You Don’t Look So Tough
© 2010 G.N. Jacobs
Mom really knows how to deflate a guy. This time around it was my costume for my big Star Trek scene. I go to a modest effort to find the right shirt, black pants and proper scowl to play Guard Number One in an upcoming episode of the fan series: Star Trek: Odyssey. I send Mom the picture afterwards. Her reply: “You don’t look so tough, but then you never did.”
I suspect that Mom, yours, mine, or anyone’s for that matter, is constitutionally incapable of seeing past the sweet boy who got at least a half an hour’s entertainment from Prince Albert in a Can or a well-timed fart. She will always see her little boy trying to look fierce instead of convincingly portraying a thug. Good thing, Mom isn’t a film reviewer or I’d be dead as an actor.
Considering that the goon I played must have graduated at the top of his class at the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy, maybe Mom has a point. So, after throwing on a Klingon sash, a headband to cover an eye and a purple scarf, I sally forth sans dialogue to poke people with script immunity with guns and flop onto mats. That part is all in a day’s work.
But, this moron tries to control two pissed off Tellarites all by his lonesome. Real prison guards will laugh; I wasn’t scripted to be smart enough to bring restraints, I stood too close to both of them and I needed the second thug who only shows up after I get smacked around. So, getting worked over by this itty-bitty little girl in this case is as much a punishment for being stupid as it is that I was dealing with people possessing script immunity.
These two Starfleet officers later put two phaser shots in my ten-ring as they escape. I carried a smaller gun for this scene because I figured it was a demotion for being such a dufus who couldn’t even get a shot off before I died. Actually, now that I think about it, I couldn’t get into the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy. When Mom sees the footage, she’ll say, “told you.” Mom hasn’t seen the footage, yet.
Still, it is deflating to hear Mom say, “you don’t look so tough.” I wonder if more Moms played along when the boy does fierce dress up if the world wouldn’t turn out slightly better. We dress fierce and play thug as a way of chest thumping – I’m strong; I’m master of my domain.
After a certain point, Mom’s don’t play along because their child is cute. They can’t see anything else. The vampire I played once upon a time that learned the hard way about Vaseline in hair was cute and a little bit stupid to boot. It took football pads for her to acknowledge me as a monster.
It is a sad fact that nothing works for all boys. While I may have been the cute boy, seeking acknowledgement from Mom that I am appropriately ripped enough to take my place in the world, others really need the deflating. Attitude is good arrogance is not and sometimes only Mom can see the difference. Am I annoyed? No, I love Mom.
At five, I would’ve whined that she wasn’t appropriately terrified of my war face. When I was five, Mom would’ve humored her boy with the right noises that sound faked to an adult’s ears. She was and is that kind of supportive parent. At forty-two, I’m just Mama’s little boy mugging fake anger for the camera and flopping on the mat. God, I hope it’s just Mom that sees through my tricks.
So far, only Mom has gone for the balloon pop. That’s one ego bullet dodged. Truthfully, the adult me stopped caring about ego reinforcement from Mom. But, the little boy that considers goofy costumes and flopping on the mat an acceptable way to make a living still runs to Mom seeking approval.
I still can’t decide if I wanted Mom to say – “Ooh, how fierce!” – or not. I’m not sure I’d know what to do if she did.
