Nothing Left to Do But Smile, Smile, Smile

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This June 30th will mark the 5 year anniversary of my Dad's passing. Not to sound cliche, but it really doesn't seem like all that time has elapsed, but at the same time it seems like a such a long time ago. I guess it's because the process of grief is ongoing and ebbs and flows over time as we are forced to pick up the pieces and continue this march through our lives. How the ring of the telephone at 4:00 in the morning and the words "He's gone" crackling over the telephone line uttered by mom are imprinted in my memory of the moment I learned that my Dad was no longer alive.

Earlier that evening my Mom had called from the hospital and explained as best she could the prognosis. Pnemonia. But, no the doctors didn't think we needed to rush to the hospital being that we were about 7 hours away. She would call in the morning for an update. So I got down to the business of praying. And I prayed harder that I ever had before. I bargained and I pleaded with God that night asking for him to help my Dad. The rational part of me told myself that he was in the best place he could be right now. He was receiving medical attention and things were going to work out because of that. However the air of my hope balloon was sucked right out as I stood in the kitchen with my husband holding me up so I wouldn't collapse on the floor. As I tried to catch my breath over and over again, I finally was able to shift into Big Sister mode and get myself together for the long drive to be with my family.

How did we get through it? Well being together with my family was the first thing that helped. Although part of me wanted to retreat, to hide in my grief so I wouldn't have to be touched by anyone elses. The other more selfless part of me knew I had to be strong when others weren't going to be. I had to face this head on with my family.

The other thing that helped was that we tried to stay busy and productive. We decided almost immediately that because my Dad was such a music lover that we would make a mix CD to be played at his service. We got down to the business of picking out songs that were appropriate to the occassion and yet were also a reflection of his life. The playlist included such tunes as "Blackbird" by the Beatles, the Moody Blues were represented being they were one of my Dad's favorite bands, polkas, Do Wop hits, and even some Big Head Todd and the Monster.

We also took out the boxes of photos and started to make a collage of my Dad. Pictures in his navy uniforn, the mutton chops from the 70s, his 80s beard, and other photographic mementos helped us to remember the happier times. Grief is truly an amazing phenomenon. There are times that your eyes sting and your heart aches but there are other times where you feel strong and at peace-and you can shift back and forth through these feelings in a matter of seconds.

The hardest part of it all, I have to say, is not so much how this loss was going to affect me. Sure, I know I would miss my Dad tremendously. But I didn't see him day to day so his loss was not going to be so drastic to my everyday existence. The hardest part was twofold. One was how this affected my Mom. You see my parents had one of those rare marriages that was still going strong after 34 years. Sure they had their ups and downs as any marriage does, but they had embraced their empty nest years with a renewed sense of love and commitment. They did most everything together and my Dad did a lot for my Mom. My Mom didn't even know how to pump gas for God's sake. But if I ever doubted that my Mom was soft, I have to tell you that she exercised such strength and determination through this whole thing. I found that same strength in myself due in part to her example. She of course had her moments when she said she couldn't do it anymore. But we were there for her to pick her up when she fell and to keep her going when it got too tough.

The other thing that hurt me so much was that my Dad was going to miss his grandchildren growing up and they were going to miss him in their lives. Family was the most important thing to my Dad and his grandchildren were a new source of pride and joy. For him not to be able to witness them growing up was too much to bear and to think that my daughter would probably not remember him because she was not quite 3 when he died was difficult as well. But again, despite the loss of control that death thrusts upon us, we also do have some power in this relationship. So I make sure that we have pictures of Grampy, I share stories about Grampy and the same stories he shared with me when I was little, and I always remind my daughter of how special he was and how special she was to him.

Death is as much a part of life as life itself- always waiting around the corner to rear it's ugly head. I mean we all know we're going to die. We know our parents are going to die. We hope our children die after us, but there are very sad times where this is not a given. How come if we know this, do we still struggle with the concept of death? These are questions that many have asked over time and organized religion has certainly tried to assuage that fear. And even though some can buy piece of mind with the promise of entry into the kindgom of heaven, death is still is a difficult process.

So naturally, after experiencing my Dad's death I have wrestled with issue of religion and God. I always questioned the Catholicism I was raised with and could never fully embrace the church's doctrines. However, at my Dad's service I hoped the priest who presided would take away the fear and ease the pain with words of wisdom and healing. We even went to church for about 3 weeks after that as I was hoping that some voice (figurately & not literally) there would help me to see that all was going to be all right. But it wasn't there.

And although I never admitted this out loud until now, I think I've been kind of mad at God, despite feeling like I may not believe there is a God-if that's possible. First, I prayed and feel like my prayer wasn't answered. And I know that praying is not an ATM machine that you just plug in your request and the machine spits out your cash. You're not supposed to pray for things or for things to happen a certain way. Instead you're supposed to pray for the strength to go on. As silly as it seems, I can't help but feel jipped by God for not sparing my Dad's life.

Also, I just am having a hard time believing that death is not the final act. That there is something besides this worldly life. Sometimes I feel certain there is no God, but other times I want to believe there could be. Call me blaphemous but every ounce of my being wants to believe that there is a place where we are reunited with loved ones who passed, but I still can't help but doubt that once you bite the dust- that's all folks, the end, that's all she wrote, period. The reason this struggle is so hard for me, I think, is because my Dad was responsible for my religious upbringing. Not that my Mom, wasn't. She's the one who made sure we went to church. But what I mean is that I vividly remember the Children's Bible we had and the way my Dad would take the stories and tell them in a way that gave me hope and comfort as I grew up and faced more difficult times in the process. So it is hard for me to take that memory of him and renounce what he believed and taught his children. (Although admittedly I don't feel guilty about rebellling against his political beliefs)

So that's what I struggle with on a deeper spiritual plane. I certainly don't want to practice a religion that I don't fully believe in because that would by hypocritical. And I can't be swayed by those true believers who would try to convince me that there is a God. In fact I'm quite skeptical of those religious people who feel they have to "convert" you. And then what about all the religions and representations of god throughout history and the world. Who is the right believer? Are you denied eternal life if you happened to be born in China and raised a Buddhist? These questions also make me question the existence of God.

I know that most would say that religion is a leap of faith that we take. After all, it really is about all we have to fall back on when we face the death of loved one. You want to believe so much that the person did not die in vain, that they are at this moment donning their white robes and playing ping pong on a cloud with Jimmy Hendrix or John Lennon. That maybe they look down on this earthly life occassionally and send their well wishes to us in subtle ways. A rainbow after a downpour, the way the light shines like beams through an oak forest, a soft and cool breeze on a hot summer day. And that one day we will meet up with them again. But then the nagging feeling that maybe the soul does not exist never quite goes away.

So at the end of the day when I'm alone with my thoughts I may sometimes cry softly into my pillow because of these unanswerable questions and the possibility that I could be right (which I usually want to be, but not this time). And because quite simply a lot of people miss my Dad-still to this day. However, because like grief these feelings are transitory and fluid I tell myself that although I don't know the answers, maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe understanding this is beyond our human consciousness and the key will be presented to us when we are equipped to truly understand-in death. That is the hope that keeps me hanging on. That, and chocolate. On second thought, there must be a God.

Devil's Advocate

I see that Pee Wee Herman is making a comeback.

Oh, really?

Tell me again, what exactly did he do to get into so much trouble?

You remember, he was caught at a movie theater jacking off.

Well, what kind of theater was is after all? Was it a regular theater, or a porn theater?

I think it was a porn theater.

Doesn't seem like that much of a crime.

Well, what if a guy wants to take his date to the movies and they have to deal with some guy masturbating next to them?

What?!?

Look, I'm just playing devil's advocate.

(Laughs) Sure, I can hear it now "Mr. Sleazy Movie Theater Manager, all I want is for me and my girlfriend to enjoy a good porn flick without people engaging in sexual acts around us. Is that too much to ask?

Parent Advisory Board: No Swears (Sort of)

I love movies. I also love films. And yes, there is a difference. When I was in the tail end of my college years, my school was endowed by a wealthy actor and former football player (AKA The Bandit) with a funding for a film school. In preparation for this endowment, "Humanities in the 20th Century" was offered and could count as a Humanities credit. Sure, we studied some modern "art" like Dali, Pollock, etc and even covered some architecture by Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright, but the course was mostly focused on one of the most accessible forms of art today-the film. Our professor had warned us that we would never watch movies with the same eye after taking his course. And I concur that he was quite right about that.

We had to view movies that were shown at the student union on Tuesday evenings. Each week a different cinematic theme was covered. For example, we watched Double Indemnity for mis en scene. We watched Bladerunner for sound editing. We saw Cabaret during the editing week where we learned about montages and sweeps and camera pans. There was the surreal week too where we saw an eyeball getting cut. And this was before Reservoir Dogs where the cutting of various facial body parts became cinematic gold. The course culminated with the viewing of Citizen Cane where all the techniques we learned were evidenced in this masterpiece (AFI said so). So when I watch movies, ahem films, I always remember that class and what I learned.

Now movies are another story. These are the works of art that serve purely as entertainment value. Granted, there are some movies that can be considered films and I guess some films have been marketed as movies. Semantics, you may say, but there is a difference. I'm not a snooty and pretentious person so I would be the first to admit that I actually went to the movie theater to watch "Alexander" when I could have gone and seen "Sideways" instead. One appealed to my basest yearnings, hello Colin Farrell naked (I'm so disappointed that I never got to see his racy video before it was stopped by a court injunction, not that I'm into porn by any stretch of the imagination, especially grainy low quality porn-like the Tonya Harding tape where Jeff Galooly went on and on forever-Ick!). Needless to say that was a big mistake and I eventually watched "Sideways" on DVD. But my husband gives me a hard time about that one to this day. We don't get out to the movies hardly ever. So you'd think we'd be more choosy.

Anyway, I will finally get to the true point of this post, but felt compelled to give all this needless background information about movies and films, blah, blah, blah, and The Bandit and Orson Welles blah blah blah and rehashing college learning without even mentioning drunken frat boys and keg parties which, face it, is some of the best parts of college life. But the true intention of this post was to lodge a complaint about movies that are shown on cable television. Specifically, I'd like to know whose in charge of editing out the bad language and offensive parts? Is this a central operation secretly headed by the FCC or Tipper Gore? Do screeners sit around and watch the movies and note all the "bad" parts that need to be changed? Then do they have someone else fill in all the "bad" parts with "good" parts or in some cases "not as bad" parts? Then are the cleaned up versions of the movies distributed to all the stations? Or is it that each station takes the movies they want to show and clean it up themselves? Inquiring minds want to know. Maybe I should know this, but do not.

So my complaint is that I think I would rather listen to the beep beep beep popularized by the Jerry Springer Show (does anyone really have that much of a potty mouth?) then the stupid drivel they have replaced all the naughty parts with. Likewise. they sometimes cut out crucial parts of scenes so that the offensive gesture or action is left out which leaves the viewer who may not have been fortunate enough to have HBO or to have seen the movie in the theater when first released wondering what the hell just happened. Or they may even take a little liberty with the original movie quote and change it to something slightly less offensive, but offensive nonetheless to some folks. Even though the said offensiveness might be very relevant to the scene in the movie, so why are they messing with it???

The inspiration for this post occurred when I was listening to (not watching) Grease on VH1 when I was cooking dinner the other night. By the way, I used to lock myself in my room, put on the Grease soundtrack (on LP), and pretend to be Sandy. I sometimes dressed in costume (oh how I wanted a real poodle skirt). And in case you were wondering, yes, I was a dork, but I refuse to mention the Bee Gee's poster where they are dressed in white suits and there are clouds around them like they are in heaven that adorned my wall around this same time because then it would really hinder my coolness factor, and I can't have that guy Anonymous all getting mean with me and telling me I'm stupid, blah, blah blah. Besides we all can't be be held responsible for the things we did when we were 8 or 9 or 19? But, with age comes maturity and I eventually moved on to re-enacting Xanadu.

So here are a few examples of movie "changes" that I have issue with (this is not exhaustive by any means):

Grease: During the notorious Greased Lightning number there are several offensive lyrics. You know this ain't no sh*t, we'll be getting lot of tits" has now been changed to something indecipherable. Something about town, or down. I couldn't quite make it out between the dicing and boiling that was going on in my kitchen at the same time. However, I clearly heard the lyric "You know this ain't not bragging, she's a real p*ssy wagon" Plain as day. Hello! I'm easily offended by this crude slang, unless of course he planned on driving around a lot of cats. And also apparently chicks are still allowed to cream over this mythical car. And that's not the least bit offensive to Mr. Movie Censor. Get out your whisks girls!

Urban Cowboy: On the subject of John Travolta, Urban Cowboy cuts out the part where Sissy shoots a bird at Bud. You remember towards the end of the movie after they got in the big fight about Sissy riding the mechanical bull at Gilley's and Sissy was all flirty with the ugliest pock faced cowboy. Then Bud hooked up with the weathy Houston girl who wanted her a real cowboy and when Sissy came and cleaned up the trailer for Bud after they were separated and left the note for him and rich girl hid the note and took credit for the cleaning. Well Sissy was mad because she didn't know the part about the rich girl hiding the note, so she was left to assume that insenstive Bud didn't have the decency to reach out to her so they could get back together and the credits could roll and "Looking for Love" would play and the personalized license plates would be restored to their proper place in the truck's back window. So when she was out hitching a car on her tow truck and Bud drove by and waved at her, she was supposed to flick him the a bird. However, in the censored version that small part is cut out. So we're left to wonder why Bud gets so mad at Sissy because the rest of the world didn't see Debra Winger's middle finger. I guess we're just supposed to believe that he gets angry at him for ignoring him, hitching a car (we already know that Bud couldnt' handle his wife particpating in manly activities), or what?

Vacation: Oh, I fondly remember this movie. "Sorry folks park's closed the moose outside should've told you so." Chevy Chase, the world never understood your comic genius until of course you came out with Fletch and then Fletch Part 2 which for the life of me I can't remember the title of and I'm way to lazy to look it up right now. But it might have had a catchy name like Fletchier. Anyway back to Vacation, in the part where the Griswold family visits their white trash relatives they have totally cut out the pot smoking scene (which by the way they did the same thing in the Breakfast Club so we're supposed to believe that these vastly different kids on detention decided to open up to each other because....? It couldn't be the pot that made them do it. They can only show this if there are negative counsequences involved like jumping out of windows). But the other part they screwed with is the girl cousin's line: "I'm the best french kisser, my dad said so." They have replaced this dementedly humorous line with "I'm the best french kisser, my science teacher said so." Apparently incest is a big no-no, but pedophilia (with a trusted teacher) not so much.

I know there are many more examples of this travesty aimed at cleaning up cable TV. So my protest is that when I want to hear swear words or see blasphemous gestures or delve into touchy topics then I will rent the real movie. I'm old school like that.