“Life in the R.A.F. reminded me of something I always knew:
Men are like animals. I don’t mean men
are ‘beastly.’ What I mean is that no
two are exactly alike. Many people think
my farm patients are all the same, but cows, pigs, sheep and horses can be
moody, placid, vicious, docile, spiteful, loving.”
James Herriot, All Things Wise And Wonderful, Chapter 29
One show I’ve been enjoying recently is “Grimm.” I really like how the protagonists don’t let their differences get in the way. Instead of wasting their time and mine by
bickering, sniping, or having arguments over interpersonal issues that they
cannot change, they accept each others’ strengths and weaknesses and get on
with the task at hand.
For those of you who don’t know, “Grimm” follows a police
detective who can see were-creatures for who and what they are. These creatures come in all varieties. Most humans cannot see them
for what they truly are, unless they wish to reveal themselves. (Usually, they only do this when they are attacking
someone). Nick, who is called a Grimm,
can see their true form at any time. With the help of normal humans and his were-friends, he learns to recognize
these changelings by their species’ characteristics, personalities, and
traits. These were-people tend to lump
members of other species into easily definable categories. Nick, like Herriot, recognizes that an
individual is more than just the type of animal that others might choose to
view them as.
What resonates with me most about the series is how unique
all of us are. Sometimes, we don’t even
recognize our true selves. It’s easy to
define ourselves by our looks, body type, jobs, personalities, or
interests. It’s also easy to define
ourselves by our history. All too often,
we tend to think that what we’ve done in the past is all we’re capable of.
This weekend, I’m going through the piles of paperwork (and
other things) in my office. I’m finding
all those drafts of previous manuscripts I’ve written, plus all the associated
outlines, character histories, and notes, notes, notes. Personally, I don’t know what I’m capable of,
but I hope there’s a writer whose capable of being published lurking inside
me. One who will stop giving up on stories at a particular stage, for whatever reason, and say “It’s all too much
to put together,” or “This is no good, I can’t possibly sell this.” I’m hoping that the outside person—how
others view me, and how I tend to view myself—isn’t the real me. Like the were-people on “Grimm,” that process
of transformation promises to be painful, but if I really want to reveal that
person, I have to work toward my eventual transformation.
What kind of animal do you see yourself as? If you have not yet become the person you
wish to be, what will you have to do to complete the transformation process?
 |
| "Hey, don't over-think this! I'm a dragon, okay?" |
On a lighter note, a family member recently gave me this animal. She enjoys playing games of chance,
particularly ones in which she can win something. She loves going to Circus Circus in Las
Vegas, playing machines where you operate a claw to pick up the animal,
even Chuck E Cheese. Somewhere along the
way she found this fellow. She said,
“You call yourself Dragon Dave, so here’s a dragon for you.” While he bears a slight resemblance to a
dragon, he also reminds me of Godzilla, or simply an alligator who, in addition
to changing his color, has also learned to walk upright. What do you think? Any thoughts on who and what this guy is?
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| "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to terrorize Tokyo." |
Perhaps it’s mere whimsy, but I can’t help wonder what James
Herriot might make of him.
Dragon Dave
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