My Thank You Letter to Jim Henson
The funny thing is, I don’t remember watching Sesame Street much as a kid. I am sure I did. I had a Cookie Monster plushie filled with 3 plastic cookies that I’d constantly lose and find haphazardly shoved amongst other toys in my shelf. I had a pet goldfish my sister had won at our county fair, we named her Dorothy after Elmo’s goldfish roommate. When we got Dorothy a friend, as my mom had noted she was in dire need of some company in her lonely tank, I named her “Company”. Dorothy and Company lived many years.
I don’t think it’s necessarily a childhood nostalgia that makes me feel so strongly about Jim Henson’s productions. There’s something so much more energetically entwined between all his characters that I connect to as an adult more than I ever did as a kid. Watching Sesame Street and the Muppets with my niece and nephews, I laugh more than they do. I pause scenes to show my parents and forward clips to friends that I’ve never seen before. And no, before you ask, I watch them sober. Most of the time.
There is simply something raw about these characters. I relate to them? I’m not sure what it is. I’m still trying to put it to words as I type this out. They aren’t always cute, honestly – some of them are little creeps. His work is original. Even now, so many scenes from the Muppets, so many bits have not been redone in any stand-up I’ve seen. The humor is so niche but so relatable. To me, they’re the kind of jokes you develop within your family or amongst friends that never grow old. Inside jokes that grow and develop over decades, not derived from pop culture or the internet, not worn down by the repetition of kids on the playground or annoying colleagues. Maybe I’m idealizing it. Probably! But that’s ok.
It’s slapstick comedy and it’s stand-up. It’s a musical and it’s a drama. It’s storytelling while teaching me the alphabet and introducing celebrities, athletes, authors, and talk show hosts. (OK, now I am talking about Sesame Street – the Muppets would prefer that you know your ABCs before diving into the social commentary of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol).
When my oldest nephew was 4, he was incredibly shy. We worried about his speech and socialization at preschool. I saw a lot of my younger self in him, and I empathized. I was in college at the time, and got most updates from my family over Facebook messenger with long indecipherable paragraphs whenever the family had a full dinner together or special event. I’d go home for holidays and breaks, with the littles in new stages of life each time, fresh skills and interests on display. On one trip home, my parents teased a new special talent of Raylan’s that they knew I would love.
Ask him to tell you a joke.
I made my rounds, gave my hugs to all the adults and littles, and finally got round to the novice comedian. I truly cannot remember the joke, but I do remember the punch line.
Waka! Waka!
He raised his little eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders and laughed. His intonation was absolutely perfect. His timing was incredible. This was the funniest bit I have quite literally ever seen.
My sister had introduced her kids to the Muppets, and Raylan had taken a liking to Fozzie Bear – clearly. He became our family comedian, to this day he makes me laugh with no reservations. He has come out of his shell so much and I am so incredibly proud of him. Obviously, it’s not all thanks to Fozzie Bear. It’s been a group effort to create a warm, comfortable space for Raylan to grow into the person he is – but those first few months of jokes and storytelling inspired by everyone’s favorite annoying teddy bear opened up this little dude’s mind (and his mouth – what a chatterbox now!)
Years down the line, I’m graduated from college. I just broke up with my partner of 6 years and it’s my first Christmas without him. We’d been together my entire adulthood, and I’m still learning what it’s like to be me without the other half of my personhood. My parents and I did a small family Christmas morning together, exchanged gifts and are messing about with all our new tchotchkes. My dad and I have a mess of Legos out, neither of us have touched a Lego in decades. We sit there for hours assembling Legos into florals and succulents, finding what we think are mistakes in the kit – tiny frogs and misplaced guns – only to find that they’re recycled pieces and we are the idiots, obviously, and not the massive corporation known for their accuracy. We can’t find anything on TV that’s not a rerun of A Christmas Story at a different timepoint than we’ve already seen multiple times today. I stop on a startling find – tiny woodland creatures, in canoes, they look taxidermized. They have charming Appalachian accents. What in the hell is this and why am I in love with it?
After a few minutes, we find out that this is another Jim Henson production- Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas. It’s beautiful, it’s charming, I cannot recommend it enough. I love bluegrass and little furry critters. It’s a twist on Gift of the Magi with a whimsical 70s hippy essence. No one in my family had ever heard of it and I am here to spread the good word.
I could – and likely will in future installments – go on about the charm of Jim Henson’s many many creations. For today, I’ll end it with with one last silly little unassuming thing. Just the other day, I was sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops. It’s a dingy space, tucked into an alley, about 50 feet off the University of Washington campus. There’s weird art on every vertical surface, the baristas are just as weird, and the clientele you can likely make some assumptions about. Usually, the music is played at a low hum, just discernable enough for the staff to sing along as they toil away 4 hour shifts between courses. The first time I ever heard these staff blast a song brought a cartoonlike smile to my face.
Am I a muppet? Or am I a man?
Am I a man?
And I’m pretty sure every patron in the shop sang along.
pro-whimsy agenda 