Our theme for the month of October is “childhood fears.”
I have a few memories from the trip my family made to Disney World in April of 2003. The most vivid is the moment when I cut my thumb open on the gate leaving the Dumbo ride and had to go to Disney ER, but there’s also the 3D Bug’s Life experience in the big tree with the bugs crawling on the ceiling, and the laps we made through the Buzz Lightyear ride.
“What about the scores of beloved characters roaming the sidewalks?” you might ask. Did I achieve my dream of meeting the heroes of my favorite movies? Did I squeal with delight as I ran into the arms of Minnie Mouse?
No. At one point my mom nudged me to go over and meet Snow White, but of course by “meet Snow White,” I mean “meet a strange lady who is dressed as Snow White.” Even as a five-and-a-half-year-old, I was under no delusion that this person had any connection to the character from the movie I had seen. But my mom gently encouraged me to go over and get a picture.
Maybe it would’ve been different if it had been someone affiliated with an IP (intellectual property) I was more attached to, but I suspect not. I have had a, dare I say, rational suspicion of mascots and their ilk for as long as I can remember.
Every year approaching Christmas, we’d make several trips to the Christiansburg mall, and I’d feel a complex mix of excitement and wariness at the decorations and partitions that heralded the arrival of Santa. I’m sure my parents had me sit on his lap at least once, but I mostly remember stealing peeks through the gaps in the dividers as we walked around the perimeter on our way to Belk. There he’d be, sitting on his chair, with various staffers milling about taking pictures or ushering kids through the line. I’d imagine him looking up as I slowed down to spot him, eyes locking on mine, perhaps exchanging a nod of respect, and then I’d scurry away to catch up with my family. His was a powerful presence that I was wary of being caught in.
Once per season throughout middle and high school, I’d have a basketball game at conference rival Faith Christian School. They were the school from the bigger city. They had the nicest, newest gym…and some sort of mysterious relationship with the nearby Chick-fil-A. One of those cows would show up at almost every game, emerging from the set of doors on the far side of the gym like the Grim Beefer, ominous in his undeniable authority. He’d work the stands, putting hearts in the eyes of my teammates and their younger siblings even though he had no reason to be there, lurking in my periphery while I tried to box out during a free throw and distracting me during a huddle.
If the HokieBird walked past me on the concourse at a Virginia Tech basketball game, I’d go on high alert. Not with a sense of panic or urge to run, just a strong desire to not accidentally get trapped in any sort of interaction. Sure, it may start with just a high five, but then next thing you know they’re trying to communicate some sort of nonverbal joke and you don’t know whether or not to look into their flat black eyes and you certainly don’t know when you’ll be able to exit the interaction.
I think I did eventually relent to taking the picture with the princess at Disney World, and my mom has a picture of my brother and me with Mickey, so I conceded to at least a couple interactions.
Perhaps I envy those whose childhoods were characterized by a bit more wonder and a bit less suspicion. I certainly now have great respect for the work that these character actors and mascots do. And I’m happy to report that the concept has been redeemed in recent years, thanks to the tireless efforts of the fine folks who run a race at every Nationals game wearing giant presidents’ heads. I’d be honored to shake their hand.
Christina Ribbens (’19) studied history, studio art, and data science at Calvin and public humanities at Georgetown. She now lives in the part of Virginia that’s almost Washington, DC where she helps award grants to arts nonprofits. She takes a lot of walks to admire the landscaping in peoples’ front yards, mostly listens to British comedians’ podcasts, and likes to make friends via sports.
