I don’t normally keep up with current events on here. Mostly because it takes me ages to write a post and the ship has well and truly sailed by the time I get around to finishing it. But given this has been talked about, is being talked about, and will be talked about in weeks, perhaps months to come, I’ll be in the clear (I hope).
I’ve always had -even well into my Kevin Smith-lovin’ mid-to-late 20’s – a casual admiration of the talented, bizarre and far-too-Australian-for-his-own-good Rolf Harris. Be it the kitschy music, the cartooning, the fact he invented his own quasi-instrument, or the fact he was so immensely ingrained in my childhood that really, he was hard to get rid of entirely even when I grew older. Kinda like Stockholm Syndrome by proxy.
There’s also the fact that this exists, which -despite the murky details of what I’m about to get into, will always amuse the fuck out of me:
So, somehow I emerged from under my rock this week and found out the dude was convicted on all twelve charges of sexual assault.
Perhaps I should have joined the corral of “yep, he’s fuckin’ guilty” early on and save myself the embarrassment. Cause y’know what? I thought he’d be acquitted, that the charges were falsified, that it was just a shitty time in the man’s life due to a huge misunderstanding and he’d be back on his feet soon enough, kinda like a greying, moustachio’d Michael Jackson who spent more time talking about pegs and tying kangaroos than moonwalking. I mean, it’s Rolf fuckin’ Harris! Surely he’s not ‘that guy’ is he?
Turns out, he was. Just like the Hey Dad guy. Man, what is it with people I’m familiar with from my childhood being ‘that guy’? Is nothing sacred?
I suppose I should be glad justice was served, but honestly? I just feel lied to and was fed a hearty three-course-meal of bullshit. I watched the videos, told strangers that my body was mine, made my own ad-hoc wobbleboard from a piece of thick cardboard until Dad threw it out, drew along with the cartooning tutorials and thought his version of ‘Stairway’ was as good as the original. I drank the Kool-aid and was a proud, card-carrying devout member of The Cult of Rolf, all for what? To find out well after the fact that the dude was way into young girls, to the point where just admiring the man for who he was is a futile exercise, because who he was isn’t exactly great, either.
It’s a sad, unfortunate, damn mess and I don’t like it one bit.
I guess there’s still a tiny part of me that still believes that he’s innocent, it was all a big conspiracy and he’s being convicted for the wrong reasons. That said, that part of me also believes that more than six people read this blog, that hoverboards exist and ‘The Man’ is just stashing them away in a big government vault, and I’m capable of being the next Neil Gaiman, so I’ve learned not to put too much blind faith into it. I guess it’s only protecting myself and that -in the immortal words of Jack Nicholson, I can’t handle the truth. So here we are now. Knowing rationally, that even childhood heroes are capable of some pretty evil fuckin’ things.
Tell you what though, if I see Don Spencer’s name in anything even remotely in a negative light involving children, Just grab me a bottle of spirits and hook me up to the memory-erasey machine from Eternal Sunshine and the Spotless Mind, ’cause I am fucking done with my childhood.
Till next time.