The Land of Fatherless Children

It is ironic that while Walt Disney intended Disneyland to be a place where families could come together, the park is so full of fatherless children. I am not talking about the park visitors. Everywhere you look there are fathers sharing the day with their kids (Here I am with my family on one of our many visits). I am talking about the many Disney characters that inhabit the park. For most Disney characters their father is either absentee, dead, or simply not depicted as part of the character’s life.

I don’t think this creative predisposition reflected Walt’s life. From what I read, Walt’s father, Elias, was an important inspiration in his life. His older brother Roy characterized their dad as a strict, hard guy who gave in to the impulse of his temper, occasionally smacking his kids on the back of their head with his open hand. However, Roy refused to label his father as mean or brutal. Walt remembered his dad fondly, stating, “I had tremendous respect for him . . . I worshipped him.” Elias established a contracting business in 1895, and late in life he even participated as a building contractor for the construction of Disneyland’s Riverboat Mark Twain. Walt honored his father by etching his business name in a window above the Emporium on Main Street

Elias Disney
Contractor
Est. 1895

Nevertheless, for whatever reason, many of the classic Disney characters share in the absence of a father figure. Many of these characters are boys (Peter Pan, Christopher Robin, Pinocchio, Mowgli, Bambi, etc.). Even Mickey Mouse himself has uncertain ancestry. I could never tell his age. When we were introduced to him in 1928 he was old enough to pilot a steam boat. Did he have a family? A father? Siblings? Those details of his life were never explored.

Boys are not alone in their pain. The Disney trifecta of female heroines (Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty), all grew up fatherless. Sure, Sleeping Beauty had a father, but rather than protect her himself from the evil Maleficent, he banishes her to the distant woodlands to grow up fatherless. What about Simba in “The Lion King”? Yeah, he was born with the idyllic father, but Disney kills “dad” off while Simba is still a lad. What gives?

As I grew up, my own life mirrored the lives of my Disney cartoon heroes with our lack of quality time with “dad”. As a medical doctor, my dad had his own private practice, but also served as the chief of staff for a small hospital, and filled his evening hours making house calls to home-bound patients. In the wee small hours he took emergency calls and delivered babies for three generations of families. I had to be sick or bleeding to get on dad’s radar screen, otherwise his time was spent curing disease for the greater good of Los Angeles. I never felt that he didn’t love me. We had shelter, clothing, food, and spending money to fill the hole left by his absence. I just felt that my need for his time, attention, and direction was no match for the medical needs of the community. In time I became a sympathetic comrade with the childless Disney characters that wandered the Magic Kingdom. I commiserated with their pain and turned to them for answers in coping with my loss.

One of the reasons I returned to Disneyland so often was my identification with these brave orphans and maladjusted delinquents. Their lives were instructional. Their victories spurred me to meet my challenges, their mistakes spared me from repeating their failings.
Among these many characters, four stood out as principal role models for me. First, Peter Pan was an inspiration in many ways. He was fearless, clever, and a defender of right, all qualities I aspired for myself. He argued that it is not fun to grow up, and that we don’t need parents anyway. His life was full of adventure, with enough pluck to best a pirate in mortal combat.

But there was a sadness about Peter’s fatherless existence that spoke to me as well. He was so anchorless that he literally floated off to his world of fantasies that propelled him to his next adventure. Yes, he could fly, but I suspect he would have traded his flights of fancy for a loving father. I know I would. I don’t think Peter Pan really believed all the bluster and bravado he preached to his band of lost boys. Like me, the father he lacked, I wager, would have brought peace and calm to his restlessness.

The Mowgli child in “The Jungle Book” was the second of Disney’s fatherless figures that I admired. He not only found himself without parents, he was abandoned as an infant to the wild jungles of India to fend for himself. While the dangers of my own life were meager in comparison, I applauded the way Mowgli navigated the perils of pythons, Bengal tigers, and psychotic apes. He taught me that in the absence of a father you must choose your adult male companions wisely. His fortunate union with Balou the Bear and Bagera the Panther provided him the fatherly protection and direction that every boy aches for.

Pinocchio was not so lucky. The third among my favorite of Disney’s fatherless children, he strayed from his grandfatherly guardian Gepetto, and fell into the unscrupulous hands of Stromboli, Honest John, and The Coachman, eventually evolving into a literal jackass on Pleasure Island. His fall from grace was a cautionary tale to me in my formative years. I learned that looking for fatherly validation from strangers can result in catastrophic consequences.

Finally, to me the most poignant of Disney’s fatherless children was Bambi, and I ached at the telling of his tale.
Born to a prominent family, Bambi’s father was the aloof “Great Prince of the Forest,” a noble stag with the burden of leadership. But Bambi’s dad was never home, so the duties of child rearing fell to Bambi’s mother. I saw this movie and a bell rang within me. “This is MY story,” I thought. As a doctor, my dad felt the burden of the healing physician, and logged in long hours to eradicate disease. Like Bambi, I lost my dad to the greater needs of the herd, but we both accepted our absentee fathers as children who neither know nor feel they deserve better. Like Bambi, I could only admire my father from a distance, as Bambi pined at the sight of his father’s silhouette on the hill’s crest.

We filled our days with the other woodland creatures. Bambi had his sanguine Thumper and I found my playmate in my next door neighbor David Santangelo. He was my same age and equally bored with home life. He was lean of build, though I would not call him scrawny, with a head full of black hair, a big smile and infectious laugh. Like me, his dad was rarely home. When I wasn’t at Disneyland, he and I commiserated together. We explored the neighborhood, tested our marksmanship throwing rocks at trees, and conquered the vacant hillside with a bold ascent. For two years he and I held sway over our home block, until his family moved away and our joint dominion ended.

At the death of Bambi’s mother my emotions ran from pain to anger. I internalized Bambi’s pain and imagined the crushing weight I would feel if that were my mother that died. Like Bambi, she was my primary caregiver. But my pain turned to anger at the blame that fell to Bambi’s father in my mind. Sure, Bambi’s mother strayed too far into the clearing, but did Bambi’s father care so little for his own family that he couldn’t be bothered to stay close to home to watch over his loved ones? Instead of guiding the herd, he might have paid more attention to his own.

And so, I returned to Disneyland over the years to join my band of brothers, to share their pain and make peace with my circumstances.

So, where does a boy go in the land of Disney to find a father hero figure to emulate? For me there was only one clear choice – Pongo from “101 Dalmations”. If you are looking for the ultimate fatherly role model, look no further. A tender homage to the family unit, this movie set the bar for a father’s love for his children, and the lengths he will go to defend and protect them – even against the likes of Cruella. I never tire of watching that movie. And I say kudos to Disney for this touching tribute to fathers. It made a deep impact on me as boy. I wanted Pongo to be my dad and hope I will always rise to the level of Pongo as a father.