For some reason, this year’s allergy season is kicking my ass. Yesterday Lunchboy and I hibernated in his house, sprawled on the couch with an ever-growing mountain of used tissues accumulating around us. All my faith in Claritin is GONE. While I was staring at the television, hoping for a reprieve from the sneezing and the itchy throat, I caught Top Gun on one of the movie channels. How does a movie classic like that get so much worse over time? Kelly McGillis wears way too much lipstick and Tom Cruise is just....ew. He used to be semi-attractive but after his recent Katie Holmes-based Scientology ranting, I can’t even watch his chipmunk-cheeked former self without wincing. Not even the volleyball scene. And that’s saying a lot.
Anyway, after watching Top Gun 60-70 times in middle school, I can now get through Goose’s death without tearing up. Oh, the melodrama. But in my allergy haze, it struck me that at no point is Maverick ever allowed to mourn Goose and that this is a serious oversight. Charlotte, Viper, Carole--they all kept telling Maverick not to stop flying just because Goose is dead, that he has to let go and move on. Hello?!?!?!? His best friend just died in a really traumatic way and no one will let Maverick cry, process, or deal with the loss at all. Which got me to thinking about how grief is such a taboo topic in general (and this is how hopped up I was, that Top Gun got me thinking about anything serious whatsoever).
I want to know why it’s not okay to be weak when it comes to grief. Because if there’s one experience that should make weakness okay, it’s dealing with loss. No one can be strong all the time and no one should have to be. Grief is an ugly, messy, undefinable experience. As anyone who’s ever lost someone (or something) knows, grief can take you down at the knees and dog you for years, twisting your insides around when you least expect it. Loss affects everyone differently and the only universal truth about grief is that you’re not supposed to show it in public. Grief is for when you close the door, when you pull your covers over your head, when you hide your face in your hands so no one can see the tears.
Maybe if Maverick had actually cried when he gave Goose’s personal effects to Meg Ryan, a generation or two of men wouldn’t feel like they had to be pillars of stone during emotional times.
And maybe I should get myself some Allegra so I don’t let bad 1980s movies launch me into tangents.
1 comment:
Oddly enough, I was thinking the same thing when I watched Top Gun a few days ago, sans sickness. I mean, I think its one thing to get him back in the saddle to avoid fear gripping him to the point where he can no longer fly...but to not grieve at all? To "let him go?". It happened a frigging hour ago! Isn't that a bit absurd?
I thought Tom Cruise was so hot in that movie when I was like, 14. Now he just seemed like a whiney little bitch.
In conclusion, I enthusiastically agree with your entire post.
Crack is Whack.
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