Down In Fraggle Rock

I don’t know what was cuter. The adorable Fraggles singing and dancing on the television, or my punch-drunk boyfriend clapping his hands with glee, sitting on the very edge of the bed swaying and jumping and singing with his Fraggles. He was 4 years old again. He was even grasping his sippy cup – a large bottle of Zinfandel.

He tirelessly explained the entire world of Fraggle Rock - pointing and explaining, pointing and explaining. First came the Fraggle characters: “There’s Red Fraggle. She’s the hot one. That’s Wimbley. He’s crazy - look at his nose. There’s Mokey, she’s a hippie. Oooo, there’s Gobo! He’s my favorite!”

Then the other characters: “See those little guys? All they do is work. They keep building glass but the Fraggles eat them. Oh, that’s Doc and his dog. His dog sees the Fraggles but Doc doesn’t believe him. Uh oh, here come the Gorgs! Gorg tries to catch the Fraggles. He’s mean.”

Finally, an adult synopsis of the meaning of life: “Fraggle Rock teaches you all kinds of lessons in life. There’s just so much to learn! Jim Henson created the show to spread world peace. See how there’s all these different cultures and none of them understand each other? See? See? Seeeeee?!”

Two episodes later, I was tired, cold, and snuggled deep inside the covers. Jason, on the other hand, gestured toward me and, with his eyes still glued to the screen, said, “This is the last episode, I promise honey. I’ll brush my teeth and go to bed after that.”

And he did. While humming the theme song.

Ah, life is so good, down in Fraggle Rock. (*clap clap*)

Thank you everyone for sharing your irrepressible joy and vigor for Fraggle Rock. I honestly had no idea that Fraggle Rock was ever a show. (I was born the year of its debut in 1983; it ended four years later, when I probably would have joined the ranks of Fraggle fans.) For a moment, I’d forgotten how important child shows are to us. MY favorite muppet memory is the movie “A Muppet Family Christmas”, which aired in 1987 on HBO. I can still see that crazy chef trying to fry Big Bird for Christmas dinner. What a hoot…

Special thanks goes to those who introduced me to the cult that IS Foamy the Squirrel. Had it not been for your outrage at my ignorance, I undoubtedly would suffer a knarly, squirrely death. (Personally I think he’s kind of scary looking, but that’s just me. And don’t tell him I said that.)