Last night I had the opportunity to watch the new movie remake of He-Man, and I really enjoyed the tongue-in-cheek writing. Like many of you, I grew up on Saturday Morning cartoons. I had an itemized schedule of Mystery Machine’s and Purple Gorilla’s in dune buggies, a Waskilly Wabbit and a hunter with a stutter all listed out starting early in the morning and ending at 11:00 when I was finally kicked outside to act out all those story lines. And, among them was this cartoon “He-Man”! I was a bit old for it when it came out, and from an adult standpoint it was one of the most ridiculously named storylines ever created, but dang I loved the idea of having a hero come to the rescue.
Perhaps there is just comfort knowing who the good guys are and easily identifying the bad guys to settle a heart and mind. The bad guys were always portrayed monstrously by their actions, their words, their appearance. The heroes were strong, pure, caring, and always helped people by opposing evil. The bad guys always wanted people hurt, dominated, exploited. Scooby-Doo always came out the hero and the bad guys always lost. Saturday morning Ethics were easy to understand.
Then, I grew older and I realized that the morality of reality seemed extraordinarily flexible. I was told that the weak were weak because they chose to be weak, the poor were poor because they chose to be poor. The sick were sick…. you get the point. Somehow the absolute ethics of my Saturday morning education didn’t reflect in my life or experience outside that television, no matter how much I longed for it.
In time we are asked to change our heroes. Superman is crushed by cryptonite, Hulk is ruined by his temper, and as much as I want to believe that there is something greater than this world, God still somehow has babies born with defects, children who live in pain, parents who lose their will to go on in this world. But we yearn for that hero who made everything ok in the end that we loved on Saturday morning television.
We yearn so much that we forget that those stories were just stories for children. The people we lift up to solve all our problems are just skin and bone humans, and if they tell us they are our answer to all that hurts, well…
I’ve struggled to understand how relatively smart people could fall for a leadership that has visited the depredations upon the world that this one seems to enjoy. I’ve thought them idiots, racist pigs, deplorable trash and fools, especially as the truth of this man’s toxic morality comes more and more to light. He’s raped, stolen, and killed to cover his crimes and yet he is loved by a troubling number of people. It’s not logical, it’s not rational.
But outside the horrible scum that have latched onto his leprously-stained skirts in this bid for power at any cost administration follow a horde of broken and hurt people who somehow thought this con-artist cared about anyone but himself. They are the children who sat before the television on Saturday mornings and believed somehow that the blond-haired hero with the great propaganda was here to save them. They drank the cool-aid, bought the shirts – and the hats, they believed the hype because they believed the hurt. They are not going to release that hope easily once given and because of that any atrocity is forgiven.
I fearfully believe this Land of Liberty is lost for an inability to understand right or wrong. The utopian hopeful are mocked by a populace that have come to love their chains as they fight to defend those who would make them chattel because they fear that the people hoping to release those bonds have ulterior motives. I share their fear, in part, because I know that they who thirst for power will shed their skin to walk amongst the hopeful seeking a new path. Morality is cheap for those who mock ethics, and people broken and drowning will destroy anything for hope of salvation.
-Randy
Scottie's Playtime 