I’m a dog person, but I also love reindeer. One person in particular is, of course, Rudolph.
To be clear, I’m not the type of person who treats every day as Christmas. I’m also not one of those people who spends all year preparing, orders new ornaments from Amazon in February, and posts on Facebook in mid-August, “Christmas shopping… done!” Most years, I don’t celebrate Christmas at all.
If Tofurky isn’t sad enough, try Tofurky.
Rudolph is not a Christmas story. Sure, he’ll be a big help on a foggy Christmas Eve, but I’m sure we have the technology for that now. There are 364 days left in the year, and he has more to live for than a week to rest his tired feet.
Rudolph, I used to call him Rudy, but some politician ruined that. I got over my childhood. I think every child feels like they don’t belong at some point, but in my case it was rampant. I was playing the equivalent of reindeer games like hide-and-seek, tag, and Shout My Sister.
But as kids started to question the whole Santa thing, the games became more complex and required coordination and catching skills. That’s when I, like Rudolph, began to be left off the neighborhood list. When my gang made me play baseball, they locked me in an extreme outfield where the ball never landed. Before my turn at bat, Jimmy Hardy yelled, “Everybody, come in! Come in!”
If I had sprayed the Slugger perfectly, I might have put Logie on Jimmy’s cheek instead of on his chin.
I’m different, I tell myself in moments of agony. Like Red Nose. Unlike the derisive name Rudolph’s colleagues gave him, it became an endearing expression.
I wasn’t as brave as Rudolph. Every time I wanted to run away, I needed more follow-through. The closest I got was getting out of the house and “hiding” on the window ledge under the awning. No one noticed I was missing during the 20-minute stunt, so no search party was formed.
Even if Rudolph left the North Pole feeling like an outcast, he quickly found like-minded allies. Refusing to be typecast as a toy maker, Hermie the Elf ditches her lifelong supply of Keebler cookies for a career as a dentist. My sweet Yukon Cornelius has shown me that I can live a fulfilling life as an adventurer. They were dreamers and truly believed that their best days were yet to come. I adopted that mindset often and still do.
Rudolph has faced intolerance, even from a grumpy Santa, but never responded to it. He didn’t tell Hermy that elves couldn’t be dentists. He never questioned the value of Charlie in a box, a jelly-shooting water gun, and other inappropriate toys. When Rudolph found his chosen group, he immersed himself in a world of acceptance.
Eventually, I realized that my sense of being different was more complex than my hair color. When I was in second grade, I thought I liked boys more than girls, but by then all the boys were liking girls. I couldn’t make an axis. As a sheltered child in the ’70s, I didn’t know what it was until others introduced me to many unkind labels.
I grew up long before “It Gets Better” and rainbow flags. instead of RupaulIt was Rudolph who consoled him.
To this day, I consider this stop-motion animated television show to be a wonder of 1964, a subversive piece of work that aimed to show that it was okay to be gay. I don’t consider Rudolph gay, but it’s easy to see similarities. Her father, Donner, insisted that she hide her bright nose. “You’re going to be an ordinary little rich guy like everyone else.” Even the mild-mannered snowman Sam had a hard time talking openly about Rudolph. “Well, for the first year, the Donner family did a pretty fair job of hiding Rudolph’s, uh, misfit.”
I sympathize with Hermey’s sensitive nature. Yukon and perhaps Sam, carefully dressed in his closet, represent the masculine “bear” in gay culture. Charlie has typical, old-fashioned gay mannerisms. He can’t outrun Jack. The misfits eloquently sing, “Wake up, don’t you know it’s time to come out?”
Some interpret the show as a work aimed at embracing one’s own misfit nature. Timeless masterpieces contain specific and universal messages.
Because of Rudolph, I proudly claim to be a misfit. It took a lot of soul-searching to ignore the differences. But they strengthened my faith and made me more kind to others and myself.
It’s enough to be inspired by Rudolph any time of the year.
Gregory Walters I’m a writer living in Vancouver. His essays have been published in The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, CBC, Writer’s Digest, Funny Times, Little Old Lady Comedy, Next Avenue, and Cottage Life, among others.
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