School Work and Lies

I watched the movie Hidalgo in the beginning of the week. I was struck by how much I liked it and found myself so impressed with not only the horse but also the tenacity and strength of the character of Frank T. Hopkins. I was recognizing such amazing parallels in the story between the horse and man and the hidden secrets that are revealed about the love of life, kindness and the need of survival. History class 116 was going to get a wonderful review of the plight of a man who was half Indian and half white man along with the endurance of the American mustang horse that beat the pants off of the Arabian thoroughbreds in the Ocean of Fire race across the desert. I felt confident and strong in my mind about the post I would submit so the rest of the week I focused on my other four classes and the assignments that would lead me to better understanding of things like racism and just world, theater, dance and music, and critiquing a nonfiction memoir and personal essay. What could be a better focus to help me with the critique of the movie for history than my English class helping me create nonfiction? After all that was what this assignment in history was about, tell the truth of the history in the movie based on the truth! Friday errands, children’s needed attention and taxi service for homecoming ate up my day and I found myself on the cusp of a deadline to report on the amazing feats of Hidalgo. At the computer the darkness of the room surrounded me, the quiet house was rare and the moon seemed to be staring at me through the patio doors, saying, “Get started already!” A few key strokes and my stomach began to flutter, a few more and my heart began to pound. As my lungs constricted and my breathing was heavy and forced, panic set in; page after page was illuminated on the screen and word after word told me that I had been duped; Hopkins was a fraud! He never starred in Wild Bill’s show, he self-promoted his farce of four hundred plus horse race winnings, he never set foot in Arabia and there was never even any such race as the Ocean of Fire. Anger swirled in my every thought, my face crinkled and brows drawn in and tight, I wanted to stomp on the DVD, strangle the writer and shoot Frank T. Hopkins! What was I going to do now? I don’t have time to watch a different movie, I can’t afford not to post, my grades matter to me. Hopkins with his tall tales was nothing more than a money grubbing, greasy, greedy, slime ball, jerk face that was going to help ruin my GPA. I was even angrier at the writer who told me this was based on the true story of Hopkins! Coming to my senses, I knew I had to suppress my anger at misleading, good for nothing writers and liars and figure out what I was going to do. I took a deep breath and in the recesses of my mind I jailed Hopkins and the writer John Fusco and stuck the key in my pocket to allow myself more ranting later when I was not under such time constraints. I moved to a more lit area in my mind and began to shuffle through the boxes holding the memories of past seen gilded screen viewings to provide me with a new focus for my conference report. Tossing aside the Disney files, damn Disney and their broken down wanna be cowboy Hopkins, and passing the Sci Fi goodies I couldn’t locate the memories of historical dramas! The panic was back and rising fast as the clock ticked loudly waving it’s hands at me with a “tsk, tsk, tsk,” scolding my procrastination. Lost in my mind frantically searching through the boxes for just the right true story pushing aside irrelevant boxes of useless information, then the comedic movies conked me on the head and out fell Good Morning Vietnam. Okay, it was not completely true in every event in exact detail, but Adrian Cronauer was real, he was really a radio personality on the Armed Forces Radio, he really did push superiors to the edge to bring morale, truth and home to the soldiers, and there really was a Vietnam War. I knew this movie so well, I had watched it enough times that I could quote scenes! The air rushed into my lungs so fast I became light headed, my heart leaped, my stomach settled and my forehead ached from the release of tension. I was in there, this was going to be even better than my original plan. The accounts and opinions skated on the paper smoothly integrating the facts and the message the director and screen writer wished to convey to me the audience. With just minutes to spare my right index finger tapped the pink mouse, it sounded its customary click to let me know that it completed its job of submitting my homework to the professor. Finally I breathed.