It would be nice to have some joy in our lives again.
You remember joy, right? A big, toothy, unselfconscious smile. Hands thrown in the air. Eyes wide open. You remember? Like biting into a Gorman’s hot dog on Fordham Road after school on a sunny Friday afternoon in autumn. Like cutting work for a midday showing of “Star Wars” the day it opened? Like seeing your kid pop out in the delivery room and you know your life is now forever changed for the better?
You know? You remember? Joy? As in: “Yayyyyyyyyy?”
There’s no joy in Mudville right now. Only a relentless drumbeat of dyspepsia from social media and mainstream news. Only the Twittersphere’s corrosive bile, flung from our so-called leaders, uncouth liars who should have had their mouths washed out with Lava soap as children back in the day.
Last week, however, I happened to see a television commercial that actually made me smile. A little girl with a winning smile and a lot of energy turns heads at local, regional and national talent contests. Judges beam in appreciation of her enthusiasm. The child’s parents are awash in pride.
The look on the kid’s face is an expression I’d long-forgotten: pure unadultered joy!
I go online to learn more about the ad. Big mistake. The caustic comments on You Tube caught me off-guard. And that no doubt speaks more to my naivete than the ill-will of the commenters — here are but a few:
“The girl dancing makes me wanna throw up”
“If I see this commercial one more time I’m going to stab my eyes and ears out”
“She rides the short bus for sure”
“Most obnoxious untalented brat kid ever. Not dancing. Just jumping like a clumsy cloying clown and acting like a spoiled attention midget. Parents obviously blind. No talent no grace no rhythm no skill.”
Wow. Such venom. That’s a lot to unpack, as some say these days. People take the time to go online and spew about a fictional kid in an ad that encourages parents to save for entry fees? Folks, get a life!
it’s no wonder that I’m slinking towards the exit doors to various social media platforms. The thrill is gone. Too much anonymous word-bomb throwing. Not enough kindness. Certainly not enough joy.
Gorman’s is long gone. And I think I’ll pass on the opening of “The Joker.” But maybe tonight I’ll give my son a call. And then practice the piano — headphones most definitely on.