I've been thinking about Emil and the Detectives. There was a Disney movie made of the book, broadcast first in 1966, then sometime in 1969 or even 1970, on Disney's Wonderful World of Color, which I believe was a Sunday night show. I remember seeing it, then going up to my bedroom and lying on the bed, shutting my eyes, feeling such a longing, such a deep longing to be taken bodily into that world of bold, clever, intrepid European child detectives, that I actually became sick with the longing and it turned into unbearable sadness.
I didn't see how I could possibly get from here to there. THAT world was a world where things mattered, where people actually meant something to each other, where there was good and bad, and what one did defined one and had real consequences. So, if you were good and kind, you could expect to be rewarded -- with friends, adventures, fun, and a satisfying conclusion.
Suddenly, this afternoon, I felt an unbearable longing, again, to be in the world of "Emil and the Detectives."
It occurred to me that if the boy I was then could see my life now, he might be terribly disillusioned -- he might pity me terribly.
