Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life.
Once upon a time, about three hours ago at 6:30pm, I was desperately seeking motivation and embarked on a written profession of love and affection dedicated to my pup, Bernadette. She was pampered to a fancy pants haircut today, and she’s looking pretty cute. I thought it fitting as she yelped and whimpered, staring longingly in distress at her new food bowls, which she appeared to perceive as foreign alien objects out to destroy her. I initiated writing. I very quickly feared this piece to be a never ending story … Originally about Berns, segued into a reflection on my childhood sweetheart of a canine, Shamous. Tough to tie it all down. I was ever so grateful when a young voice disrupted my nostalgic driven, never ending reflective rant with, “You feel like going out for frozen yogurt?”
Relieved , I headed into the flamboyant joint behind Michael. He’s coaching me on how the serve yourself set-up works and I’m listening in amusement. As we’re scooping through the smorgasbord of toppings, he tell’s me, “Dad said I can watch Robocop.”
“Dad’s out of his mind, honey. You cannot.”
He laughs. “What? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s gory and you don’t need to watch those sorts of things. There’s plenty of other good movies out there.”
“What? Come on, Mom.”
“I can show you good 80’s movies too you know, not that Robocop falls into that category, but I have my supply of the greats I can introduce you to.”
“Like tons… thinking… Like The Neverending Story. Insanely good, and you’re going to remember it for the rest of your life, mark my words.”
“Ok. Fine. I’ll watch it…” he agrees as we make our way out through the glass doors and into the damp parking lot.
The second I hear the first note of the theme song play, I know I was right. My own childhood memories come flooding back with every scene. Only now, I am laughing and waiting… waiting for his reaction. Waiting for him to cry when Artex dies in the swamp. Waiting for him to laugh at the little old scientist falling out of the bucket. Waiting for him to cheer for Falcor, fall in love with the gentle stone giant, and curse the bloody wolf.
My mind thinks of Oscar Wilde’s words as we watch the final scenes of, The Neverending Story. There we were, cheering and laughing as Sebastian rides Falcor through the city streets vengefully in pursuit of three juvenile bullies whom retreat cowardly into a dumpster.
“Falcor looks just like Bernie, Mom!” Michael yells as he is hysterically laughing. He’s been laughing about this throughout the entire movie. It’s completely true and Michael has been calling Falcor, “Bernie’s Grandma.”
“I know.” The laughter is contagious. I crack up every time Falcor is soaring through the sky, thinking of Berns.
So does life imitate art or does art imitate life? I start with life and Bern’s haircut and quirks, begin weaving it into a creative slice, only to become distracted by life and an outing with my son, which leads me to the cinematic artistry of The Neverending story, consequently transporting me back to memories of my life and childhood, rebounded back to Berns, and the subsequent laughter which ensued with my son brings me here, to you.
You tell me.