A Great Big Hug

A Great Big Hug & A Kiss from Me to You

or:

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dweeb

When I left the safe comforts of childhood behind and began my new phase as a college freshman, one simple thought stood out from all the rest: "Man, I'm gonna get so much booty in college!"¹ But second to that, the other thought that stood out from the rest was that I came to realize that I'm not a child anymore. As I sit here, writing an essay for my required course, it's made painfully aware that, for the most part, it's my choice if I sink or swim in life. Gone now are the days where buying groceries and necessities was the job of the parent. Gone now are the days where the biggest concern in my life was what toy I should bring to the evening bath. Gone now are the days when "playtime" and "naptime" are fixtures of the daily schedule.² On the other hand, the situations you experience during your childhood will most likely affect your perception of the world around you and I am no exception. While the people, places and situations you meet in your early years naturally shape much of who you are, there's one aspect that forms you the most in your initial years of development: the stuff.³

I have always believed that the objects and things you surround yourself with can influence you as much as the people and moments you live in your life. And because children are particularly impressionable, the doodads and thingamajigs they interact with can form the basis of practically anything in their present, day-to-day life. Maybe they dress a certain way because they saw models in magazines and they wanted to be like them. They could have become a race-car driver because they cherished their Hot Wheels and Micro Machines and played with them constantly. Or, perhaps, maybe they are the way they are because they were obsessed with a TV show. Perhaps, a kids' TV show. Perhaps, a kids TV show starring a big, purple dinosaur whose merchandise you had to own all of cause you were obsessed with it.⁴ That last case was me. And, for the longest time, I had a pretty sizeable collection of all things Barney the Dinosaur.⁵

You see, from ages three to around seven and a half, I wasn't just enamored with the purple lug and his dino cronies. I was immersed, engrossed, and yes, addicted,⁶ to the antics and lessons of Barney and his pals. And the funny thing is, I can't even tell why. Was it the bright colors and catchy songs? Was it the personalities of the characters and the various different sets they occupied? Was it the lessons on knowledge, morality and goodwill?⁷ I wouldn't be able to tell you. Nonetheless, I was simply gaga over Barney and I made sure that everybody was going to know. And my parents, the loving, caring, supportive people they are, fueled my love for the character and got my all of the merchandise the stores could sell. If it had Barney on it, chances are, I probably owned it. I had to buy every single bit of merchandise that had even the barest hint of purple dino. Soon enough, it became almost life or death. I mean, how could I live without the plush, 12-inch Barney that sings "I Love You?" What ever would I do if I couldn't watch Barney's It's Time for Counting on precious DVD? How would I face the hardships life has presented me without having any of the 1993 2 inch plastic Barney figurines from the Lyons Group in my possession?⁸

Life was just not worth living without the legitimate hundreds of items I had owned at one point of Barney, the ever-lasting, all-Holy dinosaur, in home and out. My collection was partially portable at various points, because I simply could not go anywhere without at least nine Barney items accompanying me. Whether it was school, the grocery store, the library, the hospital, the movie theatre, I had to have a Barney with me at all times. Usually, once I was stuffed in the backseat of our old, maroon Kia minivan, surrounded by the usual assortment of approximately fifty Barney objects with me, I'd kick and scream that I forgot one in the house. Be it a fuzzy plush, a plastic ink stamp, a little Golden Book or a purple covered DVD⁹, based on my descriptions, they usually found the one I was looking for. But hell hath no fury like a child not getting the right Barney toy.¹⁰ And I could be a pretty picky child, too, so it was not that easy. Heaven help if that Barney toy had a black mouth inside instead of a purple one. Or, if you tried to bring Baby Bop or BJ alone, and not Barney himself. And may God himself have mercy on your soul if you even attempt to bring something with the Backyard Gang. Pardon my French, but I despised the ever-loving heck out of the Backyard Gang, Barney's gaggle of kid friends to help him with the lesson.¹¹ I couldn't help but be jealous of those lucky bastards who got to spend their afternoon with the green-tummied Messiah instead of me. But, I can look back on that and laugh; none of that Backyard Gang even matter to me anymore.¹²

As a matter of fact, around the age of eight, none of it mattered anymore. At that age, I had done something that I didn't even think would happen: I outgrew Barney. The shows and songs I had memorized line for line no longer had any relevance to me. The abundant toys I took to the car no longer rode with me to school or the store. I vividly remember sitting on my wood-paneled floor in front of the old widescreen TV in my living room and drawing a picture. Crafted in Crayola and drawn on computer paper, I drew a little man in red pants and his black dog in front of a big yellow house. I remember looking at the drawing and actually noticing that I hadn't drawn Barney at all. And that frightened me. I was actually scared at the prospect that I no longer had any joy for what once occupied a good five years of my life. I tried to play with the toys, and watch the shows, and sing the songs, but for the life of me, I couldn't get any joy out of it. So, after a great deal of thought, and I do mean a great deal of thought, I came to the conclusion that I should get rid of my collection. My parents, shocked as they were by this turn of heart from the self-admitted Barneyphile, supported me through this decision. I placed my entire collection - plushes, DVD's, books, the works - in a big purple bin and sending it off to the local church near my grandparents' house. Before I placed the lid on the bin, I took a look at my collection. Five years worth of fun, lessons and inspiration, heading off to a place where other children can attain joy from them. And I placed the lid on the bin and I never saw them again.¹³

While I was joking back there on what attracted me to Barney, I do actually know the answer; it was the music. I don't tell this to people often, but I have Asperger's Syndrome, in addition to having difficulty focusing and learning how to talk. My folks had tried every trick in the book and still didn't have an answer. Until they put on Barney. The music of Barney would get me up, dancing my little baby butt off. And they really started to take notice when I had finally started speaking, at the tender age of four. Back then, I spoke in a very sing-song manner, no thanks to that big, purple dinosaur. They saw my enthusiasm for the guy and the more Barney stuff I had, the more I wanted. But the Barn taught me an even bigger lesson than anything he taught in his seventeen years on the air: the beautiful thing about life is that it's temporary. We can't stay around forever and we can't be children forever. At some point, it's mandatory that we have to move on in life. Will whatever the future hold be scary? Yes. Undoubtedly yes. But will it also bring experiences and people and things you never would have known otherwise. Undoubtedly yes. Barney, in the peak of my obsession, fueled my quest for knowledge, told me that enough was not enough and that the world was my oyster through imagination and learning. So for that, I can never go back to the world of Barney that I once knew, but that doesn't mean I don't cherish it all the same.¹⁴

1 I might major in animation, but I minor in that fine ass!

2 Ok, naptime's come back big time, but still...

3 And yes, I am a consumer whore. Thank you for asking.

4 I think my "single" is showing again.

5 As you can probably tell, I try not to be fettered by illogical concepts, like "dignity."

6 But I'm not that into "Barney" anymore. Crack has currently filled that role.

7 Nah; probably the songs.

8 One of them was Barney the Traffic Cop, for God's sake! How could I not own it?!

9 We didn't have a DVD player in the car - I just needed it that bad.

10 I think Will Congreve said that one. You can quote me on that.

11 And that's a fucking fact.

12 Except you, Jeffrey. You little bitch.

13 Jesus Christ - I'm too depressed to make a joke down here. Damn.

14 Except you, Jeffrey. You little, fucking bitch.