Man amongst Toys

As it has been documented without a shadow of a doubt in past blogs, I am not the manliest of men. I’m not a petite little flower either, but I think those that know me and have read past blogs could fairly say that when it comes to being a big, burly, outdoorsy, rough and tumble, kick-your-ass-just-because-I-can kind of guy, I’m lacking a little in the testicular fortitude department. I do, however, pride myself at being kind of a stronger guy when it comes to emotions. I’m not emotionless as my love for my family, friends, and Cubs is worn on my sleeve, but for the most part I can keep my emotions in check when necessary. I’m usually the one that tries to keep things in perspective and maintain my cool when others are getting emotionally bent out of shape. I don’t know when or why I started that, but it seems to be my role. Even if what is going on upsets me greatly, I’m the one that can keep his composure.

Unless it’s a cartoon

I don’t cry at movies. I just don’t. Last night Carol and I were watching “Shutter Island” and there is a horrific scene involving dead children and Carol lost it to the point of almost sobbing. I’m not sure if it’s because I read the book and knew what to expect or if it’s because I realized that it was just a movie, but while my wife was crying and covering her face, I was secretly wishing that she’d be quiet so that I could hear what was being said - sorry honey : ) It’s odd because this scene was really disturbing and I probably should have lost it as well, but it just didn’t hit me that hard.

I only wish that had been the case earlier in the day.

For Father’s Day, we decided that we were going to take Ben to his first movie theatre to watch Toy Story 3. We had been prepping him for this for the past few weeks to the point where we’d ask him what we were doing the next weekend and he’d respond “Toy Towy Tree” with a huge grin on his face. When the time finally came to go, he had his Toy Story shirt, his Toy Story shoes, and his Toy Story popcorn box that one of the teachers at his daycare had gotten him. We were all excited to go and couldn’t wait for the movie to start. Carol and I were a little nervous as Ben had never been to the theatre before. He has my attention span (SQUIRREL!) and ability to sit still, so we knew that it may be a struggle to get him to remain seated for an entire movie. As a precautionary measure, we went over the rules of a movie theatre before we even walked in the door. If you asked him today, he would still tell you that the rules are “be quiet, and sit down.” Not difficult, but for a 3 year old, they could be.

We had decided that rather than go out to the O’Fallon 15, we would try out the Lincoln Theatre in downtown Belleville. Carol had never been there and I had not been there for close to 20 years, so we figured, “why not?” We had snuck candy into the theatre for the two of us, but Carol and Ben wanted popcorn so we got a huge bag for them and sodas for all three of us. We eventually entered the theatre itself (which they must have remodeled and cut the size in half because I do not remember it being that small when I was little) and found our seats.

All of my fears of having a talkative and roaming child were soon taken away as the theatre was soon filled with kids. Some were talking, some were crying, and some were waiting in eager anticipation of the movie, but either way, even if Ben started acting up at all, he wouldn’t be the only one. It was then that I relaxed and was able to enjoy watching the movie that was now starting.

The funny thing about the Toy Story franchise is that it makes you view not only your toys, but your kid’s toys in a different way. I’m not saying that they’re going to start talking to me and running around the room (mostly because that’s against their rules), but it does make you reminisce about some of the favorite toys from your youth and how you treated them. I’m going to try and avoid making direct reference to any plot spoilers in the movie as it only opened 4 days ago and I’m sure most of you haven’t seen it yet, but I can give away that the major plot line is that Andy has grown up, is going to college, and must now decide what to do with his toys. It’s a decision that we all made at one point in our lives and, whether we remember it or not, was I’m sure a bit of an ordeal. I still have a bunch of my toys and have already tried forcing them upon Ben. He didn’t really care with the first go around, but I’m not giving up hope that within the next 3 or 4 months, Ben and I will be playing with Rowdy Roddy Piper and Captain Lou Albano in our makeshift Lego Arena. It will happen.

Eventually, the toys in the movie go through the story, face some obstacles, fare however they may, and the story came to its resolution. Like I said before, I may not be the manliest of men, but I’m also not a petite little flower. I don’t get overly emotional and I DON’T cry at movies.

Unless it’s a cartoon

I don’t know what it is about cartoons that get me. I’m not talking Saturday morning cartoons or anything. I don’t cry when Brainy smurf gets kicked out of the village for being a jerk and I don’t cry when the Wile E Coyote fails to capture the Road Runner (really dating myself there). Actually, now that I think of it, outside of Pixar movies I’m not sure I’ve even cried at a cartoon before. Damn those geniuses at Pixar.

They started off fine. First they had “Toy Story,” an amazing digital cartoon for kids and adults alike. From there, they had “A Bugs Life” (nothing sappy), “Toy Story 2” (again, nothing heart wrenching), and “Monsters Inc.” They soon followed those with “Finding Nemo” (okay the Mom dies, but we didn’t get attached to her), “The Incredibles” (nothing), “Cars” (nope), “Ratatouille” (haven’t seen the whole thing, but don’t think so), and “Wall-E” (never saw it). There were nine good movies good for kids and parents alike with good messages and lots of laughs. I liked those movies. The world liked those movies.

Then they had to go and mess it “Up”.

When Carol and I first watched “Up,” we had the intention of having a movie night with Ben. We pulled out the sleeper sofa, made some popcorn, got our jammies on, and put the movie in. Within the first ten minutes two things happened. First, Ben had become bored and left the room to go play with his toys. Second, Carol and I were bawling our eyes out like two little girls who had just lost their Barbies. We felt ridiculous, but if you’ve seen “Up” and didn’t cry at the opening montage, then you have no heart. There are no exceptions there. If you made it through that first ten minutes without at least one tear dropping down your cheek, then you are a heartless, soulless, shell of a human being. At least that’s what I tell myself to justify my waterworks.

I had also forgotten about that at the time of Toy Story.

As I mentioned, the story eventually came to its emotional resolution and as I watched, I felt a lump in my throat. I’ve gotten that lump before, but I’ve always been one to hold it back in order to maintain control of the situation. As the scene went on, I heard sniffling all around me. I looked to my right and saw Carol crying and then scanned the room to see lots of people wiping at their eyes. As the scene went on, I felt my throat burn more and more. I kept taking drinks of my soda in order to kill the teary beast (not sure how that was going to help) but the more I watched, the more I felt the burn in my throat and the water in my eyes.

Something about this scene just really hit home, as it more than likely will for anyone who sees it. I tried everything I could to not cry in the theatre. Had I been at home I would have let it go, but my fear was that the film could end any second and that they’d turn the theatre lights on and everyone would be staring and laughing at my tear streaked face. I was not going to let that happen. But the scene went on and rather than look away, I watched and was finally sucked in. Before I knew it (between drinks of soda and stretches and seat adjustments and anything else I could think of to prevent it from happening) I felt the tear fall down my left cheek.

There could have been a ton more if I had let it happen, but I was in public and had to maintain what sense of manliness I had left. I quickly figured that the best way to get rid of this before anyone noticed was to scratch my cheek as if the tear was just an itch that had to go away. I scratched, but unfortunately had missed the tear which had by now moved on down to my jaw line and was resting there waiting for someone to point at it and laugh. Rather than continue my scratch from just under my eye all the way down to my jaw and give the impression that I had some sort of facial rash that required an entire facial overhaul, I decided to stop the scratch, give it a second, and then do the “checking for stubble” top of the fingers scratch on my jaw. It went off without a hitch and I got the rogue tear before anyone had seen it. My throat was still burning and I had to keep my eyes open wide for fear of blinking out another dribbler, but I had cleared the tear and was good.

After the movie mercifully ended and the audience applauded (only the second time I’ve seen that in a theatre – this movie was very good) they turned the lights up and dozens of adults (men and women both) were wiping their eyes. I looked at Carol who also was wiping her tears away and at Ben who had barely even budged the entire movie. Being that it was Father’s Day and looking at my wonderful family, I got a little emotional. The tears welled up again and the burn got worse, but I wasn’t going to cry. Not this guy. No way. Of course, it got pretty easy when we looked at Ben’s seat, saw a huge wet spot, and had to determine if it was soda or pee (soda thank God), but either way, I had had a great day with my family.

On the way out of the theatre I saw other guys with red eyes. Some were even still wiping the tears away minutes after the movie was over. I watched them and part of me wanted to admire them for being able to show their emotions like that. Part of me wanted to go up to them, give them a hug and say “I understand brother. I cried too.” But instead, I went with the part of me that likes to make fun of guys who cry in public – especially at cartoons - and call them a bunch of pansies.

Manliness intact.