The wonderful thing about Tigger
Let’s just settle the bet right now: “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh” was (and still is) one of my all-time favorite films.
All the characters in it are awesome in their own way.
I cannot ignore the obvious wisdom contained within the movie, particularly the part where Rabbit, Piglet and Pooh are trying to find their way out of the forest and keep finding a pit in the ground.
Pooh, in the process of suggesting a new plan, said something that sticks in my mind even to this day: “Well, we keep looking for home, but we keep finding this pit. So I just thought if we looked for this pit, we might find home.”
You just can’t fault that kind of logic.
As lucid a statement as it was, however, there is one character in particular among Pooh’s many friends and acquaintances with whom I felt (and still feel) I had a personal connection: Tigger.
We have so much in common. He talks funny, for one thing.
All he had to do was open that cavernous mouth of his and say something in his reverberating, spittle-spewing, mile-a-minute voice of his.
Second, he’s hyper. He’s always bouncing around, off the walls, off tables, over rocks, under logs, over hill and over dale, practically never standing still.
The whole world is Tigger’s playground. That’s the way I look at the world, too.
My day’s what I make it, and if I choose to spend it ramping off everything in sight, that’s my prerogative. Life’s for fun.
Third, he’s just goofy. He sings songs about himself (“The wonderful thing about Tiggers, is Tiggers are wonderful things/their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs”), has a signature laugh (“woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”) and even turns catch phrases into acronyms (“TTFN! Ta-ta for now!”).
Back when I was just a little shaver I could spend hours rolling around on the carpet laughing my head off during the part of the film where Tigger crashes at Pooh’s place and puts the fear of Heffalumps and Woozles into him.
His exuberance, energy, lovable escapades and fun-loving nature endeared him to me.
I really identify with him on several levels.
I know exactly what it’s like to be told off by an irate rabbit after bouncing through said rabbit’s vegetable patch and scattering his hard work all over creation. No, really, I do.
Some people just don’t have the patience for hyperactive, exuberant, goofy people like Tigger and me.
At some point everybody has to tell me to knock it off. “Not so loud, Andy.” “Settle down there, Andy.” “Why can’t you stop being so silly, Andy?”
I felt so incredibly sorry for Tigger after Rabbit forced him to stop bouncing.
I know what it’s like to be scolded and scorned for doing crazy stuff and forced to stop, even when I’m not doing any real harm.
And I am familiar with, in the most intimate sense, the kind of youthful vigor and child-like, manic energy that Tigger is endowed with.
That kind of restless joy that imbues our spirits and bids us bounce around for all we’re worth.
Perhaps Tigger was the most profound force that shaped me into the inveterate goofball I am today. I would consider that an honor.
Andrew is a senior studying mass communication.
Columnists' opinions do not necessarily reflect the views of The Spectrum