My father recently gave me my childhood collection of VHS Walt Disney tapes. Of course, my generation is probably the last one to recognize these cumbersome black boxes in comparison to the sleek DVD's our children of today know. Why he gave them to me is unknown. He simply handed over four brown paper bags of my childhood heros, muttering something about no longer having room for them.
My father is not a man of many words - when he speaks it's to say what is needed. Unlike me, his words are not meant to fill silence or chat about the mundane events within life. As extroverted and gregarious as I am, he is somber and reflective.
Why he kept them, however, for so many years speaks volumes. They represent the innocence of my youth. They're a time in which children regard their father's as a superhero - a man without weakness; a soul without an Achilles heel. It's the moment when little girls truly believe in fairy tales, before we see the harsh ugliness of the world. Before we come to see that Sleeping Beauty probably suffered from a case of stale morning breath; that knights in shining armor more than often turn out to be losers in tin foil. And once upon a time, well - times such as those in a land far away are simply nonexistent.
These tapes are not contrite, though. They're a marvelous novelty. They're a formula - the y=mx+b of the world, the balance of good and evil. The cliche that gives hope and comfort to hearts. They're proof that the good guys are supposed to win; that the superfluous plans of evil can be thwarted. That there is a happily ever after. There is a silver lining. Paired with a powerful ensemble of catchy tunes, little one's are filled with joy and security - and we laugh in the face of danger!
In addition, however, to the Disney VHS tapes, my dad also gave me an ancient VCR. That's right - it works! Though 20 years old, it somehow works - further proof from the universe that I, Sarah, am meant to watch them.
So I did. I am. All this past week, Emma and I have cuddled up in bed, wrapped in the afghan her grandmother knitted for her. We dove into Cinderella, swam with Ariel, cried with the Seven Dwarfs, and stood by Mulan's side as she faced oppression. We sang along with Aladdin, rooted for the Fox and the Hound, and sobbed for Bambi's mother. We painted with the colors of the wind - feeling the burden of Pocahontas and her people. The list goes on. I find myself being lost in the magic, enthralled by the marvelous Wonder-White-Bread and wholesome feel good moments.
Despite hundreds of previous views, it's as if I am seeing these films for the first time. Without the blind innocence of my childhood goggles, I see what I missed. There are dark undertones and sadness. There is loss and grief. There are moments in which the protagonist suffers - and justice is not fully served. How did I miss this? How did I remain ignorant? How did I not see how heinous the death scene of Mufaso is? How did I not sob when Todd, from the Fox and the Hound, is abandoned? How did I not raise my toddler fist in outrage when Dumbo's mother is quarantined? As an adult, these scenes don't appear to novelty of my former childhood self, but the humanity I've gained as a wife and mother.
I realize Disney film's are often criticized for a plethora of reasons - those of which I won't elaborate on because they're subjective and depend on the viewer's perception. Criticism aside, I am finding little gems of wisdom in the most precarious and peculiar places - the VHS films my father gave me. Perhaps I am biased as I am secretly pleased my father kept them for me, but more so - beneath the showtunes and archetypes, I am connecting with my inner child, seeing that it's okay to take risks (Little Mermaid). Isn't that all part of being an adult? Isn't that part of life?
Quite simply: it's as if my grief has allowed me to see shades to the world I didn't know existed. I look for meaning in everything - even VHS tapes that were once a novelty.
I'm not sure how to end this post - it's mostly just ramblings and things I need to get off my chest. I'll work on a more graceful exit later - but for now, this is what it is.
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