I wish I’d watched more movies with my mom. She enjoyed them and was always good company. I’m glad my kids would go with her once they were older. And that we often invited her to join us even though we went infrequently. And especially that we did go with her that one last time.
Now I mostly miss movies while they are still in the theater (too many to mention, but note to self: go see Wonder Woman even if you have to go by yourself! In fact, just start going to movies by yourself so you stop missing them in the theater!).
But one of my favorite things about watching movies is how not every year, but more often that not, a new Star Wars or Star Trek movie will come out in December. That is just awesome. Because it’s my birthday in December. And one of the things I most like to do in all the world is get my entire family together to go see a movie. And to go see a new Star Wars or a new Star Trek movie is one of the things I second (or at least third) most like to do. So it’s a great excuse to get everyone together and to do something at least most of us enjoy.
Aside from that, here is what else I recall about watching movies:
Bambi was in the the theaters when my little sister and I had chicken pox. So my parents took us to see Bambi at the drive-in. In our pajamas. My mom may or may not have made us Bambi pajamas to wear in the car at the drive-in theater while we watched Bambi. (Even if that didn’t happen, it is a generous memory about something potentially wonderful about my childhood, so I’m going to let it stay.) Two sad things, however. Bambi, like Dumbo, is traumatic for a child. I can still hear the retort of the gunshot when Bambi’s Dad (or was it his Mom? I don’t recall, just that losing a parent is traumatic even in animated forest animal fantasies) was shot. As is having your baby elephant torn from your trunk simply because you are a mother bear protecting said baby elephant. I cried during both. But somehow went on to forgive Disney anyway.
The second thing–and this was, perhaps, my first lesson in the fact that life isn’t fair–is that when my sister and I got chicken pox, my sister was terribly sick. She had the pox all over her body and between her toes and inside her ears and her nose and down her throat and who knows else where. And I had all of maybe 3 pox. One on my chest, opposite of where I put my hand on my heart. So she was miserable. And I was only mildly and minimally itchy. And yet I got an undeserved share in all the wonderful attempts my mom made to comfort, distract, and otherwise help my sister endure her miserable affliction. Including watching Bambi at the drive-in in homemade Bambi pajamas.
And that’s what I remember about watching movies.
[Day 149 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]