Theaters are worlds of fantasy. I watched the Watchmen this weekend and I saw a naked smurf, who could put John Holms to shame, become the most powerful man in the universe. And no, it wasn’t his amazing size that gave him power; it was his radioactivity and cerulean charm. He also had some cool teleportation tricks that made him popular at parties. People looked up to him, and for Christmas, gave him pants that he never wore. He was a true hero.
We all know that Dangle Smurf is a fantasy, because everything about him is so comic book big and over the top. Still some theater fantasies are built of sterner gauze. In the pre-movie ad-fest while patrons juggles popcorn and vie for seats, I watched the National Guard try to sell me something I couldn’t swallow.
They weren’t just enticing every soda sipping comic book geek to join the National Guard, but they were trying to sell me an image. They’re showing me young military heroes serving their country saving the world. Interspersed between clips of Captain Charisma throwing soccer balls to frolicking street waifs and saving lives are images of Kid Rock singing the underscored theme about being a warrior and a citizen soldier. It’s like Kid is positioning himself to be Mr. Fantastic, transposing the hero pictures over his scraggly self. The man who’s greatest lyrical achievement will forever be known as the “bawitdaba,” where he sings to all his heroes in the methadone clinic.
Yeah, suddenly Dangle Smurf is a far more believable role model.
Don’t get me wrong. I still bang my dizzy head, sending my glasses flying, to the Kid. Anybody who can sample Lynyrd Skynyrd and not make me want to hang them for acts of treason, deserves points in my book. Points don’t make a role model though, and doing time with Pam Anderson, certainly doesn’t help that image. Once you’ve gone there, can you ever come back? Can you bathe?
Smudged Rock makes me wonder about role models. If we believe the rest of the citizen soldier propaganda piece, all citizens are role models. Really? In the theater I looked at the barefoot dude next to me. The stained shorts and fuzzy navel bursting beneath his wolverine t-shirt told a tale as he reenacted the Flashdance chair shower with coke and popcorn. He looked at me texting my 2500 mile away pirate paramour. Neither of us could find the role model in our eyes.
But shouldn’t we be role models? I mean I’m a tall talking blogger, shouldn’t I be more than a Kid Rock fantasy transposed over a screen of real heroes? And what do I have that makes me a better role model? I assure you, despite rumors that I’ve started to the contrary, I am no deep blue dangle.
Yet in divorce everyone is outspoken and public. We rend garments and prostrate on streets sharing how we were unjustly wronged. Remember in fifth grade when Sally Hemlock got all upset because Billy Peterson farted on her birthday cake? Yeah, that’s how we look without the frosting.
I’d like to think that I kept a fairly good image, but then again my blog dedicates reams to MyEx taking my blender. Really? Was my Kahlua milkshake that important? Yeah, I guess even friendly divorce heroes have their Kryptonite butt frosting.
Some people divorce and innocent civilians are blasted in their wake. Children of divorce are a trampled group. They’re caught in the middle, stomped on, and even used as bargaining chips in many divorces. They’re like the innocent train passengers caught in some insidious villains grasp.
“Give me the lava lamp, or the 3am to Chattanooga will choo-choo no more.”
Who’s the villain and who’s the hero though? In divorce it’s hard to tell. Both roles are Kid Rock interchangeable. Children’s worlds are small, after all. It’s hard enough for them to see that the sun and moon don’t revolve around their space. It’s almost impossible for them to fathom an adult’s divorce doesn’t do the same. Especially with one parent bribing Xbox alms of love.
It’s all good and it’s all in fun…
So maybe Kid Rock is a role model. Certainly not a perfect one, but none of us are. The image we cast in divorce will cast a shadow on the rest of our children’s lives. Would we rather they see looming hands of hatred or silhouetted hand bunnies? Good or bad, we are who our children look up to, and we should strive to make things better for them than they are for ourselves.
Kid’s emulate their heroes, much as Kid Rock wants his video to emulate his. If we can keep our children from the crossfire of our divorce maybe we can let them be kids and live the hero fantasy a little longer. We don’t need to explain why mom is fascinated by Dr. Dangle Smurf. Sometimes just knowing that he’s a hero is plenty. Let them enjoy. The world will show them villains soon enough.
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