First you have to jump in the family car about ten minutes behind schedule, race down River Side Drive so anxious you believe you might throw up. Then you double check everything making sure everything is there: money, glasses and birth certificate, (the last item comes later).. You pull off The Drive at the appropriate exit only to start in on St. Anthony, promising him anything in exchange for one measly parking space within four and a half blocks of the theatre (picky Catholics?) You find one, thank old St. Anthony and you lock up the VW bus. You walk half a block and I scream: We forgot your glasses! At this moment, if you are older than eighteen you mentally say: Oh Shit! (Remember time is running out and you haven't hit the bodega for goodies yet). If you are under eighteen, me, you pray the movie hasn't started yet and that you'll have time to get goodies and that you'll make it to the bathroom real soon.
You retrieve the glasses, re-lock the door and run to the nearest bodega. There you are after only two separate items: 10 Charms Lollipops and two half pounds of Hershey's Chocolate WITH ALMONDS. (Do not think about your child's complexion for one moment).
We are now ready to watch movies. You say to the ticket person: One adult and one child. He looks at you, then at me, and then back at you and says: Lady, I was not born yesterday! But you and I are old pros at going to the movies. Mom yanks out the well used birth certificate and proceeds to tell this creep that she doesn't care what his eyes see, this paper is fact, and it even explains why we are not of the same colour.
Whew! We're in. I ask where the bathroom is, but it's almost too late. I think to myself: St. Anthony, another million if you just get me to the toilet and nowhere else…Thanks.
In the theatre we find seats and sit down. Mom hands me my bag of candy and I take the lollipops out and line them up according to which ones I shall eat first, second… fifth.
Lights dim and the movies starts. It could be The Lovers of Turuel, Blow Up, Elvira Madigan or a Greta Garbo film festival. whatever the movie I always fantasized that it was me who was so tragic, loved or heroic. After all I menstruated like my mother, like a grown up. She had the power to get me into R rated films so I could watch other women like me feel pain, cry or die, fight back or laugh, doing all of the things that I would do if I were older. It was my very own three hours to believe that maybe I was better, more mature than those morons I went to school with. I watched for those hours and always saw someone who came out holy because they put up with men and waited for their time to blossom. Three solid hours to forget about my body, (that's probably where it did all of it's developing, right there in front of Steve McQueen.
About half of the movies we saw were foreign which added to the fantasy that I was more beautiful and interesting than I believed. Because of the sub-titles, I believe I am the fastest speed reader in the cinema dark in the under ten category.
I still go to the movies today. I recommend them to everyone. And you can bet that when I have children I'll drive them around once a week at a frantic pace, along with St. Anthony, a bag full of Charms Lollipops and Hershey's Chocolate WITH ALMONDS. And you know… I won't give a damn about their complexions either.
1/1/81
Portland, Oregon
You retrieve the glasses, re-lock the door and run to the nearest bodega. There you are after only two separate items: 10 Charms Lollipops and two half pounds of Hershey's Chocolate WITH ALMONDS. (Do not think about your child's complexion for one moment).
We are now ready to watch movies. You say to the ticket person: One adult and one child. He looks at you, then at me, and then back at you and says: Lady, I was not born yesterday! But you and I are old pros at going to the movies. Mom yanks out the well used birth certificate and proceeds to tell this creep that she doesn't care what his eyes see, this paper is fact, and it even explains why we are not of the same colour.
Whew! We're in. I ask where the bathroom is, but it's almost too late. I think to myself: St. Anthony, another million if you just get me to the toilet and nowhere else…Thanks.
In the theatre we find seats and sit down. Mom hands me my bag of candy and I take the lollipops out and line them up according to which ones I shall eat first, second… fifth.
Lights dim and the movies starts. It could be The Lovers of Turuel, Blow Up, Elvira Madigan or a Greta Garbo film festival. whatever the movie I always fantasized that it was me who was so tragic, loved or heroic. After all I menstruated like my mother, like a grown up. She had the power to get me into R rated films so I could watch other women like me feel pain, cry or die, fight back or laugh, doing all of the things that I would do if I were older. It was my very own three hours to believe that maybe I was better, more mature than those morons I went to school with. I watched for those hours and always saw someone who came out holy because they put up with men and waited for their time to blossom. Three solid hours to forget about my body, (that's probably where it did all of it's developing, right there in front of Steve McQueen.
About half of the movies we saw were foreign which added to the fantasy that I was more beautiful and interesting than I believed. Because of the sub-titles, I believe I am the fastest speed reader in the cinema dark in the under ten category.
I still go to the movies today. I recommend them to everyone. And you can bet that when I have children I'll drive them around once a week at a frantic pace, along with St. Anthony, a bag full of Charms Lollipops and Hershey's Chocolate WITH ALMONDS. And you know… I won't give a damn about their complexions either.
1/1/81
Portland, Oregon
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