Reflections Of A Bygone Movie Era And The Imagination Magic Instilled By Good Fathers

My step-father was always on the move. Those of you with a good dad around can probably relate. I’m wasn’t sure my step-dad actually even slept… that is until he purchased a sleep apnea machine that theory was shot down in a sea of Vaderesque mechanical breaths! While my three brothers and I (three of the four were wedding bonus gifts) looked forward to the weekend to have fun, dad was always planning the next project. 

When I say project, he created a miniature greenhouse/shed where he could start his own seedlings in the winter, built a huge deck attachment, a trellis, a playhouse on stilts for us… It was incredible! The man made a chess set on his wood lathe for fun. 

Knowing the habits of four boys, he would disconnect the TV antenna in the morning (genius) and reconnect it at night. It was a switching system he designed — of course. So, at night, the four boys would be watching the glory days of sitcoms. Dad would walk through the living room and glance at us, glance at the TV, shake his head and walk away. I didn’t know that growing up in a single parent home in post World War II England was incredibly difficult. By all accounts, his mom worked two jobs her entire life, he worked any job he could as did his sister. This kept the lights on and food on the table. 

For us, mom and dad provided everything. It took years to realize how our childhood must have seemed like a paradise to him. So, in context of the nightly routine (the walk of shaming I now call it), one night he stopped. “The Wizard of Oz” was on television and Dorothy was just about to discover technicolor… er… Oz.  Then came the miracle. Dad sat down. 

In the moments that Judy Garland processed a reality so spectacular it defied all logic, Dad relayed, “I saw this in the theatre. When Dorothy opened the door and the colors came on the screen, the entire theatre gasped”.  For that moment, I caught a glimpse of a man who never stopped as a child.  He was overwhelmed, and I can’t even type this without getting a bit misty eyed. It’s that sort of magic that entertainment can instill in us that we might forget until it catches us once more.

There is a never-ending debate about the re-write/remake and digital alteration of classic media. The misconception is one of an inability to grow or change or adapt. If anything those of us who truly love story telling and  format advancement. Retroactive application stalls current and future creation. The ability to share a timeless classic with the next generation is not in opposition to sharing in the next experience. It is, instead, instilling an understanding of how and why the newest advancements are possible. 

The original poster for Star Wars: A New Hope; Copyright Walt Disney Company

My (step) dad was always upgrading technologically, while simultaneously loving the past. It would never have occurred that one of our strongest bonds would come from the simple deviation in a nightly ritual that led to a glimpse of the boy that became the unstoppable man. Yet, that is one of the first memories I process when I remember him. A film, still obtainable, that can briefly transport me to the night of the unthinkable. The night a fifth boy was added to the fray and all it took was a brief pause and a couple of hours of uninterrupted magic (save for the commercials).

Here’s to the magic of entertainment made in new ways and how it captures us even years later. And here’s to dads who sometimes can’t stop making paradises for their children. It’s there that so many of us found our own magic in a shared imagination and small screen theater.