Tonight I was at a meeting. A planning meeting for the International Pinot Noir Celebration that I volunteered to help with (can you imagine I was asked to volunteer????? Dude, I was practically BEGGING.). This here blog was mentioned (hi Monika!) and I had to explain that I am not so good at the fiction. I mean. I am not funny in fiction. I go to write a fictional story and people die or are really fucked up or have fucked up families. Gosh, where do you think that came from? But when it comes to reality, somehow the better thing is to laugh.
So back in 1999, the Hub and I went to see a movie at the Crest (that would be the second-run theater up north from here). Smoke Signals. It was amazing, and not just because it had a lot of scenes from Spokane that I recognized. However, when we first sat down we were behind a couple and their child. This was the 10pm show and the kid was about 4 and would NOT STOP TALKING. I was seriously more than annoyed. We ended up moving so that we could watch the show in peace. Somehow the image stuck with me and when I went home I was so moved by the movie that I had to write something. This is what came of it:
Theater
by Karri Norton © 1999
My best memories of childhood revolve around the neighborhood movie theater. My parents, practically children themselves, had very little extra money. No Saturday night babysitters for them. Instead we would all pile into the white Ford station wagon and head on down to the second-run movie theater that was a few miles away. Mom would grab Ralph, my best friend and stuffed dog. Dad would make sure we didn't forget my lucky blanket Starry. Grandma made it for me for Christmas one year, it was so soft and covered with stars.
To this day I love the smell of popcorn. And, the movie posters, wow - I never saw such beautiful people or amazing places. With a box of jujubes and a root beer clutched in my chubby little hands off we tromped to the seats. Oh, the darkness and the salty, tangy smell in the air. My own private cathedral. If current day evangelists could incorporate some of the carnival scents into their congregations then I swear they would save twice as many souls.
Mom and Dad, on either side, would cuddle me into the seat with Starry and Ralph. I would happily chomp away, fingers sticky, in hog heaven. When the lights dimmed it was the cue for Mom and Dad to hold hands over the top of my seat.
I am sure I asked all kinds of silly questions. My poor parents. Thinking back I want to tell my younger self to be nicer, sweeter. I supose that children just possess sweetness even when they are awful.
"When will the movie start?"
"What is that guy doing over there?"
"Can I have some more pop?"
"Why is that lady staring at us?"
These questions received the standard answers.
"Shhhhhhhh!"
"Be quiet!"
"Would you please stop kicking the chair ahead of you?"
I know in my heart that more than one couple was caused to relocate, so as to better enjoy the movie.
Then somewhere between the trailers and the opening credits I would drift happily off to sleep, secure in the knowledge of my parents' love for each other. To this day, the movie credits are my favorite part of going to see a movie, simply because it was the only thing I saw all of at a movie. My parents probably ran bets with each other as to how quickly I would fall asleep.
What cheap babysitting they discovered. A couple of lovely hours fantasy time for them. Then when they get home, no paying the babysitter. No fighting over who is going to drive the unlucky little girl home. How simple. How wonderful.
(the end)
Ok, so how did that happen? Sweet and loving and kind. And let me tell you, I was the youngest of three, there was no way in HELL my parents took me to a movie at 10pm, they had free babysitting in my siblings! How did I go from completely annoyed at those irresponsible little brats for parents to this? No idea, really.
Just remember what you think is totally, horribly annoying might be someone's best memory. AHAHhahHAHahAHAHAhahahahah. Right. That's bullshit.
How dost one compensate for the lack of OLDER siblings, then, connasse?
There are times as parents we are forced to go places with our children, when we would rather forget we are parents at all. Even times we can't get into the bedroom of our own house without that ever present whining hum of motherhood on the other side of the door.
I do, however, have exceptionally good children when it comes to being in public. I never think they are, as I find myself pinching and shooting dirty looks like bullets, a well as whispering threats of bloody violence upon the return home... but then... that ONE couple comes in, with their screaming run about demon seeds. Those parents who you want to beat the shit out of in front of the hostess of the restaurant, as you scream at the kids that they were adopted cuz daddy's pee-pee can't get hard, and mommy will spread for anyone but daddy...
oh... ahem.... I digress.
Dr. Spock can stick it. Spare the rod, spoil the child... and hate the parents.
I wasn't saying that everyone should have a set of siblings at home for the free babysitting. I was merely saying that my parents wouldn't have actually taken me to a movie when I was three, because they HAD the free labor at home.
I was merely being honest about the story being fiction with some truth thrown in, but not too much.
Posted by: kerewin at July 6, 2005 07:53 AM