No, Virginia, there isn't a Santa Claus. And Joe Exotic has zero music talent.
Note: Please don't read this post near young children. I accept no liability in childhood trauma.
Yes, I realize this blog post is several months overdue. Life happens. Enjoy nonetheless.
One of the things I love most about the feral sac of cats (haha!) that are constantly at war in my brain is how fixated I get on things. If I hear a jingle, it's stuck in my head for days. My poor husband.
The creators behind Netflix's dark-horse documentary Tiger King must have known this behind the scenes look at the sordid lives of big cat breeders needed a leopard-printed bow to tie this series together.
IT NEEDED A SOUNDTRACK FOR THE AGES!
I know what you're thinking. Christy, surely there were so many insanely notable things to discuss when it comes to Tiger King. And you're absolutely correct.
Where do we even begin? You have a man, blessed with charisma, but very short on copyright infringement knowledge, who has somehow convinced three straight guys to marry him.
What's that sound? Oh yes, it's the daily Wal-Mart discarded meat truck backing in. Big cats aren't adopting a vegan lifestyle anytime soon. And neither are the people chowing down on pizza at the food court.
Joe's erratic management style and Confucius-esque quips have inspired so many memes, they fit every occasion in life.
Ironically, the most likable employee at the GW Zoo had her arm bitten off by a tiger, but not before Joe donned his paramedic bomber jacket to assess the situation. Now that I think of it, Joe's aesthetic could be likened to my eighth grade Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper. On acid. Respect the drip, Carole.
We'll not mention the murder for hire plot or selecting your next political campaign manager from the Wal-Mart gun counter. Details, schmetails.
We're here for the music, people. Not since Weird Al Yankovich's Greatest Hits has an arrangement of notes and lyrics so defined a distinct time in history. If time capsules are still a thing, can we make sure Joe Exotic's many LPs get in there? Along with some manly lingerie from the GW Gift Shop?
Mid-way through the COVID-19 quarantine, I think we needed Joe Exotic. We needed his music. We needed his love. Frankly, we needed to feel better about ourselves.
So how does Joe Exotic relate to how I crushed my mother's hopes and dreams? I'm so glad you asked.
When I was younger, family traditions were such a foundation of our lives. It's the things you look back on with rose-colored lenses and remember with a slight pain in your heart that they are no longer.
Every Christmas Eve, we gathered at my grandparents' house for food, fun, and merriment. My grandparents were crazy enough to have seven children, and with so many grandchildren, they still managed to have a personalized gift (or two) for each person. My beloved grandfather, known as Papaw to everyone not possessing a driver's license, would surprise us every year dressed as Santa Claus to hand out gifts. Literally, it was pure magic.
Mid-way through the evening, with new presents in-hand and bellies full of cookies, my younger cousins and I would venture over to my Aunt Meloni and Uncle Jeff's house next door. There, we huddled on the couch or with blankets on the floor to watch a movie still an important part of my Holiday traditions- A Christmas Story.
Later that night, the festivities would wrap up and our little family would make the short drive back home. I would snuggle in a warm bed convinced I could hear sleigh bells in the distance. I yearn for the simplicity of those days.
On one particular Christmas Eve, my parents proposed a radical idea to my sister and me. That year, Christmas Day would joyfully fall on a Sunday morning, and naturally, we would attend church together. Would we like to have Santa make an early drop-off so we could enjoy our presents tonight as not to be rushed tomorrow morning?
I wish Doc Brown would have set the flux capacitor to December 24, 1988, to prevent me from saying yes. Kids don't have impulse control. Of course, I wanted more gifts! Little did I know that lack of foresight is what ultimately led to the downfall of my childhood innocence.
I am not ashamed to admit, I still believed in Santa. I was enraptured that my parents had such a close personal relationship with him that they could arrange this. Weren't bad kids always threatened with a Santa embargo if they didn't go to bed on Christmas Eve? And my parents were all "Oh totally, let's expedite his visit to the Sheback house, our girls have been practically Mother Teresa this year."
We ran to our rooms to await Santa's arrival. I was bouncing, literally bouncing, in breathless anticipation.
With my bedroom door closed, I heard the sound that completely crushed my nine-year-old heart. My parents were rummaging through their closets. Wait. What?
Now I don't know if your family celebrates differently than mine. But in my house, wrapped presents were from Mom and Dad and started appearing as soon as the tree was decorated in early December. Unwrapped presents lovingly arranged around the tree on Christmas morning? Those were from Santa.
I began pacing in my room. Was my parents' closet somehow an inter-dimensional portal to the North Pole? Did they call the North Pole Command Center and get patched directly to Santa's sleigh? (I was personally hoping Santa had one of those giant Zac Morris phones). Would Santa still get his milk and cookies during his lightning-fast trip to our house?
And then it hit me. No. Santa isn't real. He was just an amalgam of Christmas traditions Frankensteined together to silence unruly children into behaving less like wild hyenas during the last quarter of the year. Holy crap. Santa wasn't real.
When my parents joyfully announced Santa had departed and we were welcomed to come and see what he brought us, it was a somber walk back into the living room. I was like Ralphie Parker after reading my first message with my Little Orphan Annie Secret Society Decoder Pin. I had just been slapped with a crummy commercial.
Keeping up appearances, I squealed and celebrated at the expert curation of each gift. Partly because my parents were, and remain today, fabulous in the gift-giving department. But partly because I secretly wondered if when you discover the truth of Ol' Saint Nick...does the magic abruptly end? Do you no longer get gifts? We were in unchartered waters until my next Christmas. I was not about to jeopardize future joy with present misery.
Fast forward to 30+ years into the future. The country is on lockdown amidst a global pandemic and we're all coping the best we can. Netflix drops The Tiger King documentary and we experience a lot of feelings associated with such a trashtastic story. We cackled at memes. We shared funny jokes, and take BuzzFeed quizzes to determine which character we are.
I phoned my parents and insisted they watch it. Now retired, they have the time to binge any program quickly.
A few days later, my mom called me in a tone that was equal parts amusement and equal parts "we are not taking recommendations from you ever again."
When I asked about her favorite part, she told me that Joe Exotic has the most incredible singing voice, and it's so tragic that he let jealousy, greed, and revenge stray him from a path that could have been filled with love and joy.
I gasped audibly. She didn't know! She didn't know! I had that proverbial moral compass moment.
Should I tell my mother the painful truth, or let her continue believing? Sure, her belief wouldn't hurt anyone. But at some point, we all discover the truth, and then it's nothing but a feeling of betrayal that the ones you love have let you live in a lie for far too long.
I took a deep breath. "Uhhh...Mom," I calmly whispered. "Remember when Milli Vanilli got busted for lip-syncing in the early 90s? That's exactly what Joe Exotic was doing. He didn't write, sing, or play any instruments. He hired two dudes to do all the creative work and passed it off as his own."
The line went eerily silent. I closed my eyes and cringed, thinking to myself, Girl, You Know It's True. *rimshot*
"CHRISTY YOU ARE KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" she howled. And just like that, I had told my mom there was no Santa. Daughter of the year.
It took several reassurances that yes, it was all true. I sent her article after article from reputable news sources, all of which had dissected every insane aspect of the documentary. Not for the first time, Joe was exposed as a fraud.
In case this news is taking you by surprise...I'm so incredibly sorry.
Joe had contracted with two talented musicians, Vince Johnson and vocalist Danny Clinton to write and record music for his upcoming reality show. Joe liked the music so much he convinced his GW Zoo crew to help him shoot music videos, blissfully unaware that if you're pretending to play the guitar, you might want to move both sets of hands and mouth the words in sync. Despite selling copies at the Zoo Gift Shop and appearing online, none of it was true. Just like the Wal-Mart meat truck, some of it might have made sense at one time, but most of it was the product of a guy not quite in touch with reality.
So just like that. I ruined Christmas for my mom. Sorry mom!
Today, I phoned my mom for an update on how she feels about the situation. Several months have passed. We're not only older in my case, but wiser in her's.
After a few minutes of begging me not to write about her, she reluctantly added, "Oh Lord...that man let the world ruin him."
It's sad, but that's an incredibly accurate portrait. I'm sure Joe started his zoo with the purest intentions - to provide love and shelter for animals with whom he felt a genuine connection. I'm sure in the beginning, he wanted to create a living legacy for his late brother.
Since the documentary has aired, severe allegations of trafficking and the mistreatment and killing of animals have come to light by many of those connected with the documentary. Will owners of other exotic animal parks join Joe in federal detention? Stay tuned I suppose.
Our conversations took on a very philosophical detour as we discussed Joe, with the blessing of months to process the whole sad saga. Mom pointed out eloquently, "Isn't that the way we all are? We're all worried about what others think of us. Despite what anyone says, the truth always comes out. Always."
Sage advice from my mom, even if she did lie to me about Santa for nine years. Still love you, mom. ;)
Thanks for reading!
~ Christy
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