Lessons from The Land of Oz while traveling life’s yellow brick road
FROM 1959 TO 1991, the showing of The Wizard of Oz was an annual tradition on American network television. It was always shown as a TV special.
Those years correspond to the years when my children, born between 1960 and 1974, were somewhere over the rainbow with Dorothy and Toto, too. The annual showing of the movie became “must see TV” in our home.
Even my first-born joined in the annual family viewing well into her teen years. Pop popped the best popcorn, piping hot, served family style in a huge Tupperware bowl, slathered with layered butter. Of the 31 years of the movie being a television special, (It was not shown in 1963) I’m sure we were gathered around the small screen for almost 20 of them.
This family movie can be terrifying at times, with the green-faced Wicked Witch of the West relentlessly bearing down on Dorothy and her three companions. Yet because it was a time when home was the center of the universe for our kids, they felt protected from wicked witches and flying monkeys. Home was the place where scary black-and-white dreams were sent packing by the safety, security and the living color of the family circle.
Rich in symbolism and themes, the Oz story provides ample material for psychological interpretation. My personal analysis wouldn’t make it into a psych book, but it fits me like a pair of ruby slippers. Dorothy symbolizes the challenges children face as they grow and develop. My focus is on her traveling companions, the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, a composite of me trying to contend with the challenges and concerns of navigating the yellow brick road of marriage and fatherhood. At sometime in my life I have been all three, occasionally all of them at once.
Those early years of my journey down the yellow brick road were a profoundly
life-altering experience. So many unforeseeable challenges tested my ability to adapt. Children show up and you’re not ready. Especially the first one. Wow! Here’s this wonderful little person. Now what?
I was not ready for my first experience changing a messy diaper. You mean this one little kid did that? The crib pad looked the canvas for an excremental Jackson Pollock. There was no such thing as disposable diapers. Thank goodness my sister-in-law gave us three months of diaper service. I was thinking of asking the Stork to take the baby back and return her when she was potty-trained.
Then there was sleep deprivation. I can’t count the mornings I poured baby formula into my coffee and stirred it with a baby thermometer. Once at work, I reached for a handkerchief and pulled out a burp cloth. “It’s the newest fashion trend,” I explained.
So there I was, a scarecrow trying to cope with the most fundamental aspects of decision-making and wondering if I had the brains to see this husband and father thing through to the “death do us part,” part.
I was the Cowardly Lion, too, wondering where I was going to find the courage to guide the family entrusted to me through all the perils involved. Here are a few Dad-isms I remember saying:
“Should you call the pediatrician when the kid’s temp is 99.8 degrees?”
“Is that the same bone you broke last year?”
“How much for a snowsuit! We’re going sledding, not climbing Mount Everest.”
“That’s not a bill for tuition, it’s a ransom note.”
The Tin Man needed a heart. A father needs a heart big enough to acknowledge his role in the family and to mange with loving kindness, all the expectations placed on him.
During the early years of fatherhood my head was often filled with straw. Oh, I had good days, but I wasn’t always sure I had the backbone to see things through. Doubt was like a threatening fire.
You can read books, seek advice, see what others are doing, but one day you wake up and realize that like the good witch told Dorothy, “You’ve always had the power my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself.”
My wife and I must have done something right on that yellow brick road. I know I have a heart because it swells with pride when I see what great adults our children have become. As the years have passed, I can use the Tin Man’s oil can to soothe stiff joints under the spell of the wicked witch of ageing. More often than not my brain is working, although that’s open to debate among people who know me. As for courage, I can cope with most of life’s tribulations, except for hangnails and paper cuts. I’ve learned that there’s really no place like home, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.
Contact Jerry at jerrygervase@yahoo.com
