We had a scheduled C-Section, thanks to a large breech baby with a short umbilical cord, so we knew when he’d arrive. During our last weekend of freedom, we went to see “Where The Wild Things Are”, the film adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s classic storybook.
Though the movie was quite picturesque, what stood out most to me was how they managed to turn a book containing a total of 10 sentences into a movie 104 minutes long. Also notable, it featured larger-than-life animatronic monsters, one of which sounded exactly like Tony Soprano.
|"Max, let's grab some Gabagool & head to the Bing"|
But Sendak’s tale of young Max and his quest to find his place in the world resonated with me. I’d read the book countless times as a child, but none in the last 30 or so years. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how much I identified with Max. Like him, I left the familiar place I was raised (Ohio) where I often wore unique non-traditional attire (tie-dye shirts) and moved to a far-off land filled with Wild Things (Los Angeles).
When I arrived in my new distant land, many things didn’t turn out as I expected. Like Max, I sought to become king of the wild things. And even though that hasn’t happened yet, like Max my journey continues. After more than a dozen years I’ve battled my share of monsters, attended numerous Wild Rumpuses and I’m still here to tell the tale.
Now as I raise my Little Dude, I look forward to the day that he gets to hear Sendak’s classic for the first time. And I hope that he is not afraid to express his creativity and individuality, like Max, for better or worse.
Maurice Sendak died yesterday at the age of 83.
May his stories continue to inspire little Wild Things for generations to come.
|Maurice Sendak (on the right) and a friend.|