I saw my first Cal Worthington commercial in over a decade.


For those of you who are not native Southern Californians, then you may not know who Cal is, and I suggest you go here. The best footage is a link at the bottom of the page that says, "The best of Cal." That way you'll get to hear the famous Cal Worthington theme song.


I grew up with Cal peddling me Chevorlets and Dodge trucks. He would stand on his head just to get my business. He'd ride an armadillo just to get business. He featured lions, tigers and bears in his catchy commercials as, "Go see Cal! Go see Cal! Go see Cal!" played in the background. But don't forget his dog, Spot... Spot is probably long since dead, though, nowdays.


Which brings to why Cal Worthington is the subject of this post. When my family moved from Southern California to Northern California, when I was in elementary school, I only saw one Cal commercial in 9 years. (We didn't have very good television reception, and so we only got PBS, and that was on the clear days.)


When I was old enough to move away, I moved. Across the country. So it wasn't until just now that I caught a glimpse of Cal.


I heard the music que up, and I got filled with that little girl excitement that used to fill up inside my chest like a balloon filling with helium whenever I heard his theme song. Strange as it may seem, I always came running into the room when I heard Cal's commercials on television. I hardly ever saw the same one twice.


No matter how bad it got at home, I still had Cal. My dad could push me into the ceiling by my shoulders only, and drop me free-fall style the seven feet, but then Cal's commercial would sing to me in the background. His voice and music was like a twisted soundtrack to my own personal movie. Cal's face was unchanging, but his antics were always entertaining. I felt a strange patriarchal familiarity with this man through the television screen, I guess because I didn't feel that same kind of respect, admiration and exhiliartion with my own father.


But I saw Cal tonight. Actually this morning. About 14 minutes ago. (It's 4 AM right now.)


And he's old.


He's so old.


My nose started to tingle, the way it tingles right before I start to cry. I don't know why, but it was so awful to see Cal, at 81 years old, wrinkled, trying to be enthusiastic--and with a lisp now.


Did he have a stroke? Is his face half paralyzed? Is able to stand on his head anymore? How many Spots have there been since Spot I? Is it like on The Simpsons when Snowball died, so they got Snowball II, and then recently Snowball II died, and they went through a slough of resplacement kittens (one named Coltrane), and so now it's really Snowball IX, but it'd be too much effort to change the name on the bowl, so Marge suggested they pretend that this all just never happened.


My heart wrenched. My heart is still wrenching.


Cal Worthington will die. And so will I.

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