Awhile back there was a newspaper article headline that caught my attention, “Deer Poacher Sentenced to Watch “Bambi” Once a Month”. The gist of the article, for those that prefer the gist of things over the totality of things, was that some guy in Missouri poached hundreds of trophy bucks, got caught (obviously), was sentenced to one-year in prison, and must watch the Disney movie “Bambi” once a month while serving out his prison sentence.

The judge’s reasoning behind the unique sentencing was that he was hoping to illicit some sort of “emotional response” from the convicted poacher.

Once a month? That seems to be an unfairly light sentence. I shot one deer when I was 13-years old (legally), felt so bad that I didn’t give it another try for about 25-years, and then felt so bad that I don’t intend on doing it again. Unless it’s in self-defense, can’t let those young bucks push you around.

Two deer, and I was sentenced to watch “Bambi” twelve times a day for roughly three years. Then our daughter discovered “The Lion King” and my “Bambi” sentence was reduced to four times a day. There’s a lot of fine print and unspoken vagaries that come along with the life sentence of fatherhood. A lot of “emotional responses” too, mostly good, many unforgettable.

Emotional responses that far surpass anything a silly movie with talking animals could illicit (teapots, and all sorts of houseware, once “Beauty and the Beast was added to the sentence). Real life, the ups, the downs, the all arounds. The “good stuff”, as the sleeveless troubadour, Kenny Chesney, referred to it in a song he sleevelessly sang while sleevelessly strumming his six-string.

There’s a line in “Bambi” that I used to use on occasion when innocent little Sierra would ask me, “Where’s mommy?” It may seem a bit juvenile, bordering on mean, but none of us are issued a parenthood manual explaining what may or may not scar a child for life, so I would respond, “Your mother can’t be with you anymore, the hunters have taken her away.”

She only cried the first half-dozen times I rolled out that old chestnut. I suppose you could chalk it up to passive-aggressive behavior brought on my excessive exposure to talking animals attempting to impart morals on children whose parents were failing to do so. Low-fat diets and khaki pants with puffy-pleats were all the rage then too, so there was a general climate of madness in society. We were all victims. So it goes.

I hope the “Bambi” treatment teaches that stone cold poacher a lesson or two. If anything it’ll make his one-year sentence feel a bit longer. They should sentence him to wear puffy-pleated khaki pants and sing “Be Our Guest” to each new inmate brought in during his time at the prison. “No one’s gloomy or complaining while the flatware’s entertaining…we tell jokes…I do tricks with my fellow candlesticks….”

Disney themed prisons. Why should parents have all the fun?