A Walk In The Park

Flicking through Twitter, I saw this thread from a paleontologist I follow named Brian Switek. I met him a year and a half ago whilst teaching a Winterim class about dinosaurs. He guided us through the National History Museum of Utah in Salt Lake City and even took us through the special collections that's normally not shown to the public. At his offering, one of the students licked a coprolite in order to verify that it was, indeed, a fossil.*

Anyway, Switek's a cool guy and a good author (his My Beloved Brontosaurus is a great, lay-person friendly read. I have two copies), plus he's a dinosaur fanatic (obviously), so there's a lot of common ground there. His short tweetstorm reminded me about my own first exposure to Jurassic Park, inspiring me to write this essay.

Summer of 1993

Like most boys, I grew up fascinated by dinosaurs. I have dim, dim memories of going downstairs to a library--probably in Provo, Utah--to pick out a book. I couldn't read at the time, but there was one I loved more than others. It was a story about a Brontosaurus that was attacked. There was one picture that particularly caught my eye, in which the Brontosaurus bled beneath the predator's claws. I was fascinated by the blood and decided I would always check out that book whenever I got the chance.

That happened about two times.

My mom eventually bought me a book called Brontosaurus, which I loved dearly and reread often--once I learned how to read, of course. This book and a couple of other encyclopedia-style dinosaur tomes were my primary sources for anything about the ancient animals.

I loved the neon yellow stripe. I figured these suckers glowed in the dark. (Source)

This had too many words for me, and not enough pictures, but I still liked it. (Source)

But dinosaurs never became an obsession with me until I heard about Steven Spielberg's newest movie, coming out in the summer of 1993. In some ways, I feel, one's tenth summer is really the first summer. By then, most people have a good friend to play with, the ability to ride a bike, and just enough autonomy to shout out, "I'm going to [FILL IN FRIEND'S NAME HERE]'s house. Bye!" as the door shuts without it being a huge problem. I don't remember much of my summers before '93, but part of the reason I remember that year so well is because of the movies I got to see.

Did you ever see Last Action Hero? The action movie send up of action movies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger? Yeah, that competed against Jurassic Park in June 1993, which is possibly why you haven't heard of that film. Anyway, Last Action Hero was fun; my dad took me and my two brothers to see it, during which time my little brother puked all over the theater. My dad left me and my older brother at the movie while he took the little one home, cleaned him up, then came back for us. Didn't want to waste the tickets, I guess. So I have vivid memories of Last Action Hero.

Then I got the chance to see Jurassic Park. I was riveted. The fact that Timmy was a little younger than me but also with mouse-brown hair and an older sibling who liked computers only pulled me into the story more (representation matters). What person wasn't enthralled by the original T. rex attack scene? Who wasn't impressed by the never-before-seen special effects that the movie boasted? Who wasn't a little put off by Ian Malcolm's weird laugh in the helicopter?

Best part of the movie.

My friend, Steve, and I were enamored of this new film. "It's by a guy named Steven Spielberg," we said to each other in the matter-of-fact tone that is inherent to ten year olds. "Of course it's going to be good." We talked about it all of the time. Another friend, Chris, had Velociraptor toys and a making-of book about the movie, complete with stills and concept art. I would steal glances of it whenever I could. We also played the Jurassic Park: The Video Game for SEGA Genesis, though, to be really frank, the game sucked. Hard. But we had it anyway, because sometimes we could get the stupid raptor to jump the right way.

My dad, who has never been a big reader (it skipped a generation from my dad's side; my paternal grandfather was a prodigious reader, as is my mother), picked up a copy of Crichton's novel when he had a flight he had to make. He brought a copy home, which meant that, coupled with the copy that my uncle had bought for my brother, we had two Jurassic Park books in my house.

I remember when I first started reading it. I was eating a sandwich and Cheetos--prepared by my mother--while picturing a Costa Rican (whatever that was) beach. A little girl is attacked by small, bird-like reptiles. The man mauled by a raptor is treated in a clinic where he vomits blood and dies. Stuff that wasn't in the movie was in the book, but that was okay because what I was reading was amazing.

I often think of Jurassic Park when I eat Cheetos, even to this day, and can still picture the orange thumbprint I put on one of the pages I turned with dirty fingers.

I read the entirety of Jurassic Park over a weekend. Then I would take it to school, keeping it in the pocket of my coat so that I could read it whenever I wanted to. The stuff about control (some of my favorite parts, now, as an adult) were boring, and I sometimes skipped those chapters, but on the whole I loved that book. 

What I find interesting is how Jurassic Park was a watershed for many of my age and generation. There was something special, unique, and powerful about this monster movie. I have some ideas about why that may be, but they're for another time. Suffice to say that, like many millions of others, my walk through the Jurassic Park has changed me. And that, I think, is the purpose of quality fiction.

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* It sounds kind of weird, but fossils stick to your tongue. So if you're not sure if it's a rock or a fossil, just lick it.