Death of a Childhood Memory

Like so many that had come before it, one of my last childhood memories was destroyed over the weekend, and it came in the form of a movie. I can't describe the disappointment that I felt after watching the move Death Before Dishonor because it brings up such a familiar fact of my life: things I cherished in childhood have turned into nightmares at this time of my life.

Take my childhood home as an example. When I was growing up there, that house had the feel of a castle with numerous cavernous rooms. I could run all day and not be able to find all the hiding spots, nooks and crannies available to hide in. It wasn't until years later, after we moved out of the house (in 1988) and my sisters re-purchase of that house in 1999 that I realized how differently that house was from my memories. Cuby(?) holes that I could lay flat in, returned to my conscience as a place that I would have to get into a ball to fit in. My old room, then a huge place to play G.I.Joe in, looked about the size of my current full bathroom. The kitchen that seemed like a dinner that was always ready to feed a dozen people, couldn't sit five at one time.

It was to this disappointment that I was greeted when watching Death Before Dishonor. Let me preface this with saying that it had been at least 20 years since the last time I had seen that movie, and that was putting a conservative estimate on it. What did I remember from this movie when I was in single digit age that made it such a majestic movie? Dead American's being thrown out of a van to be left on the street in front of an American Embassy and a lone Marine who would dealt swift and dutiful punishment to the defenders of evil. A lone American Marine swiftly, silently and thoroughly killing every perpetrator against America. A lone Marine restoring hope and honor to a desecrated flag and uniform in the name of justice and the Marine Corps motto Semper Fidelis (which means: Always Faithful). A lone Marine that was fully armed and REALLY dangerous. That Marine was more than a movie Marine, he was a Marine that I once saw in my father (a one time Marine, who wore the same uniform): a heroic man whom I could idolize.

What I got, though, turned out to be more like reality. The same run and gun mentality that seemed to perpetrate all military movies from the 80's and 90's. A since of a good guy running through waves of enemies with little to no regard, miraculously coming out of the battle uninjured. Yes, it made for an exciting movie when I was 8 or 9 years old, but Saturday, it turned out to be exactly like my dad: dated, old and not worth believing. As I write this, I can't believe that at one time I idolized that movie, but thinking back to those days, it sure was something that I could believe in, and even though the movie was a footnote in Hollywood, that movie did shape my life. But my expectations that it would be the same mystic movie were wildly unjustified.