Oh, we live in such perilous times. Our leaders tell us to fear the unknown, to distrust the things that we can‘t see. We appeal to you, Klasky-Csupo, Nickelodeon, Peter Gaffney, muses and sages all. Tell us the tale of Tommy the Brave, whose adventures in the playpen and garage may inspire us to face the monsters with courage and curiosity.
Shattered glass, a scream from grandpa. Some calamity has befallen the house of Pickles, caused by some unseen force. Tommy and Chuckie had been engaged in the time-honored tradition of childhood play. Tommy had led Chuckie under the rug to explore whatever there was to find. Their exit, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, is Spike the Dog. His snout marks the spot of egress – a return to their world – but peace will not be found. Something has wreaked havoc in the garage, and the adults are looking for someone to blame. Tommy watches his father and grandfather reach the same conclusion simultaneously, hears the words of grandpa echo as Tommy’s friend Spike is banished the doghouse. “In my day, we kept critters outside where they belonged.” Fascist.
Okay, maybe I’m being too harsh on Grandpa. And maybe him initially blaming the calamity on “hoodlums” wasn’t a dog whistle. But, to me, both comments indicate a flirtation with coldness for his fellow creatures. And it doesn’t square with my view of the world.
It doesn’t square with Tommy’s, either. “It’s not fair!” he shouts. This one-year-old can see it, plain as day. Spike couldn’t have caused the mess in the garage because he was with Tommy and Chuckie in the living room. What Tommy is bearing witness to is adults’ proclivity for injustice. There’s a desire to find a villain as quickly as possible, because we want our stories to function. And you can’t have misfortune without someone to blame. I’m not saying anything new when I remind you that “Our children are watching” is a powerful statement, confirming that our words and actions as adults will help to shape the words and actions of those younger than us.
Thankfully, children don’t simply copy their parents’ worldviews. Their own experiences shape their understanding. So, we have Tommy pushing back on the established narrative that Spike caused the mess. This comes with its own question, raised by Chuckie: “If Spike didn’t do it, who did?”
Before we get an answer, the babies are visited by Tommy’s maternal grandparents. Boris, his grandfather, tells the babies a folk tale about a young man named Hiyam walking into the woods. Hiyam is the hero of the story, brave enough to enter a place that would terrify you or me. Within these woods, Hiyam hears the horrifying sound of a dybbuk. To explain this Yiddish word, Boris rephrases it: “a monster.”
He goes on to tell the babies that Hiyam drew his klobbermeister “high into the air” since the dybbuk could attack from anywhere. Yet we don’t see the ending of the story. We see instead a dark and stormy night give way to a beautiful sunrise. We are safe – for now.
Why the qualifier? Because Spike is still chained up outside, still relegated to his doghouse for a crime he didn’t commit. He sadly refuses a pet from Stu; Stu is forlorn as well.
Tommy continues to question the situation, which strikes him as similar to the story of the dybbuk. Something is causing trouble, and it’s still on the loose. Right on cue, we see the red-tinged point of view of the malevolent force. It sneaks into the living room, climbs up the chair and leaps upon the shelf. Books and a lamp fall, chaos reigns. And once again, Spike is wrongfully blamed. Tommy tells his friends that the real culprit is a monster who is coming for the babies. Something must be done.
Tommy calls upon his friends to help him stop the monster. It’s too scary, they say. We do not have the legendary klobbermeister at our disposal. But Tommy demands their commitment to the cause. They must journey to where this all began: the Belly of the Whale – the garage.
The babies arm themselves and brave the wasteland of the kitchen, avoiding detection by the parents. Within the garage, they face many shocking sights. First they see a multi-eyed, sharp-toothed beast; Chuckie’s flashlight reveals it to be a family car. Next is a bug-eyed being with an open maw; the flashlight shows two lamps. But a few minutes later, the lamp illuminates what appears to be a dinosaur.
Yet the babies don’t recoil in horror. Perhaps they’ve learned to suspend judgement; perhaps they’re frozen in shock. What emerges is the true culprit of all this mess: a mouse. The babies, having never seen such a creature, wonder what it is. Could this thing be a monster? It’s too small to be a full-grown version; perhaps it, too, is a baby. Tommy’s assessment states the message clearly: “It’s not really all that scary when you see it up close.”
“I think he’s trying to say hello,” Chuckie says. Tommy reaches out: “We come in peace.” Tommy just about makes contact in a scene befitting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But they’re interrupted by the adults opening the garage door. Stu reacts in fear; Grandpa basically calls him a coward; Spike is called to save the day. One terse bark sends the mouse scurrying away. Spike has returned to his rightful place in the house.
But what about Tommy and his friends? They’re changed by their descent into this haunted realm. They share stories about their experience, saying they weren’t scared. Tommy says he doesn’t expect to ever see that mouse monster again. But immediately there’s another commotion. Stu cries out for his wife while a wide smile grows on Tommy’s face. He delights in the return of the mouse.
I like that we don’t see what happens next. I appreciate that the story once again ends on a daybreak of sorts. I am glad that there is a person who finds joy in discovery, in making connections with monsters. There is so much distrust and strife in this world. Tommy Pickles teaches us that bravery and curiosity forge a better one.