Musing on the Fourth Day before Christmas. Thumpity, Thump, Thump.

Musing on the Fourth Day before Christmas. Thumpity, Thump, Thump.

Frosty the Snowman.

The snowman who came to life and danced around town with the children.

During Advent tonight, we watched Frosty the Snowman.

I figured 35 years was enough time.

Those of you of a certain age, remember when Frosty, Rudolph, the Grinch and the like would be on television? Back when television consisted of three channels and the other  channel that had ZOOM and Sesame Street.

I didn’t care to watch Frosty for it was sad.

And I forgot why until tonight.

That d*mned magician.

He didn’t want his hat.

He didn’t want his hat until he learned that it brought a snowman to life. Then he was determined to steal it back.

The big old MEANIE.

I saw him tonight for the first time in 35 years and remembered hating him. And it was hard to get a preteen me to hate anything.

Granted looking at him tonight, he was just a washed up guy. A person who never got the breaks or never worked hard enough for the breaks, kind of feel-sorry-for-pathetic.

But back then I hated him with a righteous anger.

Is this the saddest thing ever?

That scene of little Karen crying by the pool of water that was Frosty in the hot house — it made me cry tonight. (Well, get a lump.)

I asked my kids.

Did you cry when Frosty melted?

They looked at me like I was crazy.

“He was a snowman,” my daughter said.

No tears, no thinking it was sad.

My daughter later admitted, “Well, I cried the first time before I knew that he was going to be okay.”

It would be like someone leaving SpongeBob on an island letting him dry out.

I don’t know. At least I worked through my Frosty issues or understand them better.

That leaves Rudolph. Don’t get me started on how he was treated.

Am I the only one who feels for a 40 year old celluloid Snowman?