Growing Up with Disney's Loneliest Heroes: Finding Myself in Mike Pillsbury
Not exactly Disney's crown jewel, but stick with me here. This story about Mike Pillsbury, a kid who genuinely believed he was an alien…
You know those moments when a random movie just burrows into your soul and never leaves? For me, that was "Can of Worms." Not exactly Disney's crown jewel, but stick with me here.
This story about Mike Pillsbury, a kid who genuinely believed he was an alien, became my unexpected comfort blanket during some seriously weird teenage years.
The Beauty of Not Fitting In
Mike spent his days navigating high school like he was trying to decode an alien language. Every social interaction felt like a potential disaster waiting to happen. The way he'd overthink every conversation, convinced he was somehow doing this whole "being human" thing wrong? I felt that in my bones.
I remember watching him stumble through conversations, seeing how he'd analyze every interaction afterward, picking apart what he should have said or done differently. Not going to lie it was weirdly validating. Here was someone who made my internal chaos feel normal.
Plus, the main alien trying to save the day is a dog, which is like right down my alley.
A Different Feeling
Recently, I put on "Can of Worms" again. But something felt different. I wasn't connecting with Mike's struggle to fit in anymore. Instead, I found myself missing the kid I used to be when I first watched it. You know, that kid sprawled on their bedroom floor, finding solace in this weird little movie about a boy who felt as lost as I did.
It hit me then: I wasn't yearning to be the protagonist anymore. I was yearning to be the viewer I used to be. That kid who could lose themselves completely in a story, who found hope in every happy ending, who believed that feeling different meant something magical was bound to happen.
Magic in Memory
There's something bittersweet about realizing you've outgrown relating to your childhood heroes. But maybe that's part of the journey.
Now when I watch Mike broadcast his message into space, I don't feel that desperate need to be understood anymore. Instead, I feel a deep tenderness for every kid who's ever felt so alien in their own skin that calling out to the stars seemed like the only option.
I miss that pure, unfiltered way I used to experience stories. When every movie felt like it was speaking directly to my soul, when every character's triumph felt like a promise that things would get better for me too. But you know what? That feeling hasn't really gone away as much as it's transformed.
Stories Grow With Us
These days, watching these old favorites feels like having a conversation with my younger self. It's a reminder of who I was, who I wanted to be, and how far I've come.
Each viewing adds another layer, another perspective, another chance to appreciate both the story and the person I was when I first discovered it.
Sometimes I wonder if Mike Pillsbury ever figured out where he truly belonged. But then I realize that maybe that's not what matters anymore.
What matters is that once upon a time, a confused kid found a movie about another confused kid, and for a few hours, the universe made a little more sense.
And now, years later, when I feel lost or uncertain, I don't necessarily need to see myself in the characters anymore. Sometimes just remembering that kid who found so much comfort in their story is enough to make me feel a little less alone in the universe.
Because maybe growing up isn't about leaving these stories behind. Maybe it's about learning to carry them differently, letting them remind us not just of who we wanted to be, but of who we were when we first dared to dream about becoming something more.
That's the real magic of these stories; they give us a place to find ourselves, lose ourselves, and remember ourselves all at the same time.
Great piece here Jake, thanks for sharing. I too long for the days of being a Disney Channel Movie viewer and all that it entailed. Loved this!
***side note, one of my favs was Jonny Tsunami