The Lassie Experience

From time to time, for absolutely no reason in particular, I decide I no longer want to be a member of my generation, and I bake biscuits from scratch, consider moving my whole family to Montana, and buy things like this...

I have no idea why, but the why is not the point of this post but possibly the basis for an in-depth psychological study, but I digress...

The following is our Lassie experience, and it takes place in our minivan. You'll be afraid for me and the children at first, but don't worry, it has a happy ending.

One morning on the way to school, we began watching an episode of Lassie in which she accidentally gets locked in the back of a delivery truck, and as a result ends up hopelessly lost, 600 miles away from home.

Now, it takes us 25 minutes to get to school, so by the time we had gotten there, this episode had ended as a "to be continued," with Lassie wet, hungry and sad, and Timmy heartbroken. Biscuit was extremely concerned, but I explained to him that Lassie would find her way home soon.

When I picked up the kids, Biscuit was anxious to start the show. The poor little guy had been on the edge of his seat all day over Lassie finding her way home. But by the time we made it to karate, the poor dog was still lost. Not only was she still lost, but she had been stalked by a bear, attacked by a horrible dog, and barely made it across a river. On the homefront, Timmy was completely beside himself, and the parents were telling each other it was hopeless.

When karate was over, the kids ran, not skipped as joyful, carefree children should do, but RAN to the DVD player. Shortly after we got in the car, the second episode of the day ended, and alas, Lassie was. still. lost. Not only was she lost, but Timmy's parents asked a friend to bring over a new puppy to ease the pain.

At this point, I'm starting to panic. I'm looking in the rear view mirror at my impressionable, sensitive five-year-old, and thinking he'll remember for the rest of his life that his mother was excited to show him the story of Lassie.

So, now I do the honorable thing, and start blaming the dog. Well, Biscuit, I can't believe Lassie's not home yet! She's supposed to be home by now, Timmy's really missing her, and she should be home. She needs to be home. Come on, Lassie, go home!

Ten minutes from our house, episode three begins. Timmy is desolate, refuses to love the new puppy, and returns it. Lassie is being helped by a kind man now, but the director doesn't hint to any happy endings. We are now in our neighborhood, so I pull over on a sidestreet to watch what I hope will be some form of closure.

A hopeless, tearful Timmy gathers Lassie's toys and heads out to the backyard to bury them. Biscuit is crying, I am crying, then...

A bark.

Let me just tell you, when Timmy looked up and saw Lassie coming over that hill, I cannot explain to you the immense joy that flowed throughout that minivan. Lassie and Timmy ran as fast as they could into each other's arms...

And I breathed an immeasureable sigh of relief. Then I silently cursed the 1950's for their cruelty and lack of cell phones.