that if they could possibly avoid it?
My kids wanted to watch it during every waking moment, and then wanted it on in their sleep. Of course.
I'm telling you this not as a matter of confession. After all, the therapist said I was just acting out latent aggression when I threw the DVD into the driveway. He did, however, think that backing over it 12 times was probably excessive. Obviously he'd never had to watch it.
No, consider this a warning. "Frozen 2" is coming.
OK, so, that's not at all hard to believe, right? I mean, thanks to "Frozen," the folks at Disney can, officially, blow their noses on $20 bills and throw bundles of $50s on the fire if it ever gets a little chilly in Southern California. And if they just don't want to adjust The Big Thermostat that Controls All Weather Everywhere, the purchase and installation of which they paid for with revenue from the downloads of "Let it Go."
And while I haven't seen the movie, I understand it's actually very good, in a magic-talking-snowman-reindeer-that-has-human-emotions way. (Or, maybe we have reindeer emotions? Just something to think about while you're driving the car back and forth in your driveway.)
Let's face it, I'm not exactly in Disney's key demographic anymore. However, I have a granddaughter who is. And that means just when I think I'm out, they drag me back in. OK, I know. Different movie. Really different movie.
So far, the Little Princess has yet to bring "Frozen" with her on her semi-regular overnight visits to her Vacation Home/Grandparent's House. And frankly, the need hasn't really arisen, since every other whim and desire that enters her 2-year-old head has been lovingly met.
But the day is coming when ice cream, chasing the goofy dogs, being chased by aunts and uncles and bouncing on the trampoline won't be enough. And guess what that means?
Well, at least it's not a creepy giant zombie gopher bunny. So, we'll have that going for us.
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers
Commentary on 04/10/2015