Somebody Poisoned… My Character? How Toy Story’s Woody shaped a small part of me
Why is it that some media artifacts we encounter are brushed off and others anchor themselves in our lives, impacting the way we live? Does it have something to do with longstanding, embedded virtues and ideals that make up what
the mass media deems to be “truly American?”
Perhaps the media acts as cultivators of culture, and the artifacts that resonate with us were created with the purpose of bolting themselves onto a part of our hearts and steering the way we continue to think and consume.
When we latch on to a media artifact, it’s important to look past the simple fact that the artifact is something we are interested in. Sure, this can help shape our interests in the future, but I believe it is equally important to understand what need the artifact is fulfilling in our lives. The reason behind the interest can teach us much more than just the discovery of that interest. I’ve thought long and hard about the media product that was most prevalent in my life as I was growing up, and reflecting over what that artifact did for me when I discovered it and what it continues to do for me now was nothing short of a sobering experience.
I don’t know what year it was, but when I saw the movie Toy Story, I was obsessed with everybody’s favorite cartoon cowboy: Woody. I’m not saying that, after seeing the movie, I wanted to be a cartoon character. Rather, I found myself fixated on the way Woody acted and the way he was received by the other characters in the story. Whether it was Tom Hank’s iconic voice or the actual events that him and Andy’s other toys experience together, I was hooked.
Shortly after seeing the movie for the first time, my parents gifted me a Woody doll. This doll, or action figure, as I preferred to call it, came with me everywhere I went. When the batteries ran out from me pulling his signature sting over and over again, his voice was replaced my mine. I would pull the string and proceed to say, in my best Woody voice, “Somebody poisoned the water hole!” or “There’s a snake in my boot!” The Woody fascination was just beginning.
When Christmas rolled around, the very first present I unwrapped was (and I still remember my excitement) a Woody costume! I’m sure my parents thought that this would be a good Halloween costume, but that cowboy garb didn’t stay in the packaging for more than a minute.
For the next two years, my outfit every single day consisted of cowboy boots, jeans with worn holes in the knees, a button-down shirt, my Woody cowboy vest, and to top it all off, a patented Toy Story cowboy hat. I was a full-on real-life Woody.
This didn’t stop at the way I dressed. I acted like a cowboy too. Every day, I’d throw that outfit on, run outside, and start my cowboy “chores.” From cutting up twigs with my older brother’s hatchet, to tilling my field (making sure all the walnuts were out of the yard), and making sure that the members of my family were minding their business and not getting themselves into any mischief, I really felt like I was a true cowboy. I was the new sheriff in town, all 4 feet and 2 inches of me.
Of course, like any child, I eventually outgrew the costume and put the cowboy persona to sleep. Through my rehashing of these experiences however, I now understand that my fixation on Woody is engrained deeper in me than I thought.
Like most childlike activities such as hide and seek or tag, there comes a day when all the participants decide to call it quits, just like any other day, and expect to pick it right back up the next time the opportunity presents itself. What nobody knew, however, was that game of tag or round of hide and seek would be the last one ever.
This is how I felt about Woody. I knew there would never be a time that I would suit up like him again, and I didn’t expect myself to recite those lines, at least without joking around. As true as that may be, I’ve found several values, ideals, and morals that exist in me perhaps because of my time idolizing Woody.
Woody is a strong leader. Leadership has been something that, regardless of my effectiveness as one, I have always aspired to be. In the years since putting Woody in my past, I have consistently attempted to put myself in positions of leadership. I’ve served as a worship director at a summer camp, have spent years mentoring young praise band members, spent time leading Young Life events and Bible studies, and will soon be leading a classroom of students as their teacher.
Woody also is a loyal friend. Loyalty has always been something that has been second nature to me, even when it hurts. I’ve had family matters that tore apart other relationships occur but, for whatever reason, have not been able to do anything but stay loyal. I’ve also, in a cultural landscape where quick relationships are the norm, especially for young people, am engaged to someone that I’ve been with for six years, since 11th grade.
Woody, above all, does what is right and makes decisions based on his self-concept even in stressful situations. Most people who know me would agree that I’ve always been a person who keeps my head on straight even in the midst of high stress. I don’t get too high or too low and am able to keep my composure when others have trouble.
Do I have Woody to thank for all of these things? Not entirely. The point, however, is that even a small sliver that can be attributed to him is proof that media artifacts have a great impact on us. A cartoon cowboy from a movie in 1995 had the power to impact the way I acted, influence the things I was interested in, and in a small way, positively affect me later in life. I guess it really is true; we all pack away our toys at some point, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have anything left to teach us.