What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Valentine's Day?

“If you were a pill, I’d take a handful at my will
And I’d knock you back with something sweet and strong”
– Paul Westerberg (The Replacements) “Valentine”

Valentine’s Day is probably the only dualistic holiday where our society permits us to love it or loathe it. There are hundreds of lists counting the top love songs and just as many lists of anti-love longs. We can go out to dinner and a movie with that special someone or stay at home and watch slasher movies instead. Valentine’s Day is the only holiday you can protest without criticism. As much fun as preempting Thanksgiving Afternoon Bowl games for a Jason Voorhees slaughterthon might be, this may cause a slight protest from the rest of the guests. Christmas also requires a certain stereotypical behavior: go to relative’s house, eat, be nice to some people you don’t like, eat more, open up gifts, go home and pass out. Little variation is permitted these aforementioned holidays. Valentine’s Day you can pretty much do what you darn well please.

Earlier this week, I was discussing with an esteemed colleague about bring the old “inner Linus” out of retirement to combat the commercial forces driving many of us on Valentine’s Day. Although a romantic at heart, my friend despises the concept that we are supposed to spend a day’s wages to prove to our significant other we care about them. Dozen roses: check. Decent bottle of wine (no Boone’s Farm!): check. Box of chocolates with multi-colored mystery fillings: check. Overpriced dinner at a restaurant where the special is more than likely something you can cook yourself: check. Obligatory Hallmark card: check. Expensive gift given because you will be in the doghouse if you don’t buy one: check. Checkbook with no money to write checks: check. It’s easy to see why anyone’s “inner Linus” is clinging to their security blanket for protection. Valentine’s Day can definitely have a smackdown with Halloween as our most commercial holiday.

I decided to leave the “inner Linus” alone after seeing a handful of people going home today with Valentine’s cards and flowers. I realized many people use Valentine’s Day as one of the few occasions to express overt affection for their loved ones. It was heartwarming in a Capra-esque way to see an older gentleman waiting in line to purchase a card. Many relationships don’t last a year, let alone a decade or five. Although somewhat ritualistic, those who give a Valentine gift someone after being with them for so long is a celebration of affection, commitment, and one that is sadly diminishing. It’s great imagining a box in this older couple’s house containing all the Valentine’s cards they’ve given over the years, which is a great reminder to their children and grandchildren of a couple’s eternal love for each other.

A few years ago, I was going through a box of my Grandma’s pictures. I’d pull one out and she would conjure a memory vivid enough to have happened yesterday. I eventually came across a letter my late grandfather wrote to her before they were married. Written during the Great Depression when jobs were scarce, he had moved away from her in hopes of earning enough money to come back, marry her and start a family. Needless to say, he did. I’d like to think this type of devotion exists within many of us today. A willingness to sacrifice short-term fulfillment to build the foundation for a lifetime of memories. The concept of buying a manufactured home in a cookie-cutter development with a quaint front yard and children playing in the street may seem a little silly to us, but for a generation that lost nearly everything, it represented hope of a better life. If flowers, a card or a steak dinner helps anyone remember what’s really important in life, by all means, do it.

That said, if you are stressing yourself worrying about Valentine’s Day, hoping the florist will still have fresh roses at noon, the restaurant won’t be too crowded or if your new dress won’t impress, take a step back. This ain’t what love is about at all, Carrie Bradshaw. It’s about enjoying the moment when you realize a feeling is more than emotion but rather an infection. It’s about looking each other in the eye of a new morning and just saying “hi.” It’s about silence that is intimate, rather than uncomfortable. It’s about listening, understanding and cuddling. If you’re fretting about going out, stay home. Send the kids to Grandma’s house. Get to know each other better. Instead of dancing to a band, enjoy the movement of your eyes when they gaze into your lover. Make some popcorn, have a food fight and remind yourselves that you’re still two goofy kids on a first date.

Like Christmas, Valentine’s Day can also be a day of sadness, a reminder of those we’ve lost or wish to be closer to our hearts. It’s hard to be alone or feeling lost when so many are celebrating the enigmatic concept of love. This is probably why slasher flicks are so popular this time of year. I’d like to think most of us aren’t out in the woods, waiting for a rescue that will never come, but sitting in the still place inside ourselves where the candle never burns out. For all those wishing to be closer to someone somewhere, please find happiness in the dreams and fantasies that sometimes do become reality if your faith is strong and belief is true. Sometimes love is closer than you think. Be it dharma or karma, the world has a way of working things out. Love is indeed a many splendored thing. It is the tender trap and also a bitch. It is also what keeps us going and keeps us believing that there is someone out there beneath the shining stars that feels the same as you do. Make a wish and keep your light burning. Sometimes reality is just a dream away. May it come true, as each and every one of us have a place and a time. A time to dance with the stars and sleep with angels, for tomorrow is making Valentines.

Retro-Review: Sesame Street - The Death of Mr. Hooper

Last night, I watched something that made me cry. Easily one of the most powerful pieces of television I’ve ever seen, it reached into my childhood and brought forth my latent four-year old self. This show deserved a “Best Drama” Emmy far more than any of the now-dated shows which were considered. Is anyone really watching “Hill Street Blues” box sets? “St. Elsewhere?” “Cagney and Lacey?” However, I’m pretty sure somebody somewhere is watching “Sesame Street” right now. Either on DVD, You Tube or in another country, “Sesame Street” has been a constant presence in our lives since its debut in 1969. “Sesame Street” has never been associated with gut-wrenching, heart-stopping moments like those regularly seen on cop, law and medical shows – except for one time. In 1982, Will Lee, the actor who played storeowner, Mr. Hooper, died of a heart attack.

The show’s creator, Jim Henson, never believed in talking down to children and chose to address Mr. Hooper’s death through the show’s eternal three year old, Big Bird. In a rare scene featuring all of “Sesame Street’s” human characters, they support Big Bird through the three stages of grief: denial, anger and acceptance. All of the actors gave strong performances in this segment with Sonia Marzano as “Maria” and Bob McGrath as “Bob” being particularly moving. Both actors were able to combine skill and actual emotions, unable to hold back tears as they delivered their lines. The result is a moving mediation on what death means without identifying with any specific culture or dogma.

My son, Shane, is 3 ½ years old, approximately the same age as Big Bird. He is discovering the concept of dying, picking up on its never-ending presence in the media and daily conversation. I guess that was inevitable. Like many boys, he makes little robots with his Legos and engages them in imaginary battle. As one of them is destroyed, he shouts, “They died!” My wife and I asked him not to say the phrase and Shane asked “Why? Why not die?” This was a much tougher question to answer than why the sun rises or why it gets cold in winter. It was clear Shane did not understand the meaning of his words or at least what the words mean to adults.

I was stumped. Maybe it’s the video games. They’re easy enough to blame for children’s problems. Shane had started to play a platform game based on the cartoon “Ben 10”, which resembled the classic Castlevania games on the old Nintendo. He’s so proud of himself when he completes a level: “Da-Da! Da-Da! I win! I got the bad guys!” When he loses, he sadly states, “I died.” It’s definitely a “Cat’s In the Cradle” situation. Shane has seen his Daddy play tons of video games in the basement. Too small to master the controls of an Xbox or Wii, he wanted to play a game he could be good at, too. I have been playing video games since I was his age, spending every quarter I had on “Pac-Man, “Space Invaders” and “Asteroids.”

As I struggled on how to explain death to Shane, I was watching my You Tube playlist of educational videos with my 23-month old, Romana. I named it “Romana’s Playlist” after my little girl who loves music and words. The playlist mostly consists of classic “Sesame Street” clips, ones my 34-year old brain still remembers. While Romana and I were watching the comedic exploits of Ernie, Grover and Cookie Monster, I noticed a “related video” link to the “Sesame Street” episode addressing the death of Mr. Hooper. I had never seen this clip. When it aired, I was nine years old and in the third grade. My PBS viewing habits had switched to afternoon viewings of “Doctor Who.” As I watched it, I felt like the TARDIS had taken me back in time to a place long forgotten in my subconscious. Unable to interfere, I watched the drama unfold and wept.

My mother probably remembers Mr. Hooper’s death better than I do. When we were unboxing my old toys for Shane and Romana to play with, we found the “Little People” figure of Mr. Hooper. While looking at it, Mom said, “There’s Mr. Hooper. He died.” Her voice was sad, yet reassuring. She knew Mr. Hooper better than I did. My mom stayed home and raised me until I started school. We watched countless episodes of “Sesame Street” together. She identified with the human characters as well as I did, if not better. Mr. Hooper, Bob, Maria, Luis, Olivia, Susan, Gordon, David and Linda shared an hour with us five days a week. They were not just your neighbors. They were your friends. They exemplified the good in us all. Possessing unending optimism, humor and compassion, these were people you wanted to live in your neighborhood. Losing Mr. Hooper felt like losing a close friend. My mom never watched soap operas. If she escaped into another world, it was the utopia created by Jim Henson: a place without prejudice or conflict.

Shane came home today from swimming lessons in one of his cute, goofy moods. My wife, Andrea, was trying to get his coat and shoes off while Shane made jokes. Making his fingers into play guns, he shouted “Psheww! Psheww! You died!” at Andrea. I chose this time to show what I learned from “Sesame Street”:

Shane?
Yeah, Dad?
Do you want Mommy to go away?
No.
Then you don’t want Mommy to die.

Shane didn’t mention dying for a while after that.

It was not just the sensitive empathy for Big Bird that made this episode of “Sesame Street” exceptional, but its reaffirming hope, trust and belief in the circle of life at the episode’s end. The juxtaposition of Big Bird hanging Mr. Hooper’s portrait in his room as he is introduced to a newborn child is as profound and affecting as any piece of literature ever created. With death, there is also life and when there’s life, there is hope. This hope is inherent in the human race and defies the specter of death. It is in the hearts of children everywhere: in their imaginations, on a street filled with friendship and in the memories of all us Big Birds.