On Second Thought

Yesterday, in the company of millions of Americans, I'm sure, I went to see Superman (is it Superman Returns? Who can remember? Who even cares?). Y and I brought Elan along, which we'd been promising to do since the first trailor ever aired, and it was not our most impressive parenting decision.

To be honest, I hadn't really liked the idea from the start - the movie was meant to be 2 1/2 hours long, and looked a tad intense, if not scary, for a young child. But Y had watched the Spiderman movies with him, Harry Potter, and Jurassic Park, and nothing seemed to ever scare or upset or even phase Elan, so he was sure we were in the clear. And in all fairness, he had asked several other relatives (ahem, you know who you are...), who'd already seen the film, if they thought it was okay for him, and they all neglected to mention the amount of death, drowning, and plane crashing it depicts.

Joey, Elan's good friend, came with his dad, and as my younger brother came in from Chicago yesterday, we were meeting him, another brother, and my sister-in-law at the theater. This was a big deal because it was the first time the two of them had really left my neice with a babysitter, and my sister-in-law was rather shaky. When I told them that Elan was coming, and so was his friend, my brother groaned. "Oh, great. Does that mean the two of them are going to be calling back and forth to each other and laughing through the whole movie?" he asked.

Said brother is a movie buff. He takes his cinema very seriously, has since he was a little boy. Once, as a teenager, I asked him - also then adolescent - for a rental recommendation for a quiet night alone. He sugggested Little Man Tate. I think I watched five minutes before actually disintegrating from boredom into a heap of individual molecules and cells right there on the sofa.

But seeing a movie with him is a much richer experience than otherwise, because he notices and appreciates nuances that the average Joe wouldn't. And he's generous about sharing and explaining them, his enthusiasm contagious when he's pleased with what he's seen.

I learned that when you went to a movie with him, you didn't talk, or ask questions, lest you get the Stare of Death in return. Instead, you save all inquiries for the end of the show, when you may have an intelligent discussion in which he gives you any and all necessary background to understand what you've just seen.

He learned to only see a movie with me when he's already seen it several times, so my constant interruptions wouldn't bug him quite as much. What can I say, I'm a simple mind. Action movies, especially, tend to baffle me.

Anyway, when I realized that this was probably his first movie out since his daughter had been born, and that his wife was a nervous wreck about being away from the baby, I became even more concerned about our taking Elan. But hell, it was a day to celebrate America, and it's a free country. If we wanted our kid with us, he'd be there.

Elan and Joey were OVERCOME with anticipation and excitement, squirming in their seats, giggling, and solemnly promising not to make a peep when the actual movie began. When the previews started, and the first two were for horror flicks, my stomach began to ache. Elan was sandwiched between Y and Joey, and before the words were out my mouth, Y clamped one hand over Elan's eyes, the other arm wrapped around both ears, shielding him from the madness unfolding on the big screen.

We glanced at each other nervously. I couldn't believe what a bad move this had been. I couldn't believe we'd become one of them - one of those couples who decides that having a baby doesn't have to affect their nightlife in the least, that they'd just tow their half-asleep, thumb-sucking toddler right along with them to sit in the front row at a 10:30 pm screening of Closer, if they couldn't find a babysitter. No biggie! I'm forever glaring at those parents, willing my eyes to burn holes in their backs so it'll sting and remind them that they are planting very vivid and confusing images in the innocent and impressionable minds of the future of this country. Silently, I urge them to meet my gaze, to feel embarassed and compelled to take their kids home, tuck them safely into bed where they belonged. They never do.

So yesterday, though granted, it was hardly Closer, and it was 3pm, not late at night, when the previews began - one R-rated after another - I felt that I'd become what I loathe. So I decided to dive in, head-first.

If I was going down, I was going down swinging.

Though I'd do my best to keep Elan calm and quiet, I'd make no apologies to any obnoxious shushers. I'd stuff my kid with candy, if necessary, and let him run down the steps when he needed to use the bathroom. I might be jaded, but Elan was thrilled about being in a movie theater. And I'd be damned if I was going to be the one to take that away from him.

Plus, I'm suddenly reminded of going to see Pretty Woman with my mother when it came out - I must have been about eleven. Sometime in the middle of the movie, I remember nudging her shoulder and whispering, "What's a prostitute?" And her whispering back: "I'll explain after the movie."

If my own mother was guilty of taking her kid to a too-adult film, was there ever any hope for me in the first place?

Truth be told, my Elan was pretty good during the movie. Everytime he got bored, which, I'll admit, was often, because Superman is waaaay too long, he'd lean over towards Joey and ask, in a whisper-shout, "Isn't this just the cooooooolest movie?" Joey would firmly agree. When Elan started to cry from boredom, I asked him if he wanted some candy. He did, curled up in my lap, and turned his attention to the sour sticks and Kevin Spacey. What a success! So that's why parents are willing to pay for cavity fillings! I smiled to myself, feeling like mother of the year.

Stop judging me. Now. Stop it! I STILL HEAR YOU!

At one point, after a particularly exciting triumpth on the part of our favorite superhoero, Elan turned to me and began to speak. "No, Elan," I whispered quickly. "No more questions. People are getting annoyed."
"It's not a question about the movie," he hissed. "I just want to tell you something."
I knew there'd be no shutting him up until he'd said his piece, so I gave him the go-ahead.
"When I grow up, I'm going to be Superman!" he breathed, like many before him. "Because I really like him," he added, for good measure.

When we left the movie theater, walking to the car, the air was still balmy, and it was good to get some. Y and I breathed enormous sighs of relief that our little inquisitor hadn't bothered to question some of the more disturbing sequences, and that nobody - my brother included - had given us any lip. Several people smiled and pointed in Elan's direction, who, of course, donned a cape. We didn't bother to tell them that the cape wasn't exactly in honor of Superman, that, in fact, it was a Power Rangers cape, and that he wore it everywhere we went.

What was the point? Spirits were high, it was the Fourth of July. And when yet another little boy, in yet another generation, announces to the world, in all sincerity, that he intends to one day be Superman - on a day like that, it just feels wrong not to let anyone believe what they want to.