Reliving your Childhood with the Thunderbolt Kid
March 25th 2007 21:39
It does us all good to look at life with a humorous slant sometimes, and nobody does it better than Bill Bryson. I have just finished The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, and was not disappointed. Bryson has that uncanny ability to take the norms of everyday life (in this case childhood) and turn them into hilarious sojourns. I always feel an up lift in my mood after reading him. It is the same feeling you get after watching a Warner Bros cartoon. In fact, he either bases his character personas on Warner Bros, or the Warner Bros saw life much as Bryson does. Either way, you’re in for a laugh.
American it may be, but this memoir is relevant to anyone in the western world growing up in the 50’s and 60’s. Kids were literally everywhere, as Bryson points out in Chapter Two. “If you stood on any corner with a bike – any corner anywhere – over a hundred children, many of whom you had never seen before, would appear and ask you where you were going.” OK, slight exaggeration, (something Bryson is known for) but an immediate image is provoked of neighbourhood kids converging on street corners and heading off into the great unknown. And I love his way of pushing the truth just that little bit further – “I knew kids who were pushed out the back door at eight in the morning and not allowed back in until five unless they were on fire or actively bleeding -“
No one is spared by Bryson either. His parents (who were really just The Kid’s earthly care-takers), teachers, neighbours, friends, school bullies, shop-keepers, distant relatives, were all in danger of being vapourized by “the kid’s” sizzling glare. This is childhood at its best, where everything is within your power and all adults are nincompoops, totally unaware of the far reaching world of the young.
A couple of characters seem to be drawn from classic moulds. Bryson’s grandparents in particular. Chapter Ten, Down On The Farm tells us about summers on his grandparents farm in Winfield, Iowa and reintroduced me to the word ‘rutabaga’, which brought on fits of laughter for no real reason (obviously some long forgotten childhood association there). And his friend Doug Willoughby seems to be the human version of Wiley Coyote, which would have added a dangerous element to anyone’s childhood. It would seem Willoughby holds the record in Des Moines for incurring visits from the Fire Department to his home. Then there is the author’s quest to view the naked female form (preferably in the flesh). Something that seems to be constantly thwarted by the Gods! It is all very funny and extremely likely, given the times and the variable situations.
For many years now I have felt that one of the most important things about growing up is not to forget what being a child is like - an important tool in keeping life’s perspectives. Bryson seems to have mastered this, and the Thunderbolt Kid, is the perfect vehicle for zooming back into that sphere of wonder called childhood.
American it may be, but this memoir is relevant to anyone in the western world growing up in the 50’s and 60’s. Kids were literally everywhere, as Bryson points out in Chapter Two. “If you stood on any corner with a bike – any corner anywhere – over a hundred children, many of whom you had never seen before, would appear and ask you where you were going.” OK, slight exaggeration, (something Bryson is known for) but an immediate image is provoked of neighbourhood kids converging on street corners and heading off into the great unknown. And I love his way of pushing the truth just that little bit further – “I knew kids who were pushed out the back door at eight in the morning and not allowed back in until five unless they were on fire or actively bleeding -“
No one is spared by Bryson either. His parents (who were really just The Kid’s earthly care-takers), teachers, neighbours, friends, school bullies, shop-keepers, distant relatives, were all in danger of being vapourized by “the kid’s” sizzling glare. This is childhood at its best, where everything is within your power and all adults are nincompoops, totally unaware of the far reaching world of the young.
A couple of characters seem to be drawn from classic moulds. Bryson’s grandparents in particular. Chapter Ten, Down On The Farm tells us about summers on his grandparents farm in Winfield, Iowa and reintroduced me to the word ‘rutabaga’, which brought on fits of laughter for no real reason (obviously some long forgotten childhood association there). And his friend Doug Willoughby seems to be the human version of Wiley Coyote, which would have added a dangerous element to anyone’s childhood. It would seem Willoughby holds the record in Des Moines for incurring visits from the Fire Department to his home. Then there is the author’s quest to view the naked female form (preferably in the flesh). Something that seems to be constantly thwarted by the Gods! It is all very funny and extremely likely, given the times and the variable situations.
For many years now I have felt that one of the most important things about growing up is not to forget what being a child is like - an important tool in keeping life’s perspectives. Bryson seems to have mastered this, and the Thunderbolt Kid, is the perfect vehicle for zooming back into that sphere of wonder called childhood.
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