Snakes On a Plane
Oct. 7th, 2006 04:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947On Sunday, August 20, 2006, Tony, Prisa, and their “significant others” came home for an end of summer visit and BBQ dinner. The movie, “Snakes on the Plane” was a topic of conversation for the evening. What does that phrase mean, anyway, “Snakes on a Plane”? Is it an existentialist mantra, like, “que sera, sera, what will be, will be?” Snakes are on the plane, and we are in the air, so deal with it, because we are not in a position to do very much about this problem. Life sucks, so deal with it. Shit happens, so squat and enjoy it. Perhaps I’m reading too much into the movie. Everyone just laughed at my questions and metaphors. “It’s just a movie, Dad!” Prisa exclaimed.
I’m not so sure. There seems to be a real parallel between the phrase “snakes on a plane” with the First Noble Truth of Buddhism (life is suffering), and St. Paul’s metaphor of the cross (life is a crucifixion).
I really believed that I had cracked the thematic code of the movie (without ever having seen it!), but my children ignored me. They did not laugh. They did not scoff. They simply said: “Dad, it’s just about snakes on a plane”. God bless them, they saw the obvious. Their mother raised them right.
The other issue of discussion was whether or not I needed a TiVo-like device on our television set. I told them, no. I didn’t need it; I didn’t want it; and I wouldn’t use it. They were shocked. They kept reminding me of all the nights I had fallen asleep trying to watch the television programs they were watching. I would invariably fall asleep, never seeing the conclusion of the story, and they would have to wake me, with the admonition, “Dad, it’s over, go to bed”. Wouldn’t it be better if those programs were automatically recorded, so I could watch them whenever I wished?
“No”, I told them, “I didn’t watch those programs to see how they turned out. I watched them to be with you”. It was never about entertainment; it was about proximity. I wanted to be with Prisa or Tonito as they watched TV, not watching my preferred TV programs as they stayed in their separate bedrooms. I wanted to hear them laugh, sigh, and grunt as they watched their daily fare of television programming. Just as Kathy and I used to plan on watching “Fraggle Rock” with the kids on Sunday evenings, I was always ready to watch “Farscape”, “Deep Space Nine”, “Wings”, “Quantum Leap”, “Real Life”, and “Survivor”, just to be close to them.
A moment of enlightenment occurred when I realized that I had done the same thing with my own Father. The years before he died, he would settle into the living room couch as if to watch TV with us. He never indicated his program choice; he was always willing to watch whatever we wished. As the minutes passed while we watched our programs, we would invariably hear his snoring. He had slipped quietly to sleep. I would then shake him awake, with the admonition, “Dad, go to bed. You fell asleep”. He would leap to alertness and tell me that he was fine. He refused to admit that he had lost consciousness. He did not want to leave; he wanted to be with us.
Now I get it. It had never been about my Dad watching a television series we wished to see. It was about being together. My Dad needed to be with us. He needed to feel our warmth and closeness, our love and affection. We were the hearth that warmed his soul. We were his family.
I’m not so sure. There seems to be a real parallel between the phrase “snakes on a plane” with the First Noble Truth of Buddhism (life is suffering), and St. Paul’s metaphor of the cross (life is a crucifixion).
I really believed that I had cracked the thematic code of the movie (without ever having seen it!), but my children ignored me. They did not laugh. They did not scoff. They simply said: “Dad, it’s just about snakes on a plane”. God bless them, they saw the obvious. Their mother raised them right.
The other issue of discussion was whether or not I needed a TiVo-like device on our television set. I told them, no. I didn’t need it; I didn’t want it; and I wouldn’t use it. They were shocked. They kept reminding me of all the nights I had fallen asleep trying to watch the television programs they were watching. I would invariably fall asleep, never seeing the conclusion of the story, and they would have to wake me, with the admonition, “Dad, it’s over, go to bed”. Wouldn’t it be better if those programs were automatically recorded, so I could watch them whenever I wished?
“No”, I told them, “I didn’t watch those programs to see how they turned out. I watched them to be with you”. It was never about entertainment; it was about proximity. I wanted to be with Prisa or Tonito as they watched TV, not watching my preferred TV programs as they stayed in their separate bedrooms. I wanted to hear them laugh, sigh, and grunt as they watched their daily fare of television programming. Just as Kathy and I used to plan on watching “Fraggle Rock” with the kids on Sunday evenings, I was always ready to watch “Farscape”, “Deep Space Nine”, “Wings”, “Quantum Leap”, “Real Life”, and “Survivor”, just to be close to them.
A moment of enlightenment occurred when I realized that I had done the same thing with my own Father. The years before he died, he would settle into the living room couch as if to watch TV with us. He never indicated his program choice; he was always willing to watch whatever we wished. As the minutes passed while we watched our programs, we would invariably hear his snoring. He had slipped quietly to sleep. I would then shake him awake, with the admonition, “Dad, go to bed. You fell asleep”. He would leap to alertness and tell me that he was fine. He refused to admit that he had lost consciousness. He did not want to leave; he wanted to be with us.
Now I get it. It had never been about my Dad watching a television series we wished to see. It was about being together. My Dad needed to be with us. He needed to feel our warmth and closeness, our love and affection. We were the hearth that warmed his soul. We were his family.
