When I was in elementary school, my mom and I would house-sit for a close friend. Friend had a host of delightful contents in her home that we didn't.
Things like a really cool plastic record player with Chitty Chitty Bang Bang 45s, and a snack cabinet with actual snacks, not just peanut butter and the odd off brand cereal box. No, there was a plethora of 80's era middle of the shopping aisle selections...Ritz crackers, Fruit Roll-ups, legit Lays Potato Chips. Oh, and Pudding Pops in the freezer. Red die and Cosby be damned!
Another favorite was full cable with HBO and The Disney Channel. I'd been coasting along with the Saturday Night family movie, not even aware that on repeat for the fortunate few, Freaky Friday, Herbie, and The Incredible Shrinking Woman could be enjoyed so many times Jody Foster's lines were placed in the forever memory file. My all time favorite Disney Classic that seemed to play every time we were on house sitting duty was The Parent Trap. I know you're all pretty familiar with Lindsay Lohan's breakout, pre-train wreck debut as Susan and Sharon, but I'll always think of Hayley Mills as a true sister.
We can all agree it's a darn cute story that plenty a preteen could identify with...divorce in the Me Generation rising to pandemic hysteria. Myself victimized by that filthy contagion. I secretly hoped for an unknown sister to share the burden of my gene pool, but mostly I wanted a dad like Brian Keith (having neigh an example to set my sights on) and I wanted to live the life of camping, outdoorsy-ness, and all the pretty little pictures that were framed in each "let's get together" scene. Anyone who knows me has heard me refer to The Parent Trap in some form. Its like a thought bubble that follows me around, informing my sensibilities, my choices of purchase, a mental reference point for feeling this life is meeting my cutely dysfunctional 50s narrative.
I recognize that this touchstone in life measuring has a possible down side when coming up against the realities of actual life without Camp Inch to whistle off too, when Vickie really doesn't get scared off, and when the story-line becomes a bit more complicated (i.e. Brian Keith's life was apparently not so full of joy). When I mentioned to my analyst (whom I carefully researched and selected due to her expertise in Jungian analysis) that I'd placed so much emphasis on this story, particularly in my aesthetic outlook, she was not mildly amused as most folk I've confessed this to. No, the eyebrows raised for much longer than is comfortable to dismiss for an intuitive type. No, this little weird nugget was informing her about something. Something that might be nudging my perspective on reality and existential comfort off of center.