Dora
is growing up. After eleven years of
adventures with her monkey pal Boots, after more than a decade of successfully
outwitting that silly Swiper the Fox, Dora is moving to the city. Although
she had been about seven years old throughout the original show’s duration,
Dora is now an adventurous tween eager to explore with a new assortment of
friends. For those interested, Dora & Friends: Into the City, will premiere on Nick Jr.
on Monday, August 18th. You
have been warned.
How do I know all this? Because, Dora has been a staple in our home
for nearly a half decade. Like many new,
well-meaning parents, we shielded our daughter from TV for, well, perhaps a
month. Then one day we both needed to
get dressed very quickly, probably because we were running late for some social
function, and so we plopped her in her swing, turned on the television, and the
rest is history.
She has loved Dora for most of her life. We have Dora building blocks, microphones,
guitars, DVDs, pajamas, talking dolls, non-talking dolls, talking books, and,
to balance out all the electronics, books that make you do the talking yourself. One of my most vivid memories, in fact—and by
vivid I mean psychologically unnerving—was listening to the same Dora the
Explorer episode over and over again a few years ago while driving to South
Carolina. From the backseat portable
DVR, I heard these words, for miles and miles, states and states: “Isa turn the wheel, turn the wheel Isa, Isa
turn the wheel, turn the wheel Isa…I’m turning the wheel, I’m turning the
wheel, I’m turning the WHEEEEELLL!”
And every time, thankfully, Isa, Dora’s bashful
Iguana friend, did indeed turn that wheel and avoided smashing her boat into
those rocks, which, for some odd reason, had eyeballs. I too, nearly turned the wheel numerous times
during that trip, into oncoming traffic.
However, I have already written a set of columns
about Dora the Explorer. This column is
not about Dora. This column, if you will
forgive me the indulgence, is about the little girl who has watched the show so
keenly these past five years and who will now begin her own new adventure on
August 18th, for that is the day kindergarten begins.
Our daughter is growing up.
Like a once misty island in the distance, this week
has been on our horizon for years, growing slowly, drawing closer, its details
coming into sharper focus with each passing day. Like everyone else, though, we have been so
busy actually manning the boat that landfall still seems sudden. Unexpected.
Abrupt.
We will cry next week, most likely, and I suppose
some might believe a man is not supposed to cry, but whatever. I’ve already gotten choked up about this
week. I’ve already gotten a little verklempt
about her first broken heart and her wedding day, too.
What has surprised me, though, is that I am not as
sad about the transition as I thought I would be. We have a treasure trove of memories utterly
bursting out of the lid, but I don’t find myself rummaging through them the way
I thought I would. The diamonds of her
infancy, the golden hoops of toddler days when she could push Thomas around the
track in intense concentration for what seemed like hours. I just don’t dwell on them much. I don’t take them out and shine them up the
way I thought I would.
Partially this hesitance to open the box comes from
the understanding that such a practice can be both detrimental and even
dangerous. Over sentimentality can be detrimental
because we owe it to our present to keep our pasts in check. It can also become dangerous because
nostalgia left unhinged just gets weird.
Perhaps the bigger reason, though, that we haven’t
been playing the “remember when” game much this summer, is that she seems so
eager to explore the island in the first place.
She’ll deny it, of course.
“Are you excited about kindergarten?” Folks will
ask.
“No.” She
will answer.
But her behavior tells a much different story. Her strut, her arguing, her sass; all
evidence that she wants—needs—to distance herself, a least a little bit, from
mommy and daddy. She’s got her thermos
and her lunchbox and a backpack full of tools.
She’s ready to go. At the end of
the day, it doesn’t really matter if we’re ready for her to go or not.
And besides, her wedding day is still a long, long
way off. Right?
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