National Treasure and How American History Got Its Groove Back (Assuming American History Had Groove to Begin With)

I majored in history at Georgetown with a focus on American history. I love history in general, but particularly American history. History is the novelization of humanity, with the drama, irony, humor, and tragic flaws that have always defined great fiction. The characters have weaknesses and quirks, but they drive along a plot unpredictable but that has to be realistic because it’s real. Even better, all of the tawdry gossip that we can’t help but stare at and read about in the grocery checkout line is only a pale reflection of the weird crap people have done in history.

When history is taught well, the students come to know all of these things. When taught correctly, history is the equivalent of great films or moving literature. Unfortunately, more often than not, history is taught incorrectly, becoming the equivalent of memorizing multiplication tables: dates and numbers with little context.

American history has all this, but with two important characteristics. The first is brevity. History at large spans millennia. American history is a few centuries. It is possible to become intimately familiar with wide swaths of it in a way that is impossible with other histories. This makes it that more appealing and manageable.

The second characteristic is idealism, which I understand is somewhat controversial. The totality of American history reflects the totality of humanity’s inhumanity. It includes slavery, genocide, violence, bigotry, ignorance, apathy and every other awful behavior, big and small. But all history has that. To put it politely, much of the time we’re not nice to each other. That’s not just an American sin, that’s a human sin.

But few civilizations have tried as hard as America to do better. We’re not unique in that, certainly. The Greeks spent a lot of time thinking about better government. The Romans spread science and learning across Europe. The Chinese expended considerable resources to build a thriving meritocracy within their empire. But these and other examples were done either incidental to the goals of the civilization or for the sole benefit of the civilization. Americans have tried to make the world better for the sake of making it better. We have done so haltingly, inconsistently, and at times half-assedly, but we have tried.

Our history is the brief history of a flawed but well-intentioned people. Unfortunately, American history is all too frequently taught poorly, with not enough emphasis given to the colorful portions. For some inexplicable reason, I think National Treasure helps to fix some of this.

For those of you who have missed the joyful ignorance of National Treasure, it’s a film starring Nicholas Cage that works like a great hypothetical: What if American history were like the DaVinci Code? Cage’s character – brilliantly named Benjamin Franklin Gates (!) – and friends go on a quest through the Declaration of Independence and the founding fathers in search of a great treasure. What kind of treasure? Gold? Jewels? No! After a quest through American history, they get to a treasure trove of world history. It’s very meta. It’s very campy.

Seriously, it’s a great romp. My summary probably made no sense if you haven’t seen the movie, so you should see the movie. It has action, adventure, an obligatory love story, a wise-cracking side kick… all wrapped up in a story of American history. Granted, it’s fake American history, and I would hate for Dream Weaver or anyone to watch this movie and think that it has more than a tangential connection to real life. But it’s so hard to watch National Treasure and not think that American history is cooler than you did before it graced your consciousness.

Although I want my kids to appreciate American history from an early age, I don’t think I’d want them watching National Treasure any earlier than 10 years old. Maybe even later than that. Some of the situations are scary for young kids, particularly the scenes with guns and cave-ins. But I’d like to think that I can get Dream Weaver to age 10 without completely turning him/her off to American history. And at that point I can let National Treasure work its magic. I’ll just need to find something cool to follow it up so s/he gets the full flavor of real history.

Be content,
John

The Muppets – Making Legless Pratfalls Look Easy

Checking the status of Matt – erstwhile traveling companion and party to a “Best Man at Each Other’s Wedding” contractual agreement – on Facebook today, I noticed that he had changed his photo to the Swedish Chef. Matt and I share a mild obsession with the Muppets, as do many of our friends. Not only is there great nostaligic value, but the writing is sharp and clever.

We appreciate good writing. Puns, word play, witty repartee… we eat that stuff up. Anything we can quote. And when you have nothing but free time in college to hang out and watch well written movies – I’m looking at you, Godfather and Swingers – you get a lot of quotes.

But the Muppets have a strange pull. Not as inherently quotable as a Caddyshack, not as substantial as West Wing, they are hysterical and memorable for reasons unique among the content that I’m attracted to. As I stated above, the writing is great, filled with wonderful dialogue (“Bear right.” “Frog left.”), brilliant musical numbers, and laugh out loud slapstick comedy. But the players are essentially talking socks. That presents some challenges in terms of connecting with the audience.

For example, the Muppets depend greatly on physical comedy – Miss Piggy knocking people around, characters throwing their arms in the air and running away, dances to the music of Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. But the physicality is a bit odd, if you think about it. Classic physical comedians – Charlie Chaplin, the Three Stooges, Daffy Duck, etc. – have an advantage over the Muppets: full bodies. The physics of a pratfall favor people with legs. But the Muppets nail the weird slapstick every time.

Growing up, this was actually a problem for my mom. One of her more ridiculous maternal proclamations was to forbid me from watching the Muppets when I was 5. She felt Miss Piggy was too violent. Mom – she’s a talking sock. I admit that little kids mimic some forms of violence, but as a parent you have to trust your ability to teach your kids the difference between media and life.

So ironically, I think 5 is just about the perfect age to experience the Muppets. The colorful characters and goofy appearances of Kermit and company catch their attention. The well executed, if strange, physical comedy will delight them and keep them tuned in while they absorb the cultural references and witty dialogue. I consider that the most important part of introducing the Muppets at this age: by exposing Dream Weaver to this level of writing while young, I hope that some of it will sink in. As s/he grows older, s/he will subconsciously look for writing of an equal caliber. The Muppets at this age is an investment in Dream Weaver’s content future.

It’s a future that I hope includes Dream Weaver and me watching some old Muppets episodes with Matt and his kids.

Be content,John

Fathers and Age Appropriate Content

Alicia and I met at the wedding of her cousin, Jenny, who also happens to be one of my oldest friends. Jenny asked me to pick a reading to give at the ceremony. I chose the Skin Horse’s bit on becoming real by being loved from the Velveteen Rabbit, and Alicia and I have been together ever since. I’m sure I’ll cover the Velveteen Rabbit in a later post.

Anyway, Jenny and I spoke tonight because Alicia and I just passed the first trimester, which means we no longer have to pretend that she gave up booze for lent and can tell people she’s pregnant. As Jenny and I talked about pregnancy and parenthood, I brought up this blog and how excited I am to introduce Dream Weaver to all the books, music, and movies that I love.

And although Jenny was excited for us, she gave me some words of caution: “It’s really disappointing when your kids don’t love what you love.” She gave the example of her dad, who loves The Lord of the Rings, but who tried to indoctrinate his kids too young. Turns out 7-year-old girls don’t dig violent stories of elven armies and epic evil. Good to know.

Her cautionary tale reminded me of my father, who loved the Hardy Boys growing up. I can only imagine that as he watched me in my crib, he envisioned sharing the exciting boy detective stories he loved so much as a boy.

As a good and dedicated parent, he read to me every night, and it probably seemed like a natural progression from The Little Engine that Could (the original self-improvement book) to The Tower Treasure. But he made the transition when I four. I still needed pictures to follow a story. Quite frankly, I still do. So when Dad tried to shift me from Clifford barking at neighbors to Frank throwing his keys at an assassin, I wasn’t ready to go along for the ride. Instead, Dad had to wait till I was 10, when I rediscovered the titles with my friend Mike and read them myself.

Strangely, the media that I really absorbed from Dad at the age of four was a TV show that – had he really thought it out – he almost certainly didn’t want me to absorb. That show? Taxi, which featured the dirty Danny DeVito, the burnt out Christopher Lloyd, and the brilliant Andy Kaufman. Taxi, which split my sides with jokes about sexual harassment in the workplace, drug use, and the unrealized dreams of washed up New Yorkers. Taxi, which broadcast an episode in which Lloyd’s drug-addled Reverend Jim realized a cookie’s secret ingredient was cocaine and then provided this analysis: “Probably from Columbia… the southwest region… grown during the rainy season… by a farmer named Paco.”

Ok, that quote isn’t verbatim. But I bet it’s pretty close, and I’ve remembered the general gist of it for well over 20 years. I’ve often wondered why Taxi has stuck with me for so long. True, it was a goofy and well-scripted show. But I don’t think I fully realized that at age 4. Rather, I think it was the ritual of watching the show. Every night, shortly after dinner, Dad chimed out “Here’s Taxi!” in a sing-songy voice, and we’d sit on the couch together. Frequently, mom joined us. I didn’t necessarily get everything, but what I didn’t understand I learned by watching them.

This underscores two points for me. First, when I share content with Dream Weaver, it has to be a shared experience. We have to read the book together, sing the song with each other, and sit on the couch with one another during the movie. But this only gets you so far, which is where the second point comes in. I’ve got to make sure Dream Weaver is ready for whatever I’m presenting. Otherwise, s/he’ll get Lord of the Rings and the Hardy Boys and learn to love none of it.

By the way, I stopped reading the Hardy Boys in sixth grade, when I found The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings.

Be content,
John

When to Get Biblical with My Kids

The Gospel reading at mass today included the “Doubting Thomas” story that has become part of the western vernacular. This got me thinking about how prominently the language of the Bible, for better or worse, appears in every day language. From Lincoln’s “House Divided” speech to common phrases like “nothing new under the sun,” the Christian Bible is everywhere.

Some background: Alicia and I are Catholic. I frequently feel guilty about both my disagreements with Catholic dogma and my inability to measure up to the standards of Catholic dogma. However, I interpret all feelings of guilt regarding my Catholicism as signs that I’m doing it right.

Further background: Thomas’ name was Didymus, meaning that he was Didy before Sean Combs was Diddy. So he’s got that going for him. Which is nice.

And one more bit of background: I’ve always thought that Thomas gets a bad rap. Jesus got annoyed with him for wanting to see proof of the resurrection, proof that the other apostles already received and likely would have requested just like Thomas. Even if they weren’t likely to ask for an affidavit, we don’t know that Thomas wasn’t more naturally prone to data- and fact-based requests. Maybe he was the Disciples’ accountant, asking for the receipt from the Last Supper to keep track of business expenditures. But instead of saying “Thanks for staying on top of the bills,” Jesus makes him the whipping boy for western civilization’s fragile faith.

Which makes me wonder when these concepts should be introduced to kids. We’ll bring up Dream Weaver and any sequels in a progressive, church going family, which means they’ll all receive child-friendly stories of Noah, Adam and Eve, and the other basic Bible stories. But I don’t want my kids to simply digest what biblical morsels they receive from a priest, a CCD class, or me. At one point or another, it would be nice for them to review the original text – or as original a text can be that is in English only after the British translated a Latin translation of a Greek text that has been edited by church officials and copied with mistakes by silent monks.

I think maybe late elementary school or early middle school is a good time to start introducing them to portions of the Bible. Some chapter and verse they don’t need, certainly not at that age (I’m looking at you, Tobit). But I want them to read the basis for many of their childhood stories and to be familiar with the source material of so many images in the English language.

God knows my kids will hear plenty about what the Bible says. But I would like them to be able to think about what is actually written in it. And I would like them to doubt when appropriate.

Be content,
John

The Eleventh Commandment - Try to Keep the Content Relevant

Saturday I watched ABC’s great Easter tradition, the broadcast of The Ten Commandments, and couldn’t help but think of how dated this movie has become. The Nile either looks preposterous, blown up on a blue screen behind Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner, or cheap, a man-made pool populated by plastic plants. The epic dialogue is stilted and stale, and the actors sound like they’re practicing their lines alone in front of the bathroom mirror. And as a network broadcast, it lasts nearly five hours long. If US Air played The Ten Commandments on the flight from New York to San Francisco, the pilot’s pre-landing instructions would cut off the eponymous note-taking scene on Mount Sinai.

But this is one of the most financially successful movies of all time. Adjusted for inflation, it’s the fifth highest grossing film of all time, have grossed almost a billion dollars in 2010 dollars. And it first premiered when my dad was about 12, which would explain why he almost always watches it this time of year. In their early teens, kids latch onto media and do so disproportionately to its actual worth. This explains why I view Meatloaf (the singer, not the lunch special), Zelda (the video game, not the novelist’s wife), and Emo (the comedian, not the whiny music) as important contributions to western civilization on par with the Mona Lisa and Shakespeare.

Which leads me to wonder – as I plan out the content to introduce to Dream Weaver, how much of it will enrich his/her life and how much of it will look ridiculous, like a former NRA president quoting the Bible in front of a blue screen? TV shows, movies, music and books that move me might come off as anachronistic tedium to my kid. And I might not be able to distinguish between the two until I see his/her eyes rolling back into his/her head.

J.D. Salinger’s recent death brought this issue up for a number of educators who wrote about how Catcher in the Rye affected and inspired them. Many noted sadly that the book no longer appeals to their students the way it did to them. Holden Caufield’s distaste for phonies is alien to teenagers’ lexicon; his ambivalence toward prep school cliques doesn’t ring true to a generation interconnected 24 hours a day through texts and Facebook.

Personally, Catcher in the Rye never did it for me. But The Princess Bride did. Its combination of humor, adventure, and camp is planted in me, and blooms every time I see it on USA. I’ve read the book. I quote it with friends. But one of those friends said something horrifying to me a couple years ago: “It looks cheap. It hasn’t aged well.” I was appalled. He might as well have said that Holly, my beloved childhood dog, deserved to die.

But he’s right. I watched it again not long ago, and its special effects look like someone stole some of Jim Henson’ high school art projects. And, quite frankly, I hated myself a little bit for agreeing with that guy.

That doesn’t mean I won’t show it too my kids. I bet Jim Henson’s high school projects look pretty cool to elementary schoolers. But how many of my favorite childhood memories will make Alicia explain to our kid (not without reason), “This probably seemed a lot neater when daddy was your age.” Like The Ten Commandments to a 12-year old in 1957. Ouch.
Be content,
John

Content Based Day Dreams of My Children

When my wife, Alicia, and I discovered that she was pregnant with our first child, we were both overwhelmed with a lot of emotions: joy, nervousness, nausea (more her than me), excitement, and a host of others that the written word is ill-equipped to convey. In other words, we were your typical first time parents.

Through this shifting field of feelings, I kept coming back to daydreams of mundane activities with Dream Weaver, the obnoxious pun on our last name that we have chosen as our child’s in utero nickname. Watching movies. Reading books. Listening to music. I am ecstatic to share my favorite stories, rhymes and harmonies with this little person, less than three months old, renting a condo in wife’s belly.

And I won’t know exactly what to share with him/her until s/he comes out. Alicia and I won’t know what we’re getting until we’ve got it. We thought about finding out, but I was outvoted 1-1. So as I daydream, I end up distinguishing a little bit between what I would share with little Juanita and what I would share with John Jr.

(And unfortunately, I’ve got to cut that joke short. Alicia and I spent a number of enjoyable hours WAY before she was pregnant picking out names: Ella Marie and Richard William. If I keep calling this kid something else, I’m gonna get all sorts of confused.)

I can share Where the Red Fern Grows with any child, but Sixteen Candles will have a greater impact on Ella, and Animal House is more of a right of passage for boys like Richard William. But the gulf of ages and maturity between Where the Red Fern Grows and Animal House demonstrates another aspect I’ve been considering – what content to expose my kids to at what ages.

I get really worked up about this. In High Fidelity John Cusack waxed poetic on what brings people together. “It’s not what you’re like, it’s what you like.” I already love this kid, but I want to hang out with it too. I want to wake up on a Saturday morning, see that the Hangover Special on TBS is an 8-hour marathon of Adam Sandler movies and know that Alicia, the kid and I can watch these movies while doing chores and errands.

So this space is going to be my notebook for TV shows, movies, books, poems, music, etc. to introduce to Dream Weaver, as well as a timeline for doing so. Ideally, by Alicia’s due date (October 29th) I will have an outline of content and media to share with Dream Weaver over the first 16 to 18 years of his or her life.

If anyone reading this has had similar thoughts or is also excited about exposing their children (unborn or otherwise) to art, culture, dick and fart jokes, wit, and beauty, please add your thoughts. I would love to get as much input as possible.

Be content,
John