A Golden State of Mind

Back to business...

One of the happiest moments of my life occurred when I was 12 years old. Two years earlier, my parents went through a bitterly ugly divorce (as if there's any other kind for a kid), so it was a rough stretch in what would become a rather a difficult life of tumult and disappointment. Prepubescence is a crucial time in a person's development, and here I was going through the kind of stress that drives greater men mad -- and I was only a boy. That stress ultimately resulted in a stunted emotional and cognitive development that haunts me to this day.

I was slow to mature, and I found stability in a fantasy life provided by cartoons and toys. Being a kid was all I knew, and I didn't have anyone to guide me into adolescence. I was stuck in neutral at a time that I should have been popping the clutch and shifting into second gear.

My favorite cartoon when I was 10 years old was Voltron. I loved both versions for different reasons, but Lion Force is the one that started it all. (Actually, Vehicle Force was on for a week first, then channel 45 suddenly jumped to the other. It took some adjustment, but I managed.) After the Lion episodes were finished, the station switched back to the Vehicles. There were fifteen of them each with distinct environs as their key strengths - air, land, and water.

Of course, in the states, those cartoons were nothing more than a marketing vehicle (pardon the pun) for toy manufacturers. And of course, I wanted those toys. I had my heart set on the Lions, but there were only five of those. My imagination was bigger than that, and I wanted the fifteen vehicles.

But the divorce brought to light a harsh reality - my family was poor. I never knew that because my dad always found a way - by hook or by crook, I'll never really know - to make sure my siblings and I got as much as we could for Christmas. But now that my parents were separated, things got downright sad over the holidays.

The first year I got a shirt, some drawing paper, and colored pencils. The night before I saw the silhouette of Santa Claus sneaking passed my bedroom window. I even heard the sleigh bells and reindeer hooves prancing on the ground outside. (The roof was a wreck, and it would have been disaster to land a small petting zoo up there.) When I woke up, there were more packages under the tree than when I went to bed, so I was happy with what I got. Maybe I was just too excited at what I had witnessed earlier in the night to be disappointed. Besides, my sister and I got a package from my dad (who was in California at the time living with a stripper) a couple months later as a make up. He sent me the "battle damage" X-Wing fighter that year and some Star Wars action figures, so you can imagine how stoked I was.

The next year, it was more of the same. Well, less, actually. It was the year we didn't actually have a Christmas...not even a tree to decorate. That was the most miserable year. My dad was living in Phoenix at the time, and he promised that he'd get me the complete Lion Force Voltron set, but it never came. It has to be the worst feeling ever for a kid to wake up on Christmas morning to find only the single present one of my siblings picked out at K-Mart. My sister got me the cheap little plastic knock off version, and there were no moving parts. My dad had let me down.

Still, I never lost faith. Every year there were promises made, and every year they were broken. When I was 12, my sister and I visited my dad for Christmas Eve. He was living in a trailer park in Phoenix (across Priest where Arizona Mills Mall now stands) with a Christian family, and they wanted to make sure we had a good Christmas. My dad got me a metallic version of the Lion Voltron, but the pieces didn't separate. It was just a 12 inch action figure with jointed shoulders and hips. I thought I was getting the real deal, but he didn't know any better. Again, disappointment. This was getting hard to take.

That night, my sister and I packed our stuff up, and we went home to sleep in our own beds. That was the arrangement, and I wasn't too disappointed about going home. I know that he tried, but my dad just didn't have the means to help us through the trying times. I just didn't want him to see me cry.

I woke up on Christmas morning, and there were loads of presents under the tree. I was shocked, and I didn't think any of them were for me. It was unexpected to say the least. I tried not to get my hopes up because another downer would have sent me into a tizzy, and I probably would have just hid under my bed for the rest of my life. It was getting so hard to take.

This was different, though. My oldest sister was there. She had been out on her own for a few years by that time, and even though it was a special occasion, it was unusual that she was there so early in the morning. We started opening presents rabidly, trying our bests to savor the moment because we never knew if this opportunity would present itself again. I got a shirt, a knit snow cap (in Arizona? Yes), and a pair of leopard fuzzy morning slippers from my sister. Unusual gifts, but I loved them just the same. It was SOMETHING. I also got a battery operated He-Man and the Masters of the Universe pinball game (another cartoon favorite, although I had already moved on from that one).

And there was one more gift, standing in the corner behind the tree, wrapped tightly as if extra care had been taken. It was a fair size rectangular box, and I had no idea what it could have been. So I opened it, already forgetting the previous night's disappointment. It was Christmas again.

I tore through the paper slowly. I didn't want to know what it was until I got all the wrapping off. The corner of the box was dark blue, or maybe black. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ripped as much off as I could, exposing the front. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was stunning. It was miraculous. There in my hands lay the Holy Grail that I had been longing for -- two long and painful years. It was the Vehicle Force Voltron, and it was the complete set. All fifteen vehicles, shiny and new, heavy with plastic and metal parts (back when toys still had steel parts). I didn't scream or yell or lose my head. My jaw just dropped as the biggest smile I've ever felt stretched across my face. I didn't know what to say or who to thank. I was happy again.

It was the same disbelieving stunned smile I wore last night, as the Golden State Warriors came roaring back from a 21 point first half deficit against the Dallas Mavericks. I'm not sure why the two events elicited such parallel emotional responses, but that stunned excitement of watching the hated Mavs getting it handed to them by the upstart Warriors was more than I could have hoped for. It didn't matter that they blew the game in the end. I'm not even a Golden State fan, but I despise Dallas that much.

I guess thoughts of a Phoenix versus Golden State, no-holds-barred, run-and-gun shoot 'em up Western Conference Finals were dancing through my head at the time. For the first time, I felt like the Mavericks would truly be exposed as a paper lion...a false champion. The only problem was that Don Nelson had his team run out clock in the last few minutes, which is death for a running team. They have to make shots eventually or risk turning the ball over and giving the opposition a free shot at coming back. When they finally did jack up their shots, they were out of rhythm and off line. I thought for sure that 9 points would be enough of a cushion, but it depended on the team pushing the ball, even as the game clock wore down.

It doesn't matter, though. No one really expected the Warriors to win again in Dallas. The big turn around was just a beautiful surprise that left the Mavericks feeling uneasy about winning the next game in Oakland. And that makes me smile, too. Who knows? If the Warriors win at home on Thursday night, it just might be Christmas all over again.