Most-quoted character in The Wonder Years: in 234 of its 239 quotes Most scenes with: Kevin (15), Jack Arnold (10), Norma Arnold (6)
Lines by Narrator 201
Narrator
That afternoon, we gave it all we had. We threw ourselves into it. We did our dead-level best. Our dead-level best... stunk. Pretty soon our problem was clear. It was our goalie's fault. But by halftime... we'd run out of scapegoats. When I got back on that field, I was mad. I'd take these guys on myself, if I had to. When that whistle blew... we actually got possession of the ball. And what's more amazing... we actually completed a pass. It was our finest hour. Unfortunately... we'd kicked the ball into the wrong net. We completely fell apart. It was like "Lord of the Flies". And that's when it happened. Pops was heading towards us to say it was over. That we had no hope of winning. That it was time to hang it up. I don't know what it was that touched him. Maybe it was the way we stuck together. Maybe it was the way we were tearing apart. But in that brief instant... Pops McIntyre became a coach again. And we were finally... a team. Sure, we lost that day. But it was a glorious defeat. After all, all over America, there were teams like ours. Teams that marched bravely into slaughter. Teams that went oh-and-fifteen, and kept on losing. And kept on trying. Not for the league titles... or the silver-plated victory cups. But just for the joy of playing. Together. The thing is... I'll never forget those guys. Even if they were dorks.
My dad was always a sucker for birthdays. Every year, he loved the ritual. The attention. The cake. Heck, we all loved the cake. But most of all, Dad loved our gifts. No matter what we gave him... it was his moment of glory. His time in the sun. His chance... to be king for a day. Unfortunately by birthday-time, nineteen-seventy-one... the king wasn't looking so... kingly. Maybe it was because he was about to turn forty-three in a week. Maybe it was the day-to-day irritations. Maybe it was something else. Face it. For the past six months, ever since he'd found out my sister was co-habitating without benefit of clergy... Dad had become kinda... monosyllabic.
That night I sat and looked at old photos of my dad. The things he'd done. His life and times. Maybe I was searching for some way to make things better. It wasn't up to me to set this right. [Kevin's parents are talking in the background] I couldn't hear exactly what they said, but watching them I finally knew what my father needed for his birthday. Not a funny tie or a forty-seven dollar meal or even a ratchet set. What he needed was to know deep down that she remembered what he remembered; feel even for that briefest moment like king for a day.
Every year when I was a kid, my parents threw a Christmas party. Everybody in the neighborhood came. Dad played the "big cheese"... Mom played "Donna Reed"... and a really stupid time was had by all. It was a time when hopes were high. When the neighborhood was young. It was fun, before fun got so... complicated. Before life got so... simple.
And I guess that's when I understood. For Mom and Dad, the party hadn't been a disaster. For as much as things were changing all around them... what Jack and Norma had - what drew people to their house every Christmas for sixteen years... was still the same. The thing they started out with. The one they'd never lose. My parents never did throw another Christmas bash. And that was OK - I guess. But I still think about those parties. What they stood for. A time before TV dinners and two-car families. And grass was green and we were young... and those nights when I'd lie awake in my bed... watching the light dance under my door. And listening... for my father's laugh.
Whenever I look back on growing up in the suburbs, there's one thing I remember most clearly. Our neighbors, the Pfeiffer's... were always there. But we were more than just neighbors. We were like one big happy family. And at the heart of it all... were our dads. The men who set the tone. My dad, the athlete... and Paul's dad, the optometrist. Under their watchful eyes... our families grew, and prospered. One for all, and all for one. Until, that is, things started to change.
The thing is, I'd been so busy tearing down my own dad... I guess I'd forgotten Paul had one to tear down, too. I wanted to tell 'em that he had nothing to fear. That any man who could produce a son like Paul... was a giant in my book. Even if his beach was under water. At the end of that semester, Paul left his prep school, and came to McKinley with me. In a way I think he was happy about it. I know I was. As for the Arnold's and Pfeiffer's... we patched things up. After all, some things are more lasting than real estate. And Mr. Pfeiffer? Think of it this way - nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, you never knew when the tide might go out.
Every culture has its own rites of passage. Ways of marking that leap from childhood... to manhood. Complex rituals... weird dances... acts of courage and survival. It's a tradition as old as civilization. Or... as recent as crabgrass. Fact! In the suburbs... a boy's first steps towards manhood start behind a lawnmower. Still, for me, at sixteen, lawn care had given way to something much, much, more important. The driver's license. The thing that separates the boys... from the men. And so on and so forth. But the truth was, by the spring of tenth grade, it was time to put the mower in mothballs. Forget the crabgrass. Make the jump from two cylinders... to real horsepower.
The funny thing is, for a second I actually thought about running for my life. But somehow I guess I knew. I just couldn't run anymore. It was time to face the truth. And maybe in that moment... I learned something. About being a man. And I learned it... from the guy who wrote the book. That night my dad taught me a lot. How to parallel park. Why you put away the lawnmower. And, in some small way, what it takes to grow up. That Monday, he took the afternoon off, and we went and got my license. He was so proud. Then, he took it away...and grounded me for a month.
When I was a kid, anytime I needed a lift... there was my grandfather. The guy was always good for a ride. Sure, he was as old as the hills... but to me... Gramps was Hercules in bi-focals. Superman in suspenders. He was ageless... timeless... one man in a million. You could always count on him. Not that everyone shared my view. It was kind of a ritual around our house. Gramps visited, Mom cooked, Dad groused... and I... I borrowed the keys to the car.
Some gifts are simple. Some come at a price. Some you buy for a buck. And last you a lifetime. I guess everybody remembers their first car. I know I remember mine. Not because it was my first car... but because it was my grandfather's last.
It seemed like my high school teachers came in every conceivable shape... size and style. There were the hopelessly confused... the terminally repetitious... the insufferably boring. But of all the teachers I ever had... I only ever had one...who was... a natural. Miss Shaw taught English 2-A. She was a year out of graduate school... and there was something about her that was... cool. She didn't take attendance - she didn't need to. She let us sit anywhere we wanted. And she never, ever, used the word "literature". But maybe the most remarkable thing about her was... she actually liked what she did.
That afternoon there was kind of a... celebration. They were celebrating youth. Enthusiasm. Idealism. They were cheering for the best, and the brightest. Only they didn't know what I knew then. But they found out. I guess in the end, Miss Shaw did what was best for her. After all, no compromises, no regrets. The only thing is - she didn't do what was best for us. Even today... I don't know who to be angry at. Her... or the system that drove her away.
In nineteen-seventy-two, the war was still raging in Vietnam. Politicians kept talking. Soldiers kept dying. And no one seemed to know why. But, maybe because the war had gone on too long... or maybe, because it had caused too much pain... whatever the reason... most of us managed to keep it at a distance... and go on, with our everyday, normal lives.
Love is never simple. Not for fathers and sons. We spend our lives full of hope and expectations. And most of the time we are bound to fail. But that afternoon as I watched my father sheltering his son against a future that was so unsure, all I knew was they didn't want to let each other down anymore.
The Wonder Years · 239 quotes
Narrator
