The Age of Magic

Shortly after seeing "Avengers: Infinity War," over the weekend I got into a private Twitter convo with a friend who thought it was magical that my kids get to grow up in this a golden age of superheroes. I find it hard to disagree.

I have two sons, 9 and 6 years old. The 9 year old has some anxiety issues; going to the movies is hard for him, and even watching movies at home proves challenging. He has a tough time with people in distress and with bad guys getting away with doing bad things. But my 6 year old is made of Teflon...dark, dark Teflon. Not only do most things not bother him, he kind of enjoys the myriad ways bad guys come up with to try and defeat the heroes. The worse the baddie, the more despicable their actions, the more satisfying the hero's win.

So I thought, my friend is right. This is a magical time to be a kid who is into superheroes.


THE SEEMINGLY ENDLESS BUFFET OF CHOICES

Back in my day, superhero choices were strictly limited. I remember watching reruns of the old Superman TV show from the 1950s and eventually the Christopher Reeve movies; Lynda Carter was Wonder Woman; Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno were the Hulk; and I had The Amazing Spider-Man and His Friends cartoon. That was pretty much it. Because I never got into comic books, I never got exposed to anyone else. In 1988 I saw Michael Keaton's first outing as Batman, but I was more impressed with Prince's soundtrack than with the movie itself.

Hulton Archive/Getty Images

These days we are spoiled for choice in the superhero world. And while I'll always remain faithful to my goddess Wonder Woman, it's the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) that has paved the way for those heroes who have never been household names outside of hardcore comic fandom. Before the movie, I had never even heard of Black Panther; if a good friend of mine hadn't already been a massive Black Panther comic book fan, I might not have seen the movie in theaters with her. But she is, and I did. I came home so excited about the movie that my 6YO insisted on seeing it himself.

Thanks to the MCU and the modern golden age of superheroes, my 6YO has had the freedom to choose Black Panther as his favorite superhero. Let that sink in: a 6 year old Jewish/Hispanic kid from a WASPy suburb has chosen the king of a fictional African nation as his personal idol. He has the Black Panther costume. The t-shirt. The book. The mask. The costume with another mask. The action figure (to protect him in bed at night). The plastic cup for his milk in the morning. In just one movie, the MCU managed to turn my kid from someone who had zero opinions on superheroes, to hardcore Team Black Panther.

My son's Black Panther action figure, apparently
planking on our kitchen table. #WakandaForever

THE GOOD GUYS ARE THE RIGHT KINDS OF ROLE MODELS

And here I'm speaking exclusively about the heroes of the MCU, including the X-Men. The latest incarnations of Batman and Superman keep mistaking moodiness for complexity, unpolished for gritty, mean for dark. I don't need brooding heroes for my kids. They're boys: I expect they have enough brooding awaiting them in their teen years.

The MCU is much lighter, and at first I kind of saw that as a flaw. Was everything a joke to these guys? How is that setting a good example if they are all so cavalier about saving the world?

But then I sat down and really watched many of the MCU movies: all the Captain Americas, all the Thors, all the Avengers, all the Iron Mans, both Guardians of the Galaxys, Doctor Strange, and, of course, Black Panther. And what I saw was not irony or snark, or rather, not just those things.

The MCU provides flawed heroes who make tough choices but ultimately wind up doing what's best. Which isn't to say they do what's right; Captain America's choices in "Civil War" proved as much. In fact, I think that "Civil War" might be one of the best superhero movies ever made for that very reason. When the chance to sign the accords comes into play, I would have guessed that smartass Tony Stark/Iron Man would have been the one to balk and walk away, while goody-two-shoes Steve Rogers/Captain America would be only too happy to give himself more rules. But the movie twisted my expectations: Tony Stark declares that he's already been part of a world in which power is allowed to run unchecked and he won't do that again; Steve Rogers has already seen what happens when governments try to keep a tight reign on their muscle. Each side has some excellent points and that's why it's such a good movie. Although I ultimately went with Team Cap, I couldn't fully disagree with Stark; more accurately, I couldn't fully disagree with Black Widow, who was Team Stark in "Civil War," when she said that with the accords at least they still got to keep one hand on the wheel. Stark wanted to do what was right in order to keep the Avengers together; Cap wanted to do what was best by going rouge instead of asking permission to save the world.

I can pinpoint the exact moment I went all-in Team Cap...

In watching "Civil War" my kids got to see something so rare in popular culture: good guys vs good guys with no real wrong side. What happens when you disagree with your best friends on something so fundamental? In a world where it seems like every choice is the lesser of two evils, here are two sets of good guys making excellent points. Spoilers for Black Panther right here, highlight to see: Hell, even T'Challa, is able to reconsider his decisions for Wakanda at the end of the movie, providing a great example of how even the greatest of heroes and leaders can learn and grow and change their minds.

As I said above, The Avengers aren't the only flawed good guys who present tough moral choices for my kids to grow up thinking about. My older son has, as I said, some serious anxiety issues. He has mood disorders that require special doctors and a therapeutic school. I recently showed him the first "X-Men" movie because I thought it would hit home for him. I wanted the X-Men to show my child that being different doesn't have to mean being an outcast; that what others consider your weakness can be your greatest strength; that finding others like yourself can be a form of protection in a world that demands we all conform. And then, too, by watching the movie he was faced with a moral choice: Charles Xavier thinks that Mutants and humanity can live in peace, whereas Magneto comes from a place where being different meant certain death and he will not allow that to happen again. As my son moves through the world with his special needs he, too, will have to decide over and over again how to handle others' reactions to his invisible disabilities, or whether he wants to handle them at all.


THE MCU IS STILL DISNEY

I've heard some parents complain about the lack of consequences of violence in the new superhero movies, and it's true that the MCU is comparatively bloodless for a series of films that depict violence on such a massive and truly creative scale. But to me, that's fine. Kids like superheroes. Kids want to see superhero movies. I don't want to have to vet every movie that comes out just to make sure it isn't too gruesome for my kids. Call me lazy, but my life just doesn't lend itself to that kind of a time and money commitment. When I took my 6YO to see "Infinity War," I already knew it was going to be dark and upsetting, so we took some of his favorite stuffed animals and we went in with the understanding that if he wanted to leave we'd do so, immediately and with no questions asked. But he was fine.

As a Jewish mom, I can think of worse role
models than the dude who punched Hitler

I do not think that watching movies as violent as the MCU films is bad for my kids. They enjoy the highly impossible and wholly unrealistic nature of the cartoonish action scenes. They're not watching these movies to see the bad guys go through a realistic legal process for their crimes, they're watching for cool, otherwordly swords and guns and explosions and spaceships and creatures. They're watching to see the creative and awesome ways the good guys utilize their strengths and teamwork to defeat their foes. They want Thor's mighty hammer and Cap's incredible shield and Black Panther's mind-bending suit and Black Widow's expert ass-kicking. They're kids. They play and go to school and run and climb and fall and bump, and they get plenty of bruises and cuts and scrapes in real life; they already know about blood and boo-boos. I volunteer with Syrian refugees and my kids know their kids, have heard their stories, have listened to their history. My older one especially feels the pain and suffering of the world, has first-hand experience with how sometimes good guys are punished because the Powers That Be are fickle and unjust. What my kids want in their entertainment is escape, stuff to make the impossible seem real. These movies give kids a safe, fun place to live out their wildest childhood fantasies.

The movies are magic.

My kids -- most kids -- want spectacle, not reminders of
how painful life can be

So, as I said, as of "Winter Soldier," I am solidly Team Cap. How about you? Do you have a favorite superhero, and why? Leave a comment and let's discuss!

New Story Up at Grievous Angel!

My flash horror story, I FORGOT TO LOCK THE DOOR, is now live over at the marvelous Grievous Angel Magazine!

This story was written towards the end of the summer in 2015, just a few months after we moved from Brooklyn to the suburbs. We knew nothing about our new town before moving here, except that the few people we met who'd heard of it said it was great for families. Low crime rate, excellent schools, people moved here just to raise their kids. Sounds good, right?

But we didn't really know anyone in the town when we moved. The kids were not going to camp. We didn't have a babysitter. No daycare. Because our former landlord screwed us over, we could not afford to join the town's community pool. So that meant a summer of just me and the kids finding things to do for nine weeks. We discovered a nearby skate park and my older son picked up skate boarding. We joined the nearby science center. I let the kids ride their bikes in the street. I set up kiddie pools in the backyard. None of this kept my kids amused for very long, and by the time the first day of school arrived in September I wept with relief.

I had this idea that when we moved in, suddenly families with kids would pour out of their houses on our street and my kids would be outside playing all day every day all summer long, but instead we met almost no one.

Things have changed, certainly. We have friends in town, the kids have plenty of play dates, we have babysitters, we've joined the community pool in the summer, and we know which camps the kids like. Our summers are now full of friends, camp, vacations, and spending long afternoons socializing poolside. But that first summer is burned into our psyches: long, empty days full of quiet and boredom. And that's where this story comes from.

Domestic Horror

Don't you hate it when people let months, even entire years go by without updating their blogs?

Me, too.

*ahem*

When I moved to New York City in 1996, I never intended to leave. About a year and a half ago, the fam and I moved to a small town in New Jersey. Most New Jersey small towns within a one-hour drive of New York City are considered suburbs, and ours is no exception. With housing prices in Brooklyn showing no sign of coming down any time soon, and with my husband working in Secaucus, moving seemed like a resigned evil.

So here we are.

That first summer in our new house -- like, a real house with a backyard and basement and a mailbox that doesn't require a key -- the kids were not in any kind of camp or daycare, I was working from home part time, and blogging seemed like one more chore to drag down my mood.

Then the kids started school and things got really hectic. There were issues. There was drama. There were problems. Getting us all through each day felt like a marathon. I kept waiting for that moment when everything would click into place and I'd finally feel like this was home, this was our life, and this was fine. Everyone kept telling me how happy I should be. So I kept waiting.

I also picked up a Shirley Jackson book.

Every once in a while I go on a book-buying freeze because I find that my to-read pile has grown out of control. Whether they were given to me, I won them, or bought them and forgot, when I find I have more than two dozen unread books in my house, I force myself to read those before I buy any more.

Years ago I had attended Book Expo America and since it was the last day of the convention people were giving away free books. I picked up "Come Along With Me," a collection of Jackson's short stories and lectures. And then I forgot about it.

Reading this book at the exact moment when living in small town suburbia felt more like the American Nightmare than the American Dream tapped into something deep down in my psyche that I couldn't put my finger on. Of course stories like "The Summer People" and "The Lottery" resonated with me, but what really piqued my interest were the details of Jackson's life and her personal essays. I followed "Come Along With Me" by reading "The Haunting of Hill House" and "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," and I felt like, "Where have these stories been my whole life?" It was like finding my literary True Love.

After "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," I bought and read "Life Among the Savages" and "Raising Demons," both collections of Jackson's personally essays on raising children in small-town America. And though those stories happened over five decades ago, they resonate with me today with their timeless themes of stubborn children, household chaos, and small town weirdness.

Now we've settled in to our "quaint" little piece of the suburbs just fine: the kids have friends and get invited to birthday parties; my husband and I have game nights with other couples; we've been to enough restaurants to have favorites; we all have library cards. Sometimes I don't hate it here, and I'm no longer scared to drive. The summer camps are much cheaper, the schools are amazing, and I know where to find NYC-worthy bagels. But it still feels weird to me and probably always will. I'm a city girl. I feel safe in cities, with their crowds and anonymity. Growing up in Miami and living my entire adult life in New York City, I've never felt out of place as a Jew; here, I'm definitely a minority. My kids went from a school in Brooklyn where at least a dozen other children had their same Hispanic last name, to being the only ones with that name here. And though our town is known for its enormous, fancy houses, we live in a smallish house on the less-desirable end of town and on my really good days I don't feel self-conscious about that.

I've written three new stories in the past three months, and one flash piece before that, all with the same theme: the horror within our own families. I call it "domestic horror," and I fully admit I am inspired by the Shirley Jackson. My flash piece, "I Forgot to Lock the Door," was written during that first summer here when I kept waiting for the "good for families!" part of our new town to show itself and felt, instead, like we had made a huge mistake in moving here.

So yes, it's been tough at times but it's getting easier. And yes, blogging seemed like the last thing I wanted to do for a while. At least now I feel less alone, both in my real life thanks to the friends I've made, and in my inner life, thanks to Shirley Jackson.

Movie Review: The Babadook

There are a few reasons why I don't see a lot of horror films anymore: my husband is not a fan of the genre, and since I see most movies at home these days that means he and I have to agree on what to watch; and I feel that, in general, there are few really good horror films out lately.

Thankfully, both those reasons could easily be set aside when I took a day to myself over the weekend to go see The Babadook, something The Mary Sue called "The Best Horror Film of 2014." I generally agree with The Mary Sue -- not always, but mostly -- so I trusted them.

And boy, am I glad I did.

Now, let's be clear from the get-go: There isn't a whole lot of originality in The Babadook. Some tried-and-true horror tropes are trotted out (cockroaches to symbolize the mother's increasing madness; disbelieving police; a concerned neighbor; a creepy phone call), but they are put to excellent use. There are a few well-placed and well-executed jump scares, suspense to spare, and enough disturbing imagery to make you uncomfortable but not enough to seem graphic. The story, too, is unoriginal: a paranormal explanation for a mother's grief and anxieties (see: Rosemary's Baby; The Others). But, again, this one is done really, really well. 

Most of why the movie works is the Hitchcokian style in which it is shot. There are a lot of pauses, a lot of close-ups, a lot of still shots of doors, walls, the kitchen, that, in context, go from creepy to sinister. The story is slow to unfold, and the camera work reflects that. For the first 3/4 of the film I thought to myself, "I bet this is gonna get really weird soon," and I was right. Like Rosemary's Baby it lulls you into a false sense of security; unlike Rosemary's Baby the climax is violent and terrible to watch. 

But the bulk of the reason why I like this movie so much is because it felt deeply personal for me. The story of The Babadook goes like this: Amelia (Essie Davis) is a widow still deeply in mourning for her husband even though he's been dead for nearly seven years. She is raising their son Sammy (Noah Wiseman) alone. Sammy's dad died in a car crash while driving Amelia to the hospital to give birth, therefore Sammy's existence is a daily reminder of Amelia's loss and his birthday is his father's yahrzeit. Because Amelia has never dealt with her grief or put her mourning behind her Sammy is an extremely anxious 6-year old. When the movie opens, Amelia is called at her job as a nursing home caretaker to come pick Sammy up from school, where they offer to provide Sammy with a private monitor to take care of him. Amelia does not want Sammy singled out, so she pulls him out of school. Now she's home all day with her anxious son. All by herself. Sammy is obsessed with going into the basement, where Amelia still keeps her dead husband's things. Amelia tries to keep him out with varying degrees of success.

One night, Sammy chooses a bedtime book to read, called The Babadook. Neither he nor Amelia have any idea where the book came from. It just sort of appeared in Sammy's room. They read the book (always a good idea to read a mysterious book right before your child's bedtime), which warns that the Babadook shows up with a friendly face that it tears away to reveal a monster who will make you wish you were dead. (Side note: I would have loved that book as a child.) Amelia sets the book aside, but now Sammy is obsessed. His anxiety increases exponentially until he and Amelia manage to alienate the only friends they have left. As Sammy's fears grow, Amelia's patience drains until she lashes out at her son.

"Where did this scary-looking book
come from? You don't know? OK, let's
read it at bedtime."

You can maybe see where this is going.

Amelia tears up the book and throws it out; the book returns to her doorstep, pages stuck back together, and with new wording that warns that the more you deny the Babadook, the stronger it gets, with new graphic images of Amelia killing their dog, her son, and herself. Amelia burns the book then goes ahead and loses what little sanity she had left. By now even she can "see" the Babadook until, one night, it takes over her body. And that's when the movie stops being calm and starts getting really, really fucked up.

The reason this resonates with me personally is because I suffered post-partum depression (PPD) after the births of both my children. I had some thoughts about them and myself I knew at the time were not rational but still couldn't shake. I watched myself as if from the outside, appalled at my lack of gentleness or compassion for my own babies, but helpless to do anything about it. Despite being surrounded by loved ones I felt isolated and cripplingly lonely. Thankfully, my husband recognized me as not being myself and made me get the professional help I desperately needed, but even that was an enormous amount of work: mental health is not a priority in this country, and many of the doctors I called didn't take insurance and we couldn't afford to pay out of pocket for therapy. There was also the burden of what to do with my baby while I went to therapy; I didn't have friends or family who were home during the day to watch them. I finally found a doctor through a university program who would take insurance and I took my baby with me to my sessions. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start, and I got put right away on medications I desperately needed to help balance me out and get me through the worst of it.

Four years of therapy and many anti-depressants later, I can honestly say that I'm not cured but I'm better.

But Amelia, in the movie, needs help and, by turns, can't or won't get it. In one scene a co-worker tells her, "It's ok to not be fine." She's so busy holding herself together by threads, though, that she refuses to admit that the fragile reality she's built for herself and Sammy is already starting to unravel. By the time she figures it out it's far too late.

"I do not like the new edits to this book."

Watching Amelia deal with all of this hit the nail on the head for me. That is exactly what PPD felt like as I was living through it: like something evil had taken over my body and was going to hurt my children if I didn't figure out how to make it go away. The Babadook looks like what I felt like, dark, evil, foreign, and utterly my own fault for not doing more to keep it from taking over. Amelia goes through a vicious cycle of anger, guilt and bitterness that I know all too well.

Essie Davis does an amazing job of portraying Amelia's struggles. Even her voice changes from the beginning of the movie to the end. And Noah Wiseman is absolutely adorable as little Sammy, with his wide eyes and his floppy hair and his earnest smile. My own oldest child, the Juban Princeling, is the same age, so at times I physically cringed while watching Amelia yell at Sammy things I've though in my head, and at watching Sammy wince away from his own mother the way the Princeling does when I snap at him. (FYI, I always apologize.)

So, yeah, The Babadook is one of the few horror movies I've seen lately, and the first horror film I've seen in theaters in a very long time. But it was totally worth it. I highly recommend.

Halloween Play List

Like many genre writers, Halloween is my favorite holiday. I love the spookiness, the creepiness, the embracing of all things other. I love the colors, the candy, the make-believe.

With small children in the house, it's easy to get into the Halloween spirit early on. Come October 1, our decorations go up and I create a Halloween station on Pandora. This year I also created a Halloween play list on YouTube for the kids. It's totally spooky but not scary -- an important distinction, especially in my house. My 6-year old and 2 1/2-year old love spooky, but have a low tolerance for scary. What's the difference? Spooky is cute, fun, funny, silly.

Child-appropriate spookiness

Scary is, well...

"Are there any little children I can eat?"

Since my husband and I don't enjoy staying up all night with terrified children, we emphasize spooky in our Halloween fun and try to minimize the scary as much as we reasonably can. Don't worry, we're not total sticks-in-the-mud about it: we still have plenty of glow-in-the-dark skulls and skeletons around the house.

All children have varying tolerance levels for scariness, and are scared of different things. I know my oldest can handle most of "The Nightmare Before Christmas," but would be totally freaked out by the kidnapping of Santa Claus. Ghosts and most monsters he can handle; bad things happening to people, though, disturbs him beyond reason. And he loves. Santa. LOVES Santa. 

Whatever your kids like, and whatever disturbs them, I hope you and your family all have a fun, spooky, and safe Halloween!

The López Family Halloween Play List 2014

My kids love this intro. So far it's all they've seen of the movie. Some day, when the older one won't be so frightened of Santa Claus getting kidnapped by the Oogey Boogey Man, I'll let him watch the whole thing.

This is another movie we haven't watched yet. Not because of the ghosts; my 6-year old prides himself on not only not being scared of ghosts, but actively liking them. No, it's because of the scene near the end when Dana and Louis turn into those creatures. See above, re: bad things happening to people. I know that would give him nightmares for weeks. They still like the video, though.

True fact: I have the Addams Family theme song as the ring tone on my phone for whenever my parents call me. I can relate to the Addams Family: they think they're normal. So does my family. 

Who doesn't love this scene from "Beetlejuice?" 

True fact: I went through a major "Rocky Horror" phase in high school. My friend gave me the cassette (aging myself!) with the entire movie on it, including all the audience Partici-Pation, and I knew it all by heart. Still know most of it. And now my 6-year old knows how to Time Warp and can sing the song. Hashtag: Geek Parenting Done Right. Damnit, Janet!

Don't pretend you didn't watch this movie, and don't pretend you don't remember this scene. I mean, for pete's sake, Tim Curry sings about his tambourine. COME ON!

Remember SJP before "Sex And The City?" 

Another thing I won't show my kids yet: the actual "Thriller" video. But the song is still a Halloween staple.

And finally, because the 6-year old has gotten a little bit into Harry Potter (we're still working our way through "The Sorcerer's Stone." I've promised him he can watch the movie when we're done.) the HP movie theme song with some random visuals.

What's your favorite thing about Halloween? What's your favorite way of celebrating?

New York Comic-Con 2014

Another year, another NYCC done. This year it was just the Juban Princeling and myself. We managed to get there shortly after the doors opened and stayed until just before they closed. That's a lot of Comic Con!

"This is not a democracy anymore!"

What the prep for my costume did to my hands. This photo was taken after 7 washings.

The Princeling generously donated some "grass stains" to my costume.

The Princeling's inspiration for his own costume was Sled, a boy winter fairy from "Tinkerbell and the Secret of the Wings," a movie that is on so much in my house right now I'm pretty sure we went through it three whole times in one day last week. (To be fair, my 2 1/2-year old, The Duke of Juban, is in love with that movie, too. It's the first thing he asks for every morning when he wakes up, right after "chocolate milk.")

That's Sled, the boy winter fairy, second from left.

Since I am no seamstress, and since the Princeling informed me two days before Comic Con that he wanted to go as Sled, I had to improvise a costume on the fly. I used some fake orchid leaves from IKEA, sewed them with a few stitches to a light blue shirt, cut off the shirt's sleeves, used one leg from some pre-teen size purple leggings as the belt, and trimmed some shiny blue leggings. And, of course, bought some fairy wings. Thank goodness Comic Con is in October, when the pop-up costume shops are open!

Now that the Princeling is in first grade, I've started reading him the first Harry Potter. Because of this, I promised to buy him his own wand at NYCC, which we managed to score just in time for the Harry Potter NYC Presents: The Art of Wand Dueling lesson in one of the family rooms.

Princeling, in the wings, ready to take his new wand for a test drive.

The Princeling may not have reached the part in the book with the Sorting Hat yet, but you can believe that, when asked which house he belonged to, my child answered without hesitating, "Ravenclaw." Blue and gold pride, w00t w00t!

House pride, y'all!

After lunch, in which I had to eat standing up because there were, literally, no seats available, we scoured the show floor and I bought him yet another light saber to add to his collection at home, because really, you can't have too many of those. He also had a great time at the Writopia Lab "Create Your Own Superhero" booth, which warmed the cockles of my writer's heart.

The Princeling also discovered the Mutant Mania booth
so hard we stayed there for 15 minutes. This is my "Let's wrap
it up and do, literally, ANYthing else" face.

We wrapped up with the Big Magic For Little Hands demo downstairs, which gave the Princeling another chance to show off his new HP wand.

This guy. Love it.

Lots of really good cosplay this year, as usual. Special shout-out to this young lady I found taking photographs at the wand dueling lesson, who should win some sort of award for Best TARDIS ever. Note the wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey detail on the skirt.

She is the queen of TARDIS cosplay.

And, that's how you know you're Geek Parenting right: When you're at Comic Con dressed as a character from The Walking Dead, with a light saber in your bag on your back, holding the hand of your six-year old son who is himself in costume as a minor character from an obscure non-theatrical movie and carrying a Harry Potter wand.

Me and my kid at New York Comic Con FOR THE WIN.

Guest Post: The Lasting Influence of Robin Williams

Meredith's Note:

I'm not usually affected by celebrity deaths; I didn't know them personally, and though I may mourn the loss of their artistic contributions, I just don't cry or get upset.

Until Monday.

Robin Williams would not normally be on my lists of actors who come to mind if I thought about my favorite stars, and yet with his passing I cannot help but think about all his wonderful movies I've enjoyed so much throughout my life: Popeye, Hook, Good Will Hunting, Good Morning Vietnam, The Birdcage, and many more. 

More than that, the manner of his death and his prior struggle with depression seem to be hitting us all especially hard. I have not been very open with my own battle against depression since being diagnosed in 2009. For me, it's just too intimate to talk about publicly. As a friend of mine pointed out, though, the suicide of such a well-known person, famous for his humor and his ability to make us all laugh, hits home for so many of us who know that dark place all too well. We who have fought against the black hole and who have even been plagued by the irrational and yet very real thoughts that the world would be a better place without us, we who have talked close friends out of suicide -- we have a pretty clear idea what Robin Williams' demons looked like. Thankfully, with the help of an excellent therapist and some medication, my personal struggle has become manageable and my bad days bearable. For too many others, unfortunately, the struggle is overwhelming...and fatal. People who attempt suicide usually don't want to die, they just want the pain to go away. I can imagine the amount of pain someone has to have inside them to feel like they cannot endure one more moment; I'm so sorry that Robin Williams, and countless others, feel there is no other choice and that they will never get better.

One of my ways of dealing with my own darkness is to write. I write out my demons, I write out my worst fears, and in doing so, I can control them so they don't control me. Lately I write a lot about children because my dark places have taken the form of anxiety -- nearly to the point of paranoia -- about my children being hurt, or worse. I write about children a lot because I know that every day, in a million tiny ways, I let my children down and fail them as a mother. Writing helps me get past that and sleep at night.

My brother, Mr. Funny, has his own ways of coping with his demons and darkness: comedy. If I'm the ancient Greek mask Melpomene ("'Tragedy"), Mr. Funny is Thalia ("Comedy"). Like so many comedians, including Robin Williams, Mr. Funny's jokes come from a very serious and tragic place inside him. One of Mr. Funny's earliest influences was Robin Williams. Here, my baby brother talks about his earliest memories of Robin Williams and how laughter all too often comes from a place of tears.

*

My mother likes to recount the times when I was five and would take one of her hairbrushes and “brush my teeth,” a bit I picked up from the endless hours of Robin Williams specials. Maybe allowing my sister and I to watch his specials wasn’t everyone’s model of parenting (my father would also play Eddie Murphy records while I was in ear shot), but I’d like to think this helped cultivate my love of comedy, particularly stand up.

To be honest, I probably had very little idea what Eddie or Robin were even talking about. However, Robin Williams’ frenetic, fast paced, multi-voiced act transcended the generations. He could tell a story about wringing out a mop and turn it into something far more hilarious than most comics’ tried and true bits about their strict Catholic schooling or the string of bad dates they had been on.

I was fixated and, as I got into my teen years, I realized stand-up comedy was something I wanted - nay, needed - to do. Oh, I was a shy introvert and knew it would take a lot to overcome my self-imposed shell. A lot of this, I realize now, came from deep anxiety combined with what was undiagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. How was I to know then that my ability to spout off jokes in the middle of family dinners, events, and even family fights was part of both my strange mind at work, and my quick-strike defense mechanism?

As I got older, Robin Williams starred more often in serious roles. This made him twice as talented in my mind and I was as smitten with his dramatic roles as I was inspired by his comic performances. I knew he had had a history of drug use, but never knew about his struggle with depression. Many people are now saying, “We should have seen it” or “we should have seen it more.”  The sad truth is that no one really knows everything that goes on in the mind of someone who’s depressed, no more than anyone would know what an anorexic, manic depressive, or schizophrenic person goes through. There is a cliche that all comics - at least the good ones - have deep issues they are covering up. Maybe now it’ll be seen as less "funny ha-ha," and more of a dark joke that’s played on us all.

Beyond headlines about the tragic suicide of my boyhood idol, I’ve been reflecting on my own experiences with people close to me who have struggled with depression and other disorders. Many, although not all, are comics. For comics, I guess it is easier and even cathartic to work through as much of the pain with jokes, improvisation, and routines. Of course, “easy” may not be the right term.

A few years ago, a friend and I organized a show featuring comics who were dealing with issues – the kind that never truly go away: alcoholism, drugs, agoraphobia, bulimia, etc. My friend spent her life struggling with the often misunderstood and misrepresented Tourette’s Syndrome, I had my OCD, and together we all told stories that were not 100% funny, but also not entirely sad. Our goal was to entertain, but also educate.

While it’s important is that we learn what we can about depression - the signs, and the support that’s out there - I would like to also respect his family’s wishes to remember Robin Williams as the amazing man and talent he was. Comics who worked with him, or even just met him in passing, have endless stories of how generous he was as a person and comedian, pushing for stage time for other comics and being there for people behind the scenes. The remark comics made when comparing other comedians was often, “Well, he’s no Robin Williams.” He was the gold standard.

Actors in Hollywood talk about how hard it is to do comedy, yet comedy gets such little respect by The Academy. Robin Williams won an award for an amazing dramatic role in “Good Will Hunting,” and to say that was long overdue is an understatement. He made it possible to view comedians as the hardworking performers they are.

There have been many comedic trailblazers, but the legacy of Robin Williams will never be matched. 

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Mr. Funny, aka Evan Morgenstern, can be found on Twitter at Evanjm02, on Tumblr at EvanMorgensternObsessiveComedy, and is co-host of the stand-up show Comic Sans, which you can find on Facebook at /groups/thecomicsans. 

Post-Vacay Check-In

Hello world!

Last week the whole family went for a much-needed vacation to my parents' house in Miami. During that week, the husband and I drove up to Club Med in Sandpiper Bay, Port St. Lucie for four days and three nights of child-free time to ourselves, which we badly needed. I've posted some photos below to make you jealous. ;-)

While on vacation from Brooklyn, I also took a "reading vacation" from my 2014 reading project: Spec Fic by Women of Color. When I travel, I like reading travel essays, so this trip I read most of John Waters' hitchhiking book, "Carsick." I highly recommend it if you have a strong stomach: that man has quite an imagination. He's funny and a good sport, though, and reading his book has made me wish I could take a cross-country road trip just so I could pick him up.

Now that I'm back to Real Life, I'm ready to return to my 2014 reading project and to my writing. I've got my second novel to revise, two short stories to send out, and two works by my critique partners I have to edit; not to mention some more blog posts. Next week I have an interview with "Girl Out of Water" author Winnifred Burton, and in the next few weeks I'll have more sf/f influences, more book reviews, more Lost Scenes, and more Geek TV. Keep checking in!

Until then, enjoy the photos from Club Med: Sandpiper Bay!

Sunset over the St. Lucie River

Morning in Sandpiper Bay, Port St. Lucie, Florida

Our view at breakfast

Club Med has six Hobie Cat sailboats. Hubby and I had an
awesome time going for morning sails on the Port St. Lucie
River. One morning we went so far out we saw dolphins!

Hobie sail

Enjoying a well-earned mimosa after driving the Hobie Cat along the river

One afternoon it rained, so we drank rose wine at the lounge. Of course.