Smurfed

Getting "smurfed" was just a fact of life. I had gotten the little blue stuffed creature God knows when or where and had never really paid it much attention. I rather preferred my cuddle worn canine "Demon" (named after the Doberman down the street) or my fluffy black spider that originated from my Charlotte's Web obsession.

I loved the show though. Whenever "The Smurfs" would come on, my brother and I would gather anxiously around the TV, joyously reciting the theme song. Sometimes my dad would prance by and join in, which I thought was pretty much the funniest thing in the world. I wondered how such an old person could know so much about cartoons.

Truth was, the Smurfs had been around for quite awhile. In fact, they were only a year younger than my dad, with their debut in 1958 in a story illustrated by a Belgian man known as Peyo. Even more intriguing than his name was his rise to fame . After completing school, Peyo narrowed his prospective careers to two options - a dental assistant or an illustrator. Fortunately for myself and thousands of children worldwide, when Peyo showed up at the dentist's office, he was told that he was fifteen minutes too late.

I don't remember how it started. Maybe I initiated it. Or maybe my dad did. All I remember is finding the Smurf in odd places, like on top of my backpack as I grabbed it for school in the morning. Or slumbering peacefully in my doll cradle. When my dad would see me gazing quizzically at the awkward blue man, he would belt out a roaring laugh and shout "You've been Smurfed!"

Peyo's little creations gained fame. In 1976, they starred in the film "The Smurfs and the Magic Flute". In 1981, with a little help from the legendary Hanna & Barbara, their television careers were launched. The Smurfs had gone global.

I had to retaliate. And I did. When he was at work I would plot with my brother about the most creative place to smurf. I would set it on my dad's dresser. Or by the coffee pot. Once, when he was asleep, I snuck down to the garage and placed it in the driver's seat of his Dodge Neon.

As the old adage goes: all good things must come to an end. During Christmastime 1992, Peyo passed away.

We moved to Oregon when I was thirteen. I thought Smurfs were babyish. I thought I would be fine without my old friends. I thought I didn't need my dad's dumb jokes.

Yet, Peyo's legacy still lives on. Even without his guidance, the Smurfs have continued to expand into videos, CDs, and video games. Millions of copies have been sold.

As I crept up the stairs into my desolate new room for the very first time, I couldn't help but crack a smile. And then a laugh. There, propped up on the shelf of my barren closet was that mischievous blue being, welcoming me home.


Smurf facts from: www.smurf.com

Truth

I'm kind of on the fence about this whole issue of where to draw the line between truth and lies in Creative Nonfiction...

As a writer, I can definitely sympathize with the need for embellishment and exaggeration within a piece. It is difficult enough to portray the exact meaning you want your readers to comprehend (regardless of the genre you are writing in). But when you are constricted to only pure, simple facts, this task becomes nearly impossible. Often the events of our lives don't always have some deeper, greater meaning. Even when traumatic and exciting things are happening to us, rarely do we stop and think of the meaning of those events in the heat of the moment. It is only afterwards when we use our flawed memories, and our sense of good storytelling that that meaning is applied. I think that to write without these techniques would make for an incredibly dull and confusing piece of work.

As a reader, however, I crave the truth. It bothers me to read a piece that is labeled nonfiction, only to discover that certain bits of dialogue, or certain emotions/events never really occurred. When I read fiction, I am fine with extended fabrications, mostly because I anticipate them. I know its not real. But when I read nonfiction, I expect it to be the most accurate and honest rendering of events that the author can possibly produce. I want to be able to tell my friends "Hey, listen to this! This actually happened to someone!" If I cannot do this, if I cannot trust the author, I feel cheated.