CONFESSIONS & CAMOUFLAGE

            I have a confession to make. For over a decade I flew false colors so to speak. And worse, it was my own daughter that I used for cover.

           

            It started small. Whenever Wife and I went into a supermarket I noticed the line of rides for very young children just outside. There were little horses that galloped up and down. Miniature trucks that rumbled over imaginary highways. Motorcycles and rocket ships. Each cost a quarter for a few brief minutes. I looked at them and wondered who would waste money on such things.

            Then Wife had Daughter and I found out. It’s amazing how much happiness one could buy for a quarter. The little rides are more expensive now; fifty cents last time I looked. Still pretty cheap for a child’s laughter.

            Then, about the time our tiny lady bug grew into a little girl, we discovered merry-go-rounds. We liked the big ones best with their powerful steeds with flaring nostrils that pranced in endless circles to music box drums and pipes. Daughter would sit in front of me, my arms around her as we went up and down, up and down. Pretty soon as she grew she graduated to her own horse.

            When the ride ended we’d hop off our horses and run to the booth and buy tickets for another go-around. Wife, usually sitting on a bench watching us, would roll her eyes and shake her head. But we were too fast for her! “What a nice dad,” people would say.

            Well, I have a confession to make. I enjoyed those years-ago merry-go-round rides as much if not more than Daughter. Certainly more than macho males are supposed to. So I used Daughter as cover. “She wants to go again,” I’d call to Wife who would frown. But only a little frown. Worked every time.

            Don’t ride merry-go-rounds much anymore. Not since Daughter became a young woman making her own way in the world. But there are other things I still enjoy. Just takes a bit of camouflage. When I was a boy I enjoyed toy soldiers. Still do, only now they’re called “military miniatures” to be painted and displayed in a china hutch.

            Comic books. I still have several only they’re no longer comic books. They’re “valuable collectibles” now. But I never cared much for Superman, Batman and the rest of their ilk. No, my favorite superhero was Scrooge McDuck.

When I was a boy Scrooge and Donald and the rest of the duck gang were drawn by a genius named Carl Barks. (“Unca Carl” to us fans.) When Unca Carl retired he and his wife settled in Temecula, California where as it happened, we lived. I never bothered him of course. But every so often I would stand in our backyard and gaze across the valley toward his home and murmur, “I am not worthy, I am not worthy.”

When I was a boy I also enjoyed toy trains. But no more, now I am a model railroad hobbyist. And I have a splendid layout. My trains cross high bridges over turbulent rivers and pass Lilliputian forests and stop at towns where my attention to detail is astounding.

Admittedly my layout exists only in my imagination but maybe someday. Meanwhile occasionally I grow silent and look into the distance. Wife will ask, “What are you thinking about?” But I’m not thinking. I’m putting in a new railroad station on my layout. One with little people and tiny baggage waiting for the next train.

Dad out.

         

                  

VIDEO GAME MAYHEM

               In the first 24 hours of GRAND THEFT AUTO V’s release nearly twelve million of the games were sold. Like it or not ultra-violent video games are here to stay and the bloodier the better. While neither Wife nor Daughter (the gamers in the family) have yet to buy GTF they enjoy some violent games. But generally their games are set in post-apocalyptic worlds where they blast spidery/monster thingies into multi-colored goo. 

In any case a hue and cry has been raised concerning ultra-violent games’ possible influence on younger players. (Actually Daughter is the family expert on gaming, violent or otherwise. See http://www.gamesr4fite.com.) But meanwhile I find myself wondering if ultra violent games do influence impressionable players?

Pop quiz! What two things do Richard Speck, Charles Whitman and Charlie Starkweather have in common? Answer one: all three were young American males who felt no compunction about snuffing out the lives of fellow human beings. And two: none of them had ever played a video game, violent or otherwise, in their lives. In their time transistor radios were about as high tech as the average American got.

On the other hand Dr. Fredric Wertham, if he were here, would argue that video games do indeed influence America’s youth and not in a good way. There were no video games in his day either. But there were comic books. And crime and ghost story comics, insisted the good doctor, were a direct cause of young people committing violent crimes across the nation. Even Superman was suspect.

So in 1954 he wrote a book titled SEDUCTION OF THE INNOCENT. In period magazines and newspapers there are photographs of earnest adults burning stacks of comic books. Barely twenty years had passed since the Nazis had burned books they didn’t like either.

Yes, movies and television shows are becoming more gory, excessively and unnecessarily so. But that’s not new either. Take movie director Herschell Gordon Lewis (Please!). No, he is not studied at the University of Southern California’s film school. He made a few soft-porn movies (GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BARES). They didn’t do all that well. Then he discovered gore.

Not just splattered blood gore. Slice and dice, rip and tear, dismember and disembowel gore. Movies so gory theater managers refused to show them because patrons vomited on the seats and floor. So throughout the 1960s and early 1970s Lewis showed them in drive-ins, movies like BLOOD FEAST, COLOR ME BLOOD RED and his magnum opus, GORE-GORE GIRLS made a fortune (all lost in bad investments). 
    

Have we become more violent as a society? Maybe not, maybe we just have better technology. In 1881 the infamous gunfight at Tombstone’s OK Corral claimed only three lives, nothing compared to today’s mass murderers. But then Wyatt Earp and his brothers only had primitive six-guns. Now if Doc Holiday, instead of a borrowed shotgun, had a modern AK47, well… (Incidentally Earp contemporary John Wesley Hardin murdered 44 men before he himself was gunned down. So serial killers aren’t new either.)

Maybe violent games are a bad influence. Do violent kids become violent adults? I don’t know but I offer this: Lincoln Park in West Seattle, Washington is haunted by the ghosts of numerous outlaws, enemy soldiers and even a few space aliens. I know because years ago I personally shot them with my cowboy cap pistol. And I don’t even step on bugs if I can avoid it.

Dad out.