Set the scene: Two cute little girls in the back seat, prepared to wiggle. One is a toddler, still thinking we’re going somewhere to watch a Wiggles video. The other an eight-year-old who will never actually publicly admit this trip. Nor will she ever speak of what she’s done.
But I have pictures. Insert Mandark laugh here.
We arrived at the theater, parked and stood in a very, very, very long line to get merchandise. I went up with instructions to get only a t-shirt (extra small) and a program. Sadly, they didn’t have adult sizes because I’d wear a Captain Feathersword shirt if I could. I came back with what I was instructed to purchase. Plus a cute little hat.
We found our seats and Gertrude flipped through the program, pointing out each Wiggle and discussing their various educational backgrounds. She was being very germane for a toddler. The theater slowly began to fill with a variety of other young squirts, all primed for some intense wiggling.
At this point, I think Gertrude was still convinced we were going to see the Wiggles on a screen. They were piping in the CDs as a preshow and everyone was singing and clapping along.
We discussed the finer points of the possible set list with the family behind us and I noticed that two sockless brothers who were in charge of business development at a now defunct company that once employed me were sitting in front of us with their vapid, anorexic trophy wives. I ignored them.
The lights dimmed (but did not go out because there would be a collective scream of terror from the toddlers in the audience) and an announcement came on letting us know that very soon we would be in Wiggle World. There was a collective gasp and a murmur of excitement. That was from the parents, especially those moms who were getting all verklempt waiting to see Anthony Wiggle (who, alas, was out for surgery).
And the Wiggles hit the stage. Matilda was on her feet dancing like she was at Woodstock. Gertrude clung to her mother’s neck and stared at the stage, confused. This wasn’t a video.
She stayed like that for the first few songs. Her face looked like she was going through some sort of inner-turmoil. I expected her to stand up and say:
“What manner of witchcraft is this father? These once two-dimensional characters from that charming little Aussie TV show are now cavorting in front of us as if they are alive. Ha ha! I know better. Things on TV aren’t real. Those charming, colorful characters live in a plastic box by our TV and wait patiently until we summon their spirits.”
As we got a little deeper into the show, she became more concerned. “DO YOU NOT SEE? THEY ARE ALIVE! ALIVE! DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS REPRESENTS?”
Apparently she didn’t either. She moved over to my lap, because it had a better view. Slowly the little head started to bop. And she started doing pieces of the dances. And then her legs started to move and then . . . she couldn’t handle it anymore. She hopped off my lap and into the aisle and the Wiggle was upon her. She planted one foot firmly in front of the other and started gyrating in a way that only my child could. With no sense of rhythm or style. One arm would swing up and the other would flail behind her. Her little diapered butt shook and wiggled, but the legs never moved. All the while, her little red Wiggles cap was on her head, backwards, making her look like some sort of thug.
She picked up on that vibe too. There were two little prissy girls standing in front of her. They were holding hands and kind of swaying in a mindless, cult sort of way. Gertrude looked at them as if they were freaks and whenever they would turn around, she’d stare at them with a look that said, “Got a problem? I’ll kick your diaper from here to daycare.”
Luckily, the tensions never elevated.
For the rest of the show Gertrude and Matilda rocked and wiggled their little hearts out (despite the fact that Matilda will never admit to being there).
One of the highlights of the day was when I was taking pictures of the festivities Gertrude grabbed the camera from me and decided to try her hand at the process. She framed it up and looked ready to snap but change her mind, shifted the camera and reframed the photo. She’s had an obsession with cameras lately.
All in all, the Wiggles were a great hit. Both girls had a wonderful time and talked about it for the rest of the day.
We got pizza for dinner. When it was served, Gertrude said, “I saw the Woggles!”
She had a bath. Gertrude said, “I saw the Woggles!”
She got dressed. Gertrude said, “I saw the Woggles!”
She was put down for bed. Gertrude said, “I saw the Woggles!”
She woke up in the middle of the night. Gertrude said, “I saw the Woggles!”
A lot of people told me how sorry they felt for me, that I’d have to spend a few hours watching children’s entertainment which would surely rot my brain and make me die from hyperglycemia from all the sugary crap raining from above. I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry that they have to view children’s entertainment that way.
It wasn’t about me. It was about her. And it always will be. It’s not about the parents. It’s about the happiness and enjoyment of a child. The enjoyment of a thing that is so pure and unadulterated that it can only be a child’s joy.
Because the look of sheer joy that was on my daughter’s face, the total bliss and her ecstatic, jubilant dancing, and her pride and astonishment at the experience would have been worth anything. I would walk over hot coals to provide her with that joy again. I’d do anything for my children’s happiness. I’ll carry around the look of shock and happiness on that little girl’s face for the rest of my life.
She won’t be this age forever. She’ll grow and find her own life. Right now I am her life. And my wife and I managed to provide her with what amounted to the best day she’s ever had thus far. And it’s all thanks to four goofy guys in colored shirts who sang songs about potatoes, fruit salad and wobbly camels. And I thank them for allowing me the opportunity to share such a wonderful and happy experience with a little girl who gives my life meaning.
And not only that, despite the fact that I mostly watched what my daughter was doing instead of the stage, I enjoyed the show too. I sang, clapped along and even wiggled a little myself.
You know what? I say it with pride to close my blog.
“I saw the Woggles!”
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