On Facing Adversity-Digimon and the Human Struggle

A while back, I wrote a blog responding to Mikey Neumann’s “Lessons Animation Taught Us” video. Looking back…something feels off about it. I don’t think I tackled the subject the right way, or even made it personal enough. So, in the spirit of shamelessly double-dipping, I’m taking another crack at the subject. Except, in order not to confuse everyone, I’m not calling it “Lessons Animation Taught Us”.

I wasn’t the poster child for perfection growing up. Life in general is difficult, but it was especially so for me because of my disabilities. It took me, for instance, 5 years to properly communicate with others, something I’ve more than made up for, and that was because of extensive speech therapy. Academia also proved a challenge, and I was transferred to a special needs school come Grade 5. I struggled all through high school, nearly dropping out of university in my 3rd year. Even now, I still find myself routinely diving headfirst into hot water despite knowing it’s hot. I’m an accidental risk-taker, in other words.

For the longest time, I also didn’t have any close friends. These days it’s easier to socialize, but my “friends” growing up were movies, TV shows, books and video games. They engaged me without talking back, giving me multiple chances to figure out life-skills without the real-world consequences for getting it wrong. You can argue whether or not that’s healthy, but it was a starting point nonetheless. And nowhere was this more-apparent than animation, which stoked my imagination because it’s a medium of endless possibilities.

I had many favourite shows growing up, like Rugrats and Anamaniacs, but the one that spoke to me most was the Digimon franchise. People remember Digimon: Digital Monsters as that flash-in-the-pan that competed with the other show everyone watched, but it was escapist fantasy that was somewhat grounded in realism. The premise was fantastical, but it was the struggles of the heroes that hit home. Many shows with human protagonists focused primarily on action, but here were kids who’d routinely sit around with their digital pals, or even each other, and discuss their home-life woes: adoption anxiety, only child syndrome, divorce, sibling rivalry, and other problems that I may not have always related to, but at least could understand.

Perhaps the best part is that the human leads were so well-defined that you could pick favourites and follow their progress episodically: Tai was the hot-headed leader, Matt the stubborn loner, Sora the calming mother, Joe the insecure father, Mimi the frilly valley-girl, Izzy the socially-awkward nerd, TK the fun-loving kid, and-later-Kari the optimistic wonder-child. While later seasons added to/played with the dynamics that Digimon Adventure brought to the table, you still saw a certain level of intellectual and soulful depth that was unexpected from a series originally marketed as a companion piece for Tamagotchi.

I’ve already covered this franchise on Infinite Rainy Day in greater, unfinished detail, but I’d like to zero-in on why these shows so deeply impacted me: as I said, Digimon: Digital Monsters had human struggles that felt relatable. While its competition kept it struggles more timeless, a child watching this particular series would most-likely relate to one or more characters. Perhaps they might come from a broken family, hence gravitating to Matt? Maybe they might have a fractured relationship with a parent, hence liking Sora? Maybe they had to compete for attention with their siblings, hence relating to Joe? Or maybe their life was pretty normal and they had a big ego to tame, so Tai was their favourite?

There was always something to latch onto for everyone, and I was no different: I tended to relate to TK and his need to constantly prove himself, being the youngest of the leads for most of the show. TK was around the same age I was in 1999, and his challenges were my challenges: I was emotional, insecure and constantly felt like no one took me seriously. I wasn’t terribly strong or athletic, I was terrified of confrontation, and I frequently relied on others to solve problems for me. Given that TK’s limited growth in Digimon Adventure revolved around him learning to fend for himself, that gave me plenty of reassurance and self-confidence.

As the seasons continued, this attachment to the “one who needed to prove the most to everyone else” character kept becoming me go-to. For Digimon Zero-Two, it was Cody, followed by Ken when he started getting fleshed-out. For Digimon Tamers, it was Jeri in the end. And for Digimon Frontier, as if coming full-circle, I found an immediate likeness to Tommy, who was basically TK if he’d been fleshed-out more. Looking back, none of this was accidental: TK had to break from the shadow of his older brother, as did Ken and Tommy. Jeri’s struggle was more complicated, having to cope with grief and guilt simultaneously, but her arc was less proving herself and more not doubting her self-worth.

That’s why I kept coming back to this archetype: in addition to not having many friends and being routinely coddled, I kept feeling like I wasn’t getting anywhere. I kept feeling like I was moving slower than everyone else, learning at half the speed. Even with being the middle of three sons, I still found that my brothers were independent far faster than I was, a feeling that persists to this day. That’s not to speak of my cousins, many of whom were younger than me and still moving faster!

Attaching to TK, Cody, Ken, Jeri and Tommy was therapeutic for me. They gave me an outlet to see myself in, and they showed me, in their own ways, that my struggle was healthy and normal. They reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and that people move at different paces. If it took me a little longer, well…that was okay! I should embrace my adversity, not squander it! And even if it took me longer than most, when I finally understood what they got right away, well…maybe I understood it better!

It’s easy to look back on your childhood favourites and realize how little they hold up. Children may not be stupid, but they don’t always have the wisdom to discern quality from garbage. Many shows I liked as a kid, including the aforementioned competition, haven’t aged terribly, which is disappointing. But Digimon: Digital Monsters, while not flawless, has, in some ways, stood the test of time, and I think that’s because its themes felt so human. The shows were cheaply-made, padded and often silly, at times bordering on obnoxious, but when I can still relate to the struggles of TK, Cody, Ken, Jeri and Tommy, well…maybe they were good teachers. And maybe they taught me the right lessons after all…