I Am Goofy! (Or Possibly Celine Dion)

I'm Goofy.

I know that I'm goofy, and everyone that knows me knows that I'm goofy. Especially my daughter. (This is a good thing, because she loooooves Goofy.)

We took the kids to Disneyland in February. We went in February because The Girl was about a month away from turning three years old, and kids get in free at Disneyland if they are under three. Using this as a reason to go to Disneyland means we are:
a) smart
b) frugal
c) cheapskates
4) looking for any reason to go to Disneyland
e) any or all of the above.

She was very excited to see where Goofy lives. Why does she like Goofy so much? Probably because of me. As a big, clumsy doofus, Goofy is the obvious choice for me to identify with. Whenever I do something that showcases my clumsiness in front of The Girl (which is more often than you might think), I tell her, "Daddy is clumsy. He's almost as clumsy as Goofy."

That is a very Goofy man! (And hey, isn't that poo on that building behind me?)

In my record collection I have an album from the 70s that has disco songs about and by the Disney characters. I put the song "Watch Out for Goofy," which is about how clumsy Goofy is on the dance floor, into heavy rotation in The Girl's night-night music. She loves it.

And then, there's the voice. Now, I'm no Rich Little/Frank Caliendo/Scott Bakula, but if I do say so myself (and I'm about to), I do a pretty good Goofy impersonation. Unfortunately, it's a limited impersonation. I can do the Goofy laugh ("Uh-huh-huh-huh,") and the words "Sorry" and "Gosh." (The key to a good Goofy "gosh" is to pronounce it "gawrsh.")

The bad thing about being so good with the Goofy voice is that The Girl requests it ALL the time. When she says, "You're Goofy," she's not commenting on my mental or physical nature, she's ordering, "Daddy, do the Goofy voice again!"


In that regard, I feel an awful lot like Celine Dion. Celine Dion, you ask? Well, no, I'm not French, or Canadian, or French-Canadian. I'm not skinny, can't hit the high notes, and I've never performed in Vegas (although my wife has). I've never been called a chanteuse. (Or a chantuer.) (I know, "chantuer" isn't a word, but if a male masseuse is a masseur, shouldn't a male chanteuse be a "chanteur?")

Wait, so why am I like Celine Dion? Well, aside from the fact that I've taken to randomly whacking myself in the chest while I'm singing, I'm like her because we both have to endure constant requests to perform the same thing over and over and over and over again. You know she is constantly getting requests from people to sing "that Titanic song." She's had other hits, but "My Heart Will Go On" is the only thing she ever hears about.

The Girl is constantly demanding I be Goofy. It wouldn't be so bad if my range weren't so limited. But, if I try to stray much beyond the "Gawrsh" while doing the Goofy voice, I end up sounding like a cross between Mater from the "Cars" movies and Elvis Presley. It's pretty pathetic to hear, but she doesn't know any better, and she still loves it. And that's why I still do the Goofy voice: it makes her happy.

On our first morning at Disneyland, as we got through the gate, Goofy was right there near the entrance. It was almost like he was there waiting just for her. She got to hug Goofy and pose for pictures with him. It was the happiest moment of her life! ,,,Until she got on the carousel. Then the Dumbo ride. Then met Cinderella. Then had an ice cream. That's the great thing about being around a three year old: EVERY moment has the potential to be the happiest moment of her life!

The Girl getting her first hug from Goofy! (You should see the smile on her face!)

And if I can bring about that next "happiest" moment by trying to laugh like her favorite cartoon character, then by gawrsh, I'm going to do it!

"Uh-huh-huh-huh-huh!"