But not for the reasons you may think

First-off let me start with a story…I wonder if it’s gotten to the point where the audience collectively groans, or inches their story-mats closer to the screen when “Story Time” is announced.

The year was 1981 – It was a beautiful fall day.  The Maple trees (which give us Maple syrup) had just begun to turn, the shadows were long as the sun dipped far too early to end a day of playing and the park, and my younger sister, Colleen, was following me home with a beloved but creepy looking rag doll in her little hands.

Then the shadows grew darker, a cold breeze picked up from out of nowhere.  I heard a sound that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to straighten.   It was the demand of the local low-grade bully, Chris Hardy.  He called out to me from one of the driveways we had passed.

He was by himself – naturally because no one likes an asshole.  He was a sixth grader, which meant he was on the second floor of the elementary school we shared, and next year he’d be on the 3^rd.  He was much bigger than me, and even had the beginnings of a blond douche-stache above the the upperlip which had issued several discouraging words and more than a few I did not yet know the meanings of.

“Hey retard, where are you going?”  At the ripe old age of seven I was still widely known as the village idiot due to my speech impediment.

Had my little sister not been there I would have executed my patented escape plan, which was to beat feet to one of the homes of the Greater Bullies.  See the neighborhood operated on the feudal system, there were run of the mill bullies and over-bullies, bully lords (a few ladies,) under-bullies, bullies on crusade, and naturally the shit-bums.  A huge percentage of my young life was spend building fortifications of various clubhouses to defend against bully attack…ironically if no bully assaulted the fort that the “club” would disintegrate into splinter groups…one of which would attack.  I myself – in later years – would go on to some fame as the man who reformed the system.  See, I rarely would beat up the younger kids; I would make them fight gladiator style for my amusement.  If you think kids who had been friends for years won’t turn on each other at the drop of a hat because some older kid bellows “Let the Games…BEGIN!!!!” You would be wrong.

Keep in mind this was all before video games – “Bully” is such a negative term, this was entertainment for the most part, and as a younger kid you would often seek these folk out and bother them.  Most would just toss you around and feel horrible if they ever actually hurt you.  The dog wouldn’t even bark at them since canines can sense the difference between good-natured rough-housing and true violence.  Some, like Chris, had honest streaks of malice.

The Greater Bullies would never torment a 4 year old like my sister.  I knew I could out-run Chris (he was a fat-ass) I had less faith he would leave my sister in peace.  As it turns out I was right…

Chris ripped the rag doll from her arms, tossed it into the air, and then struck it with the bat he had been whacking a tether-ball with.  One of the disproportionately stuffed arms of the rag doll flew off.  Colleen, to her credit, didn’t cry, even when I handed her the amputated arm.

The cold-hearted bully then thrust the bat into my chest, and told me to take a swing at the doll.

Not wanting to catch a beating, I did as he commanded.  Tossing the doll as high as I could, and gripping the bat with both hands.  Unfortunately for the dim-wit, the beating I was concerned about would have come from my mother, so the instant I was certain both his beady eyes were fixed on the doll, I hit him with the bat as hard as I could.

The tactical genius of this ploy kind of losses its luster when I mention it was a wiffle-ball bat.

The yellow plastic bounced off Chris’s ribs with a hollow whimper.  He did not die as I had hoped, he wasn’t even horribly wounded.  God I hate it when a plan fails to come together…

We stood looking at each other for the longest second of my life.  He stunned that the retard had out-witted him, I shocked that the rounded light-plastic weapon, so like a lightsaber, hadn’t sliced him in twain.

Then it was off to the races.  The bat fell to the ground and I was tearing down the street, I didn’t even take the time to draw the “Z” in the dirt with my Zipps sneakers.  Chris, to his credit, ran faster than he ever had.  I could feel his presence close behind me.  The thundering of the rubber soles on the concrete was deafening, and I watching in abject horror as our long shadows followed us, stretching out like the black hand of despair and ruin from across the street.

I also, out of the corner of my eye saw my other sister Peggy.  I really didn’t think much of it.

I probably ran for a good two houses before I realized Chris wasn’t following me.  I no longer heard two sets of foot-falls; in fact I heard the sound of someone crying.

I turned around and witnessed something in the 3^rd person I had seen probably a billion times from the first, Peggy kicking ass.

She had knocked Chris down, and with two fistfuls of his hair was dragging his face along the concrete sidewalk.  The low-grade bully was screaming like a bitch as his legs and arms flailed wildly yet impotently like a man who is not Chuck Norris trying to swim through land.  Peggy never said a word…which was a bad sign.  If my sister attacks you verbally, you’re psyche will be destroyed and you’ll need counseling.  Should she suck in her cheeks and bite on them…well good-luck, nice knowing you.

It was a truly epic beat-down.  Now the part that you need to understand is that my sister Peggy is not a brute.  She was routinely bullied and harassed by younger kids, and though she could have easily swatted them into non-existence she never did.  In fact one memorable winter, some bitch-ass punk (or was it a punk-ass bitch?) broke her glasses with a snowball.  Peggy picked up the pieces, heartbroken.  I naturally flew into a berserker rage and assaulted her assailants – getting my head handed to me in the process (I got in a lot of fights but I was never very good at it.)  Peggy then entered the fray and destroyed them easily…she needed the middleman though…

As for Chris…he was never much of a threat after that and likely decided to torment other kids from other streets.  I’m sure to this day he is probably still an over-sized dip with an under-sized penis which delights in small-minded entertainment, bullying and oppression, taking no delight in who he is merely what…or as society names such people, a police officer.

I present this story as “a day in the life” there are several others I could have chosen.

So now I present the following thought.  How do you think I take it when people say, “You must love the movie a ‘River Runs Through It?’”

Sure I enjoy fly fishing, and the movie has some pretty moments.  It is not, however, a fly fishing movie.  It is, as the tag-line suggests, a movie about a family.  The movie is really about being a lousy brother.

Now, first off, I just want to mention that I am critiquing the movie, not the written story and certainly not the man, Norman Maclean, himself.  So far as I know it is a pure fiction, I thought about doing research but then thought that would be cheating…ought to critique something on how it presents itself.  If you haven’t seen it then SPOILER ALERT – I will say it is a good movie, in that it tells a story well,

“Each one of here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don’t know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them – we can love completely without complete understanding.”

Reverend Maclean

The first time I saw it I was on a date with my first real girlfriend.  She was sweet and nice and ended up becoming a nun, that’s right after Sean Juan a woman can only turn to the Lord…or drink…or go insane.  She was so happy leaving the theater and asked me if I loved the movie, because the main character was so much like me.

I just asked her if she thought I was a horrible brother.

Consider the scene where Norman, takes his younger brother to the bad side of town, where he knows that Paul is going to either be killed or beaten to a pulp at the very least.  The story-telling of the movie is superb, so the audience knows exactly what is in his mind, there are no twists or turns, he essentially brings his brother to his end.

I had my fists clenched the first time I saw it.  I am the oldest brother in my family I have two younger ones – granted they don’t fly fish but they aren’t screw-ups either.  I felt myself in his position and I could think of a thousand solutions.  Beat up Brad Pitt, pay off his debts, shut up nut up and scream “GAWD OF THUNDAAAAAR!!!!” and drive-through that barn place and kill every man you come across (I mean its not like there is CSI back then you would so get away with it)…better still you were in the forestry service blow the place to hell and gone with dynamite.  Do anything, but meekly drive off leaving your brother behind.  Heck, kill him yourself…at least that’s honest, coward.

I hated Norman, for nearly 15 years I got testy if somebody suggested I watch that movie or that I must like it.  Granted, I was a teenager then, and a fairly angry one at that.  Times have changed.  Not that I like admitting that I’m getting older, or worse wiser.  Recently, I watched it again.  Still clenched fists, but this time I felt more pity for Norman than dislike, I still think I would have gone berserker with a sledgehammer – but I no longer feel that would be right – but make no mistake I can and I would!!!  GAWD OF THUNDAAAAAR!!!!!!

Now I’ll leave you with one final question, good luck answering it.  Do I hate this movie because of what the characters did or didn’t do, or because I fear they may have been right?  Or worse caught in an impossible situation.  I feel very few of us if given the choice between suffering ourselves or having to watch a loved one suffer would choose to avoid it, the cliché prayer of a person to take another’s place.  I honestly believe that.  However, that is not the way the game is played.  If Norman did as I suggested, and dynamited that gambling den, would it have saved his brother?  This wasn’t cancer or some impossible illness.  Just pure simple jackassery, the younger brother died for no good reason.  If Norman had kicked Paul’s ass daily, would it have helped?  Are we truly as feeble and helpless as he looked driving off, or worse are there pains our loved ones bear alone that we do not even know about, or even unknowable?

When we say “I would do anything for you,” do we mean in a very real way, “You’re on your own.”  Ever man dies alone…is it only an illusion to think we do not also live that way…

So yeah I hate this movie, I hate it so much I’ll watch it every time it’s on…

Just don’t ever get me started on Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey….I have something in my eye.

Once more for the road:

GAWD OF THUNDAAAAAR!!!!!!!