Yukon Cornelius fascinates me. Where did he come from? Does he have himself a woman? Does he like to partake in a drink now and again? Where did he get that damn fine blue attire? What kind of relationship did he and the "Bumble" share after we last saw them together? What exactly happened when they fell off that iceberg? Did they hit the ground, lay there together, and have a deep, meaningful dual-contemplation about the meaning of life and why they were wasting time searching for valuable minerals and flesh to eat?
Last night, I got another dose of Yukon and his cool-ass way of life and phrases ("Fog thicker than peanut butter"; yes!). Like most people my age, I've had a healthy supply of YC over the years, not only during my own childhood, but through all my kids' childhoods, as well. That includes my four-year-old, who I sat with last night and watched ole' Yukon and Hermie and Rudolph do their thing on television.
Like other parents, my exposure to Yukon borders on the extreme. At some point a few years ago, my wife thought it would be a good idea to buy a box set of Christmas classics on DVD that includes "Rudolph The Red-Nose Reindeer." I like Burl Ives OK, and buying the set seemed like a good, nostalgic thing to do--until my daughter became obsessed and was still watching the thing deep into July. That was more Yukon and Hermie than any man should have to tolerate. These days, we hide the thing, breaking it out only at Christmas time.
Still, last night was my first viewing this Christmas season, and despite all the previous hours I've exhausted in my life basking in Yukon's glorious existence, I found myself learning a few things last night about Yukon that have had me thinking about this red-headed stranger ever since.
First, Yukon carries a gun in his belt. A nice six-shooter, in fact. I never noticed that before. So, why doesn't he use it? Why doesn't he shoot the ole' Bumble when he gets too close and make a coat out of him? Why doesn't he at least fire a few shots over his head to scare the monster off?
Second, I learned that Yukon must be a fellow guitar player. When he runs across Hermie and Triple R initially, he tells the odd couple that he's out to buy a number of supplies, including "guitar strings." Try as a might, though, I never spotted a guitar. What gives? If Yukon really does play the six string, what kind of music does he pick? Ballads? The Blues? Is he a crooner? Is he a soft-spoken folk artist? Does he fingerpick? Does he know the metal progression? What would our jam session look like? I feel compelled to know.
Ultimately, I think that I think about Yukon so much for the same reason that other parents might have similar thoughts about shows they've seen a million times. If I didn't think about Yukon in unusual (and arguably creepy) ways, I'd go crazy sitting there viewing after viewing after viewing. Worse, I'd probably act as I was disengaged and bored, and I don't want my kid thinking as much. I want her to remember Yukon the way that I do. As a savior. As the guy who tamed the beast. The guy who took the fall (literally) so his friends didn't have to. I don't want her to remember Rudolph or Charlie Brown or Barney or Blue or any other character she might otherwise like as the guy her dad rolled his eyes at.
Here's to you, Yukon. I know there's more to you than meets the eye.
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