Remembering Sesame Street
Omigod suddenly I’m five years old, I’m remembering songs from Sesame Street, and it feels like only yesterday when I sat in front of the tv and sang along with the muppets and Gordon, Susan, Maria, Luis and David. Bizarre. There must be some truth to the allegation that the writers of Sesame Street in the 70s and 80s 
smoked pot and used LSD because their work continues to stick in my brain. Hippie flashbacks. Psychedelic magic.
Like thousands of other Filipinos my generation, I learned to speak (and probably write) English from watching Sesame Street and Electric Company and there are no books that have made an impression as deep and lasting as certain episodes of Sesame Street, true true true. I remember Bumble Ardy’s Number Nine when I couldn’t remember how to multiple fractions back in fourth grade. My first appreciation of poetry came with my memorization of the Daddy Dear song.Gad.
I seriously believe that many of the childish notions and attitudes I have (and will never lose, I guess, despite Kim’s efforts to make me more adult -whatever the heck that means) are because I watched too much Sesame Street. Even now I watch it whenever I can. Mnamanahamanah! (Oops, that’s from the Muppet Show).
I wonder if there’s a study on the attitudes and personalities of kids who grew yp watching Sesame Street from babyhood? Like, whether there’s a corollary between childish behavior and a childhood spent watching Sesame Street. Kasi my sister, who’s older than I am, is much more childish than I am, and it’s often hard to get her to get serious whenever she gets all goofy. It’s also hard to get her to calm down when she’s sad, so she tries very hard to keep control of he emotions because once she lets go, she’s a real mess. It’s like trying to understand the Swedish Chef.
Maybe this isn’t so funny, but it says a lot: when our dad died in 2003, my sister refused to cry in public. She kept really quiet all throughout the wake, but just sat next to Papa’s coffin. When it was the final day and we were at the memorial park and all the relatives were weeping and I was bawling my eyes out, she still didn’t cry. Instead, she waited till she and I got to the car and as soon as I closed the door as we sat in the backseat, she turned to me and asked in a tremulous voice "Are there no more people? Is it okay to cry yet?! I miss Papa!" and then wailed like a child.
My Papa used to sing the Daddy Dear song to me.
—
D, D, D, D
Daddy dear, oh daddy dear
Do dogs have dreams, do ducks have ears?
Do dragons dance, why do gophers dig holes?
Do gophers dress up in their dirty clothes?
D, D, D, D
Dogs dream of meat and their dreams are delicious
Ducks do have ears but they don’t do the dishes
Gophers dig holes to hide their candy bars
Dragons don’t dance and they don’t smoke cigars
D, D, D, D
Daddy dear, oh daddy sweet
Do dandylions roar, do daisies have feet?
May I have a drink of water and a dish of tadpoles?
Daddy how deep is a doughnut hole?
D, D, D, D
If dandylions roar then your daddy is deaf
The daisies drank the water so the tadpoles left
Your eyes are droopy darling daughter and you’re dizzy in
the head
The toads are eating dinner so it’s time to go to bed
Little dolly go to bed
–
Imagine, I was watching Sesame Street all throughout martial law.
