Ding

 When the movie was over, and the credits rolled, I asked my wife what she thought. I already knew, since at least twice during the film she had said, "good movie" out loud. And since I could see her eyes brimming with tears, I knew that she had felt it too. 

I have been lugging around Bless The Beasts And The Children in my heart and mind for fifty years. Back in 1971 I was nine years old and saw this story of a bunch of misfit children who took on the adventure of rescuing a herd of captive buffalo from slaughter. It was easy for me to project myself into this story of "dings," useless creatures, nobody wants them, their camp counselor insists they have no excuse for being alive. Other groups of boys have cool Native American nicknames: Apache, Navajo. The "dings" are given their own signifier: Bedwetters. Not quite ten years old, I decided then and there while watching this movie that I would never go to summer camp, and if I did, I would want to end up in the Bedwetters cabin. 

In my mind, I concocted scenarios in which I could rise to the top of the geek heap. Still a weirdo, but still recognized as a leader among weirdos. Not content just being the comic relief, and far too interested in justice to live too close to the juvenile delinquent label, I imagined leading a rag-tag group of my contemporaries on some brave mission that could lead to everyone else having to reevaluate the way they had thought of me. Maybe I could be a hero.

Just for one day.

Which essentially set the trajectory for my teenage years. It is most certainly what kept me in band rather than picking the "safe" spot on the wrestling team. It's what nudged me to buy that DEVO record the same day I bought my first Elvis Costello album. I chose the path I was on, and I savored the Bedwetter martyrdom. By acknowledging and accepting my low rung on the social ladder, I took solace in knowing that I had put myself there. I had no illusions about someday being accepted by the strata above me. If I was to be a nerd, I would be the best possible nerd, and if there were nerds around me that needed support or attention, I would give it to them. 

Rather than burden you with the story of my life from that point on, I can tell you that my lovely wife, whom I met while a member of that high school band, insists that it is the weirdos and the outcasts that make the most interesting people. A life of conforming leads to more conforming, and while it may not cause many sleepless nights and an easier time spent at summer camp, it doesn't make for much of a story. I should also point out that I never get a chance to free a herd of buffalo, but (spoiler alert) this also did not require me to die in a young and tragic way. It gave me something to hold onto that is my very own and fifty years down the line, I wouldn't have traded it for anything. 

Good movie, indeed.