Gudlyf's World

Beck’s Baptize & Videotape

// July 26th, 2004 // Tales

During some period of my high school years, my father thought a great Christmas gift for my mom was a video camera. Of course, when my dad asked my brother and I what we thought of the idea, we approved with a resounding, “fuck yeah!” Mind you, in early boyhood speak, the first word is silent when speaking to parental figures and/or those willing to promptly correct your pronunciation with “the belt”.

Keep in mind that these were the days when the latest video cameras required a full-size VHS tape for recording. In other words, you were expected to lug around a VCR on your shoulder. We knew that, along with this fine gift for our dear mother, we would gladly bear this heavy burden for her. Not only that, but we’d be sure to meticulously choose the locales of each shot, carefully pinpoint each subject to be filmed, and make sure the audio remained crisp and clear, providing dubbed, informative narratives where necessary.

Our first official shoot: three minutes of my brother and I screwing around with electric guitars and Christmas decorations, dubbed with music from Chipmunks Christmas. All this, and before the camera was even wrapped. Masterpiece.

One of the crown jewels of our work came the following summer, which forever changed the life of one person — my dad. Actually it’s possible we changed the lives of more than one person, as I believe we likely saved several in the process.

The family cookout has been a tradition for many years at my parents’ house. Lots of food, beer, and when we had a pool, swimming. While the details of this particular family gathering aren’t clear to those present, the magic of video renews those faded memories with a simple push of the “play” button. Follow this with “rewind”, then “play”, and repeat.

Because the entire day isn’t captured, we’re left with small fragmented highlights. Luckily we can piece some of this together with the graciously informative timestamps gracing each frame:

02:39 PM — The last guests are arriving. “Oh look — a video camera!” Yadda yadda. There’s dad, grilling away and toasting us with a beer.

03:34 PM — People sitting at the picnic table or in beach chairs, eating burgers and dogs. There’s dad again, setting up the horseshoe pit. It’s pretty hot out I guess, because he just removed his shirt. Somehow he did this without putting his beer down.

04:21 PM — Horseshoe game in progress, one of many. My cousin’s up, and the first shot rolls off a bit. Now it’s my dad’s turn. He puts his beer down and starts some kind of new warm up technique of swinging his throwing arm wildly in semi-circles as he paces around the pit. This lasts a couple of minutes before he throws a wild, high shot towards the far pit, his opponents scattering, using their arms as desperate attempts at helmets.

04:40 PM — Quick shot of my dad making “grass angels”.

04:42 PM — My dad is approaching the camera, beer in hand. He utters what sounds like an aramaic blessing as he makes the sign of the cross at the camera with his beer can. His beer baptism spreads to everyone in the immediate vicinity.

05:37 PM — It must be getting really hot now, because my dad’s making his way — somehow — to the pool. He announces to the gathering of people that he’s jumping into the icy water to cool off, which freaks my mom out. “You’re gonna get a heart attack!” Something like that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter — he’s in the pool, cannonball-style.

05:50 PM — Dad again, drying off on the pool deck and looking for his beer. I think someone purposely took it. Oh wait, there it is in the pool. Nevermind.

In conclusion, I’d say you had to be there, but really you’d just need to see the tape. It’s most likely been played so many times that the ferromagnetic material has worn down too thin to be watchable, it’s sitting at the bottom of the Merrimac, or it’s melted into makeshift golf tees. Whatever the fate of this tape may be, the “damage”, so-to-speak, has been done. Those images haunted and scarred my father for life, and those days are far behind him now. Lucky for us all.

Several years later during my college days, I passed out in the back of a boat where my friends say they decorated me with flowers and other things I was either never told about or chose to forget. They told me the next morning that they had the scene on video, and my remaining college life instantly flashed before my eyes, as I knew what such a thing could do to a man. Lucky for me they were kidding. I think.

(NOTE: Please know that not everything in this story can be taken as complete truth. My dad never has, nor will he ever, drink Beck’s beer.)