Every week, for one hour, my world stops. Nothing else matters while I’m watching the unrealistic, absolutely outlandish stories of my favorite posse from the CW’s “One Tree Hill” unfold before my eyes.
Take, for instance, my wonderful Nathan Scott, the famous basketball player who got married his junior year of high school, re-married his same wife again senior year, was saved from drowning by the ghost of his dead uncle after his wedding limo fell off a bridge, got involved in a sex tape scandal, became paralyzed and grew a creepy beard, miraculously started to walk again and shaved the beard, was legitimately intimidated by Kevin Federline and beat up a character played by ex-NBA player Rick Fox after Fox had already died in a car crash that involved him purposefully running over Nathan’s pregnant wife.
And that’s just one person in the core seven.
I haven’t even started on Dan, the former mayor and high school basketball coach who murdered both his brother and a deranged nanny-on separate occasions, mind you-set a grave on fire, was haunted by the ghost of a child, needed a heart transplant and came back from the dead in three of the last five season finales.
And thus is my life.
“One Tree Hill” has helped make me who I am today.
No, seriously.
Without the show, I wouldn’t know what it means to live vicariously through another person. I wouldn’t know what it feels like to care about the romantic travails of a fictional couple more than my own. I wouldn’t have been introduced to actor/singer extraordinaire Tyler Hilton-someone who I fully plan on proposing to one day.
Yes, it’s a bit shallow; I’m not ashamed to admit that. I spend so much of my time trying to be politically correct, making the best out of every situation all while working and studying. I think I’m due an hour of complaining about Nathan’s new hairdo, cheering on something inevitably awesome that Haley does, or guessing which guest star will be another one of Peyton’s long-lost relatives; she’s had four re-appear thus far, one of which was actually a murderous stalker, naturally.
In all sincerity, “One Tree Hill” really has helped me establish parts of myself. It’s lead me on an impromptu road-trip, influenced me to go to three concerts, given me a reason to spend countless hours on the phone with friends and started my tradition of countless Monday night parties in Marchetti, complete with one of my best friends, pasta, chocolate, Diet Coke and a little “Gossip Girl” for good measure.
It’s even brought my mother and I closer together; when she watches “One Tree Hill” every week for me, I know her love is unconditional.
The show may be ridiculous, the acting sub-par and the writing inconsistent at best. As laughable as the Emmys have become these days, this show would be laughed off even that stage.
But you know what? It’s my show.
They’re my crazy characters, and I love each and every one of them. I love every natural disaster, every random murder, every cheesy guest star, every ghost and every near-death experience.
I just love this show.
Make fun of me if you wish; I could probably help you make up insults. Nothing will tear me apart from my show.
It’s me and you, “One Tree Hill.” Always and forever.
Windmills of My Mind is a column written by a different contributor every week on memories about a film, book, play, song, or piece of art. Interested in writing one? E-mail the editor at [email protected].
