The (re)Generation Gap

There are, of course, many Who fans out there for whom Who is a recently discovered passion. For whom the 2nd Doctor is David Tennant rather than Patrick Troughton.

But with nearly 50 years of material where to begin.

Luckily Matt is here to help us plug the (re)Generation Gap.

Prologue (or Dalek Cutaway, if you prefer)

This was how it happened.

I’ve been a Doctor Who ‘fan’ since I was four. I remember Pertwee as my first Doctor. I remember Sea Devils, The Master, Monsters of Peladon as well as scary, dirty great big Spiders. I remember having to eat Weetabix for weeks on end despite hating the stuff, desperate for a full set of cardboard standees. I remember my first crime too as it was Doctor Who related. Opening the bottom of Weetabix boxes and stealing aforementioned standees in the hope of completing the set sooner rather than later. Anything so I would not have to eat more Weetabix.

Around the start of the Peter Davison era I fell out of love with Doctor Who and turned my attentions to girls and football (not always in that order, but mostly). Not being ‘into’ Doctor Who gave me a chance to settle down with a nice young lady and live a relatively normal life (not that being ‘into’ Doctor Who cannot afford you the same, relatively, normal life but I do consider it a slight handicap).

My good lady never suspected that I once had a full collection of Target novelisations, nor that I had a vinyl album called “Star Wars and other Space Themes” by Geoff Love and his orchestra solely for the Doctor Who theme tune that it contained (and a pretty piss poor version at that). I think if she did future procreation would have been out of the question. (She’s fickle over things like that. Thankfully she has an endearing nature and other assets that a fifteen year old chap would find attractive). Never suspected that is until a work colleague, some years later, lent me a video tape of “Robot” starring Tom Baker. It had been nostalgia that had prompted my request to see it in the first place when I discovered he was a Who fan and since that moment I have never looked back. (Luckily my good lady and I were already betrothed at that time. I chose my moment carefully). From that day forward I was back in the fold. Now fast forward 17 years later… (you can go all timey wimey if you wish. I’ll wait down a couple of lines for you).

Ready? Good. It’s December the 21st 2010. School had broken up for the Christmas holidays and James, my six year old son, and I were enjoying (enduring?) each others company on this the second day of the Christmas break. After a morning splashing about in the local swimming pool we spent the afternoon in childish pursuits such as Hungry, Hungry, Hippo, Ker-Plunk, and the such like. I was ready to kill at this point (or at least hit the bottle hard) when James proclaimed that he was bored with board games (how ironic) and could we watch some television?

Now a year or two ago watching television with my son made me want to cast my eyes asunder, preferably using a blunt spoon. It was all “Peppa Pig”, “Fireman Sam” and “Thomas the slightly effeminate Tank Engine.” However, he is older now and I started to channel surf in the hope of finding some thing that we might both enjoy. And there it was on the Watch television channel. Just starting was Doctor Who starring David Tennant in the episode “New Earth.” Perfect. All started well. I explained who the Doctor was (briefly, as I wanted James to discover him for himself) and who Rose was and off we went.

Alas, the experience lasted a solid twenty five minutes. It was at this point that the diseased ‘zombie like’ people broke free of their chambers and this was James’ cue to get extremely nervous and ask if we could turn the television off. Despite the fact that I was enjoying the episode, I did as he asked (just in case social services are reading).


“Were you scared?” I asked.


“Yes” he replied.


“Well let me explain something about Doctor Who. Firstly, the Doctor is a very, very clever man. Secondly, he always looks out for his friends, and thirdly, and most importantly, the Doctor always, always wins.”


“Really?” said James.


“Really” I replied. Young James mulled this over for a minute or two and then I said,


“Would you like to see the ending? See the Doctor winning?”


“Ok.” said James before scooping up a cushion to hide behind (I would have loved him to have hidden behind the sofa like the good old days but unless he was eight inches tall and one inch wide he would not have quite squeezed in.


So we watched and, of course, the Doctor won, like I promised. The credits rolled and James sat there on my lap with a look in his eye that I have seen a thousand times before.


“Dad?”


“Yes?”


“Do you have anymore Doctor Who’s on DVD?”


“Son, does the Pope shit in the woods?” (Actually, I just said ‘yes’). So off I went to retrieve a box set or two.


Over the course of the next three and a half days we watched all of the 9th and 10th Doctor’s adventures culminating with “The End of Time” on Christmas Eve. By this time he was a fully fledged Doctor Who fan.
As James hung out his stocking for Father Christmas that evening, he turned and said to me;


“Dad, you know what I would love for Christmas?”


“No, what?” I replied, mentally noting that the shops were shut.


“I’d love to watch all the Doctor Who’s in order from the first one.”


“Son,” I said, “I think that can be arranged. Now give me back my David Tennant figure. It’s time for bed.”


To be continued…