I am Reptar
“Dad, DAD! She’s gonna ROAR! WATCH~!”
Was the episode almost over already…?
Rubbing the back of your neck as you sat forward and blinked the grogginess from your eyes, you checked the time and found out the hard way that the 22 minute dinosaur commercial really was almost over... The last half-hour had somehow flown by, but maybe that had more to do with you knowing the show by heart at that point than not getting enough sleep the night before.
Rolling your shoulders and cracking your neck so loudly it scared you awake, you sat up even straighter and scooted to the very edge of your well-worn leather recliner to let your son know that both he and the TV he was pointing at had your undivided attention.
…What was the lesson for this episode again?
The show would be sure to repeat it at the end to drive the point home, but you wanted to make sure your brain hadn’t completely leaked out your ears. Not that it would’ve been the show’s fault if that really had happened…
In all honesty, it wasn’t even that bad of a show! You’d* watched worse when you were a kid, and now that you were raising one, you could appreciate the ever-so-slightly mind-numbing* simplicity.
Some dilemma was made worse by the villain of the week, the dumb kids that fell for the scam needed Reptar’s help, and then the heroine herself showed up to kick the big bad villain’s butt… It was cliché as hell and getting more than a little stale* after watching it for what felt like *years, but your son loved it and the special effects — the practical effects, that is — held up pretty darn well when you kept in mind just how undoubtedly miniscule their budget had to be!
Though maybe nonexistent was more accurate. It certainly felt that way at times…
At least you never had to worry about him getting into trouble because of the show, right? More than anything, it was good clean fun, and you wanted your pride and joy to have as much of that as he could handle while there was still time for it.
Kids had to be kids sometimes, y’know? What was the rush? He could grow up later! Or never…
Turning around to catch the gentle smile on your face but missing the twinkle of a teardrop in one eye, your practically giddy son spun back around to watch his favourite TV character Reptar do her trademark Atomic Roar to defeat the latest in a long line of villains of the week. If only his mother could see that look on his—
Ah! The lesson suddenly hit you square in the face like a bolt of lightning, at least a dozen idea-lightbulbs turning on over your head. This week’s plot was all about fire safety…!
The two actors dressed up like firefighters with hoses at the ready jogged your memory enough to be able to recite the simple plot verbatim:
Reptar had been framed by the highly-flammable bad guy so everyone but her most loyal of supporters thought she was responsible for a house burning down, but the Local Fire Brigade™ had done their jobs and ruled the blaze an accident that was actually caused by the bad guy leaving flammable things around the house and emptying the family’s handy-dandy fire extinguisher…!
Fires could happen at any time with little to no warning through no one’s fault, after all, but luckily, the family had consulted the appropriate authorities ahead of time, come up with a fire escape plan, and executed it flawlessly thanks to regular practice! That’s why no one was hurt: because they were prepared!
The best thing to do when dealing with something that’s both dangerous and unpredictable is to prepare just in case…! Prevention is/was the real hero, and all that jazz…
Blinking your eyes one at a time and out of sync after that little montage finished running through your head, you caught the child sidekicks being warned about what to do if they ever came across a fire — or even just signs of a fire — at home, or at school, and—
“Rooooooaaaaaaaaaaar!” your son mimicked, keeping his volume at a surprisingly reasonable level as he ever-so-gently stomped his feet on the ground, once again imitating his latest and greatest idol.
You had Reptar to thank for that… Her or the writers. Maybe both. One way or another, they’d built in parts where kids could responsibly follow along by mimicking their hero without annoying their parents or their neighbours or anyone else for that matter…
Reptar was both responsible and courteous, after all!
Cheeks once again hurting from how hard you were smiling while staring at the back of your boy’s head — imagining the unbridled joy you knew was shining in his eyes — you turned your attention to the Atomic Roar that was just seconds away, your son having jumped the gun just a little bit in his excitement.
As one of Reptar’s trademark moves alongside her dino stomp and tail swish that you could never remember the ‘proper’ name of, the flame effect she shot out of her mouth always left you breathless for some reason... The producers clearly spared no expense on that effect — not that the others were anything to sneeze at either — and it showed.
The firefighters even cheered Reptar on as she burned the bad guy to ashes and they got the hoses ready just in case her all-natural flamethrower totally accidentally caused a fire! Reptar even smothered the flames out after learning the different ways to put out different fires! …But not before reminding the kids at home that that sort of thing should always be left to adults.
Hell, even you learned a thing or two about putting out electrical and grease fires… Or were reminded of the proper procedures, anyway. Yeah, reminded… Ha ha…
A quick check with your little man proved he’d absorbed the information and knew exactly what to do in the event he ever came across a fire. Minus calling Reptar for help or trying to unleash his own Atomic Breath, that is…
You had to admit, Reptar was surprisingly wholesome... If sitting through hundreds of repetitive, flimsily-written plots and having a whole cabinet dedicated to the newest variation of the cavity-inducing cereal (which you quite liked as a dessert, and maaaybe as a snack every now and then) meant you got to spend more time with your son, then you weren’t about to complain!
Didn’t hurt that you always got a little chuckle out of watching what had to be a grown-ass-man — or perhaps ‘young-ass-man’ since you couldn’t even hazard a guess at how old the suit-actor was — gleefully stomp the simple miniature buildings to death, bro every now and then.
Or playing I-Spy and spotting the seams on costumes, or where an especially cheap-looking mask connected to the rest of the suit, or maybe even the tip of a boom mic that the studio had forgotten to remove in post… Assuming there was post processing and they didn’t just fly by the seat of their pants getting everything done in one take.
Bah, humbug!* It was wholesome fun for the whole family that reinforced the important lessons you’d tried your best to teach your boy, and most of all it was clear that the actors and actresses were having fun too! You couldn’t have wished* for a better way to spend your Saturday mornings…
It didn’t matter that the whole thing was faker than a four-and-a-half-dollar-bill, or that if you paid even the smallest bit of attention, you could see just how painfully cheap and obviously fake the miniature set used to make her and the villains appear enormous after they grew in size was.
All that mattered was that your son enjoyed it!
*All that mattered was that you were able to spend more time with him, and that he was excited to spend time with you… Sure, it took a little while to explain the concept of not acting out everything he saw on TV in real life — and a little help from Reptar herself went an awfully long way — but you eventually got him to stop stomping on the ground so hard when she did her* super stomp because the show always reinforced the importance of being considerate.
Up until that point, though, what was a little headache here or there in the grand scheme of things…?
“I am Reptar, hear me roar!” said the actress straight into the camera right before belching what was honestly a pretty convincing cone of atomic fire at her opponent.
The week’s villain exploded into painted Styrofoam chunks after letting out a laughable wail before Reptar shrank back down to roughly human size, hugged her cheering child co-stars, and reminded her viewing audience to never play with fire.
Because they weren’t fireproof like she was…
Simple, effective, and straight to the point, you hoped your little one got the message as he nodded his head at the screen energetically, sitting back down on the ground gently and finishing his thankfully still-in-one-piece, unspilled bowl of sugary Reptar-brand cereal.
This time with different-coloured marshmallows while nothing else had changed…
That* was what got a scoff out of you. It wasn’t exactly good for him — you knew that, of course you did — but you loved that kind of junk when you* were a kid, so as long as he didn’t eat it every day, what was the harm in relaxing on the weekend?
Shameless cash-grabs were just a part of being or having a kid…
“Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” your little noise-machine started shouting, his eyes glued to your face, his feet a total blur as he ran in place, and his hand pointing straight at the TV again.
“...coming to your area next week!” some announcer-type read out before a mountain of microscopic text scrolled up your screen in a half second. “Send in your entries today!”
Having missed the announcement but thankful you lived in an era when you could just rewind live TV, you did exactly that, paying special attention to the thing your son seemed to be foaming at the mouth over.
“Don’t miss Reptar, in person, for two days only, at your local [pre-recorded location] at [pre-recorded time]!”
Oh good lord, the station — or whoever — couldn’t even spring to have the announcer-guy read all the information!? They really had to splice in someone who sounded nothing like him!? you thought to yourself while clutching your sides to stop them from flying into orbit.
This show! Yeah, you liked it too…
Reaching for the handy-dandy notebook you kept by your chair for occasions just like this one, you quickly jotted down the relevant details of the little contest they were running and made a note to look up the small-print tomorrow.* You’d give your bundle of joy a sitrep about what entering the contest entailed and formulate a plan of attack since *you’d probably have to do the lion’s share of the legwork yourself.
But if they were that cheap about the announcement, then—
“I wanna see Reptar, dad~!” the walking, talking, million-dollar, ten-thousand-watt smile standing in front of the TV repeated, sealing your fate.
Yeah, you’d find the gaping loophole in the contest and exploit the living F#$K out of it for him… He was gonna win or you’d die trying…
. . . . . . . .
The next week ended up giving you carpal tunnel. …Or at least, it felt like it had.
Turned out the contest was as simple and straightforward as they came! You would’ve suspected some nefarious dealings with the post office if you believed for even a second that Reptar had that kind of pull, but one way or another, all you had to do was write in.
Name, age, return address, number of tickets (for family to come too) and a stamp to send in the postcard if you were made of money. Otherwise, you could just drop your ‘ballots’ off at the local TV studio office instead!
Which was exactly what you did.
The rules made no mention of there being a maximum number of entries for a single person — big mistake on their part — and since it had to have one of those ‘no purchase necessary’ options, all you needed was time. *Which kinda was money, but you were more than happy to spend that* kind of moolah on childhood memories!
So you got to work.
You filled out entries for your son for hours upon hours upon hours... Whenever you had a break at work, whenever you had a few spare minutes while waiting for him to get out of school, whenever he finished his homework and ate all his veggies, you filled out ballots for him. Your handwriting was just a little bit better than his was, but his use of crayons when you formed your super-duper-team was sure to make his ballots stand out, so you were evenly matched!
…Those were some of the best nights of your life, honestly. You barely slept, and you looked like death warmed over come the morning, but his giddy squeal as you emptied a great big garbage bag full to the brim with ballots into the mail slot at the TV studio once a week warmed and healed you from the inside out, so you knew it was all worth it.
Getting chewed out by your boss when you wrote your son’s name, age, and address on sales forms, being able to fill out a scrap of paper with your eyes closed, and having the Reptar theme-song echoing through your mind as it pierced your very soul, though…
Yeah, still totally worth it... Doubly so when you got a letter asking you to stop sending in ballots and congratulating you on your win~! Haha~! The brute force method worked~!
The letter seemed a little premature given that the contest was supposed to be running for another week and a half or so, but they’d literally nailed the mail slot shut when you went to go drop off a few remaining ballots by hand, sooo…
Breaking the good news with a spin that left you both dizzy, your darling baby boy was so excited to hear that he’d be meeting Reptar that you almost peed yourself!
…Yeah, you really needed some sleep. How many years until he was in college, again…?
. . . .
“Rep-tar, Rep-tar, Rep-tar, Rep-tar!” your little Reptar-addict chanted on the drive to the studio like he was getting ready to offer you as a blood sacrifice…
Checking your hair and straightening out his little necktie for him, you marched your big-boy inside and shook hands with a producer of some description as he shoved an NDA or a release or something vaguely legal on a clipboard into your hands.
The look in his eyes… Yeah, he really didn’t like you, but given that your son was right there next to you, he tried to keep the sulfuric acid out of his voice as he calmly and pleasantly explained that thanks to you, they wouldn’t make that kind of mistake ever again.
…Well, they had to learn sometime, right~? you replied with an over-exaggerated wink.
“REPTAR!” came the explosive shout only dogs should’ve been able to hear as a—
Was the mascot always female…? Uh, you meant that young…? And a real-life dinosaur!?
The young woman of the hour walked in like she was being introduced for a televised title-fight, stomping from side to side and blowing wisps of— Oh wow… Guess the blue fire really *was real! *…Thank God you planned ahead and made sure your boy wasn’t wearing anything too flammable!
“How’s it going, junior ranger?” Reptar cooed, squatting down to meet your son eye-to-eye.
Sticking out a hand, she waited for him to get over his shock at meeting his number-one-hero in the flesh before he stuck his own hand out for an exaggerated handshake that left him giggling even before she picked him up, plopped him on her shoulders, and started stomping around the mezzanine.
Your heart-stopping dread relaxed itself into breathless-anxiety once Reptar made eye-contact with you — winking in that way adults regularly winked at each other when small children were present — and marched herself — and your pride and joy — over to say hello.
"Rawr, daddy~! Looks like you and my newest junior ranger get a full day with the number one dinosaur herself: Reptar~!"
If you weren’t burning every second of your child’s mirth into your brain, you would’ve smiled at just how infectious Reptar’s toothy, razor-sharp smile was.
…Wait a minute, her name couldn’t possibly be Reptar, could it?
Not wanting to break kayfabe, and before you had a chance to even mumble the question to yourself under your breath, the dream team was nearly out of sight and well on their way into the film-studio.
…
. . .
WAIT, THE FILM STUDIO!?
. . . .
Reptar was a pro. You were scared out of your mind that your little man was about to have his whole fantasy world come crashing down around his head, but Reptar — ever the consummate professional and a real whiz with kids — managed to make up an explanation for just about everything he ended up seeing!
Of course, it usually boiled down to her re-creating her “”””real life”””” experiences because there weren’t any cameras around the first time — a real “based on a true story, bro, trust me” kind of thing — but the way she sold it and the enthusiasm that she presented it with had him buying every word!
…Heck, you were just about ready to buy whatever she was selling too, even if it was overpriced essential oils!
“Tyra…? Y’wanna call it for lunch, please?” some stuffy suit-and-tie type called into the studio you were using for your tour.
You found out — to your immeasurable relief — that the studio in question had already been used for a recent shooting, but hadn’t been cleaned up yet, so even though your son was on his best behaviour, if he just so happened to break anything, they wouldn’t be completely and utterly ruined financially.
They were probably out of pocket lint, bits of gum, and old buttons to pay for a new one…
Oh, and “Tyra” was apparently the name of the girl currently stomping around on tiny cardboard buildings to your son’s immense glee!
It suited her... A pretty name for a pretty girl… Soul! H-Heart! She had a really pretty heart, dedicating herself to children like she had…! You had to be at least a decade older than she was, so any thoughts about her kick-ass figure, or the way her eyes sparkled in the light, or— Nope, nope, nope! Verboten!
“How’s my little ranger doing, huh? Feel like taking a break and having something to eat?” Tyra — if that was her real name — asked, showing off and chomping her teeth as she opened her mouth as wide as she could — probably — to drum up interest in eating with her.
It was working on you if you were being perfectly honest, your ideas about her possibly being a him in a rubber suit looong gone and replaced with questions of how an amazing girl like her did just about everything.
“Yeah, yeah~!” your boy cheered, pumping his fists and being extra careful not to step on any of the little people or tree figures.
“How ‘bout you, daddy? Wanna come eat some dino nuggies with us~!?”
…Yes, yes you did, and you normally hated dino nuggies. Chicken nuggets came in four shapes as far as you were concerned! The bone, boot, ball, and bell, just like God Himself intended! You’d make an exception, though, given the circumstances…
. . . .
You wished you’d brought your handy-dandy notebook with you…
Your boy had started down the path to an atomic-level meltdown at the idea of eating dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets in front of a real-life dinosaur, but Tyra had jumped into action and whipped up a masterfully-crafted story to explain how and why it was perfectly okay.
She didn’t even need to rely on the fact that the nuggets were just shaped like dinosaurs! …Probably because that wouldn’t have worked, but you would have tried it first.
Meeting him at his level and expertly using the kind of logic both you and your son could follow — albeit flawed and tautologically unsound — she seamlessly crafted the kind of story behind the nuggets’ existence that made you think she’d been a children’s book author in another lifetime. Or maybe she just did that as a side-hustle…? If there was one thing you’d learned, it was that being on TV was not easy…
Early mornings, long hours, low budgets in spite of the millions they were apparently raking in, raving fans, and worst of all, having to deal with jerkwad dads that filled in close to 15,000 ballots in just over three weeks that SHE was responsible for reading and choosing from herself…!
Ouch… You figured some unlucky intern would get that awful job — not the star — so you couldn’t help but wince and cringe and channel all the energy you had into your very best apologetic puppy dog look.
The smile Tyra gave you as the babbling ball of energy sitting beside her offered her one of his nuggies told you she understood and accepted your apology, but you still felt bad about it.
…Not as bad after she asked where your other son was because of how messy and childlike some of the handwriting was — even when compared to your son’s! — though. Now that was awkward. At least she got a hearty belly laugh out of it…
“Duuude!” she’d exclaimed, clapping you on the back and rubbing it in a little more as tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. “Really!?* But there were two sets of crayon-written entries! Hahahaha~!”***
Yeeaaaah… You might’ve grabbed a crayon in your delirium one night. That’d explain how and why you woke up with one of ‘em stuck up your nose. Right…?
. . . .
“Remember, junior ranger, to always ask for help when you need it and follow the lead of the proper authorities!” Tyra announced with a salute, a clear indication that your fun-filled day was very nearly at an end.
A couple hugs, more photos of the Reptar posing with your boy, and even two autographed headshots for you to take home with you — since you were a fan of hers at that point too — were the final nails in the coffin as the sun started to set.
Making sure your boy was buckled up as he single-mindedly admired his Reptar-autographed picture, you gently closed the car door and had a few adult moments to talk to Tyra without him overhearing.
Gushing with just a little more eloquence, but around the same amount of coherence, you let the young lady know just how much you admired what she did as you thanked her for a day you’d never forget even if your boy eventually outgrew it…
“Don’t mention it, dude! I had a lot of fun today for a couple of reasons…”
Uh oh… The coy look on Reptar’s face made you wonder whether or not she’d done something as devious as slip your son some kind of CD — or maybe even a cassette tape — you’d be forced to listen to from now until your ears could bleed no more and you ””””accidentally”””” lost it somewhere, but the blush in her cheeks—
“It’s really obvious how much you love him, you know. I mean, all good parents love their kids, but… I can tell you love him extra, you know? Do you mind if I ask—?”
There was that cold sweat again…
“If you don’t wanna talk about it, because it’s too painful or something, I totally understand, I just—”
No, no…! You… didn’t mind. After everything she’d done for you already, the least you could do was answer a couple of questions…
. . . .
Thankfully, by the end of the gloomy trip down memory lane, you’d managed to hold back the waterworks — just barely, though — as you told the story of your wife’s—
Of her—
…Suffice it to say, she wasn’t around anymore.
Your son was too young to remember any of it, so you’d remember for the two of you, and that was more than enough. You didn’t want him to forget, but you didn’t want him to remember the pain, either, so...
You did get a little choked up when explaining that she was the love of your life and gave you two of the greatest gifts you could ever wish for, though. First, her love, which you still didn’t think you’d earned, and second, a permanent reminder of that love that walked and talked and looked an awful lot like her when he wasn’t covered in finger-paint or spaghetti-sauce…
“I— I’m so sorry…” Tyra managed to choke out between full-body sobs, covering her eyes and moving to the back of your car so your by-then sleeping son didn’t see his hero bawling her eyes out. “You’re… You’re even more amazing than I thought…”
Ha! It was a single laugh, but it was clear and honest and managed to get the young woman in front of you to stop crying, even if only for a moment. You were just a dad doing his best given the circumstances. There were a lot of things you wished you could do, and even more you wished you’d done differently, but between the two of them were an awful lot of things you were giving your all to do right.
Like putting your awful, child-like handwriting to use helping your son meet his hero…
“I-It wasn’t that bad~!” Tyra protested with a hiccup and a chuckle, drying her eyes with the backs of her hands until you offered her the — thankfully pristine — handkerchief from your pocket.
No, it really was that bad, you bet! You’d driven doctors to tears before when you said you wouldn’t teach them~! Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck!
“Okay, okay, maybe it was…”
Even only back to half-power, Tyra’s melancholy smile was still dazzling. She really was made for this job, wasn’t she? Bringing smiles to peoples’ faces, and especially kids’...
“I had a really great day today, Anon…”
Oh? What happened to daddy? you teased, not at all realizing the implications of what you’d just said…
“Well, maybe if you call the number on the back of the picture I gave you, you’ll get to hear me say it again…”
Wh-What did she mean by th—!?
“...I want to see you again. Both of you. I know that he’d love to, I’m just hoping you would too…”
What!?
Tyra’s previously child-friendly tone was definitely not PG just then! Not even PG-13! It was the kind of whiplash that sobered you up instantly, and the finger tracing a line down your arm that might as well have been an icicle with the way it sent chills down your spine didn’t help either!
The gentle kiss on your cheek and pointy nails dragging their way down the back of your head and neck made it pretty darn clear what she’d meant, but…