Hermey and Rudolph: Misfits with bad fathers

The other day, on impulse at the supermarket, I picked up the DVD of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” for the boys. They hadn’t seen it yet, even though it’s been on TV. Both of them are rehearsing holiday songs for their school concerts, so it’s been a nonstop chorus of Rudolph over here, and I figured it was better to own the dang thing than to sit through commercials.

So we watched. And while James tucked his head under a blanket whenever the Bumble came on the screen, and Daniel laughed over my favorite character, Yukon Cornelius, I was taken back in time to the 70s, remembering watching with my sister on the oval braided rug in the den (small time-travel aside here: did others of you raised in the 1970s do all your TV-watching on the floor/rug, rather than the couch? Did the couch in your house, as in mine, have an “adults only” vibe? Weird).

The story is full of you’d-never-see-that-on-TV-today oddities. And I’m not talking about laughable “special effects” or the way the characters’ mouth movements never match their dialog. I’m talking about a reindeer father who is awfully mean to his misfit, red-nosed son, entreating him to hide his differences and fit in. Then what does the dad do, when he realizes his shunned and ridiculed child has run off? He mans up and goes after him, telling his anxious wife to stay in the cave, not for the sensible reason that Rudolph might come back, but because going out in the storm to search is “man’s work.”

Then there’s poor Hermey, the misfit elf who wants to be a dentist. His stand-in father is the head elf, who rages at his “son” who wants to be anything other than what he’s supposed to be. He, too, apologizes in the end and lets Hermey set up a North Pole dental practice, but his original sin — fatherly non-acceptance — is one that you’d never see in kids’ fictional fare today.

Last night, I was on the phone with my sister, and we talked about the show. I said, “If that were made today, the message would be ‘celebrate your differences,’ not, ‘shun the misfits.’ ” And sure, that’s eventually the lesson that’s learned in Rudolph, but the key difference is that before Rudolph can realize his oddity makes him special, he first has to be disparaged and cast out, not just by his peers, but by his own father. In the end, forgiveness is instant. And you get the idea that no one needs therapy.

Did we just miss that part as kids? No, we really didn’t, as my sister pointed out.  “We knew the father, and even Santa, was mean to Rudolph,” she said. And we pretty much thought, ‘well, that’s the way it is.’ ” And then we got on with our day.

Today, however, that show wouldn’t be made because we couldn’t stand the idea of our kids being shown a less-than-ideal parent while they were watching a TV show or movie. Sure, we’ll allow them to be temporarily frightened when the Bumble roars or, King Kong-like, grasps a struggling doe in his giant paw. We can allow them the temporary anxiety of wondering if Yukon makes it out alive, or if Christmas will be canceled like a flight out of O’Hare. Scary is acceptable.

What’s not acceptable any longer are adults who get it wrong, then apologize in the end, as Donner does to Rudolph after he saves Christmas. TV and movie parents don’t screw up. They make cookies and laugh indulgently and otherwise remain more or less benignly in the background as their kids (whether they’re reindeer, pigs, turtles or little bears) mess up, make messes, and sometimes learn lessons. But they’d never, ever, ever call their child a misfit. Even if they said they were sorry.

Back in the 70s, on that braided rug, safe in the paneled walls of our den, with our parents behind us on the couch, my sister and I watched, got scared, then felt good again, and my folks didn’t give a second thought to the negative depiction of parenthood in this once-yearly bit of holiday fun. They just yawned and sent us to off to bed.

Why do we seem to believe, as my sister pointed out, that our kids can’t comprehend and mentally manage the fact that sometimes parents aren’t perfectly nice, that they mess up and apologize, sometimes over and over for the same crimes? Why don’t we give them that credit? Why, instead do we give them entertainment that whitewashes parents into mistake-free creations that the kids run roughshod over?

Back then, Donner could apologize with a manly clanking of his antlers. Today, he’d be getting a visit from the Department of Children’s Services. Or, more likely, he’d have started out being the kind of dad who gave his misfit son a sentimental lecture on how that red nose made Rudolph special.

Apparently, fictional parents are no longer allowed to bumble their way to the right thing. They have to be perfect from the get-go.

What do you think?

what's in the box?

I don’t know who or what deserves the credit for this (though I’m happy to take it!), but my boys have had to be coaxed and prodded to come up with ideas for what they want for Christmas (which is the gift-giving holiday we celebrate in these parts). Is it my strictness? My older son’s natural semi-obliviousness (he really does live a lot of time inside his precious head)? Non-commercial TV?

I’ve written before about how I don’t buy many (or any) toys, which has led to a relatively sparse playroom. That’s changed in the time since I wrote it, largely because I’ve expanded the boys’ birthday-party experiences to other kids, not solely family (because in my family, the predominant gift is clothes and other necessities, or at least it was in the first few years of their lives, for which I’ve been grateful). So now they do have toys and games, but still they don’t sit around asking me for stuff, or grabbing the Toys R Us circular from the Sunday paper and pointing out their faves. In fact, a couple weeks ago, I showed them the Big Book of Toys or whatever R Us calls it, and they sort of lost interest.

Which does not mean they are not interested in toys; they are. But they aren’t knocking down Santa’s door listing the gifts they expect to receive. The ideas so far:

• Daniel: a microphone. A camera like mom’s.
• James: Cars racecars.

…aaaand, that’s it.

What do I want? Things I’m not getting anytime soon, if ever, such as a mudroom off my kitchen and my formerly-taut midsection. Things that are truly impossible, like more time in my week. And things that seem possible, but remain just out of reach. Like patience. And compassion, and peace.

Many years ago, my dad, at our request, made a short wish list. It read:

• socks
• shirts
• apres ski boots
• peace on earth

I don’t have perfect recall on this, but I’m pretty sure he at least got the socks.

Here’s what I’ll probably get for the boys: More Cars cars, and maybe something to keep them all in. Something art-related, and some books. Some chocolates and little toys for the stockings. A microphone (Daniel wants it, but they’ll sort-of share it). And my old digital camera, with a new battery and memory card to spruce it up.

Here’s what I want to give them:

• more years of un-greedy humility
• more time with their family, both young and old
• a desire, at least, for peace on earth

What are your gift plans for your children?