Friday, July 30, 2010


I watched a movie a few nights back. I knew it was going to be bad. I did. I expected it.

It came in the mail from Netflix while back and it's been sitting on top of the tv. I avoided watching it for a while because I just knew.

It would touch a nerve. A raw one. It would be hard to watch.

It was.

Heartaching and heartwarming, all in the course of 136 minutes.

Don't misunderstand's a good movie. Just hits a little too close to home right now is all.

It's the kind of movie that I think I just might remember for the rest of my life. Not just for the movie itself, but when and where I was when I saw it. What was going on in my world at the time.

There have been other movies like that. E.T., The Goonies, Ghostbusters, Ghost, Groundhog Day, and this one. (And no, I don't think it has anything to do with the unusual number of G named movies, though that is a bit strange now seeing it written out.)

Each of those movies remind me of a time in my life. This one will too.

Everybody's Fine.

Which is so clearly a lie. Everybody is most certainly not fine. Not in the movie, and not in my world. But the point of the film, so far as I could see though my tears is that even with all of our flaws and harsh truths, even with our failures and disappointments, family makes it better. Or at least it is supposed to.

It made me think about things. About my life. About my choices. About my relationships. About the complacency of people with the things that are really important until it's too late. About the consequences of our actions, our words. About what might have been.

It made me think about how I, as a parent, will look back on this time in my life someday and wonder if I did the best I could. Will I expect too much? Will I push them too hard? Will I be disappointed in them? Will they resent me? Am I making the right choices?

Part of the movie that touched my soul the deepest was that the father in the film envisioned his very much grown children as still being kids. He still saw them as children. And I wonder if I will do that myself. And I wonder how old they will be when I envision them that way. I wonder if Aidan is already past the age I might imagine him to be.

Then I wonder, and to some degree I know, whether my own father still sees me that way now. In his eyes, at least sometimes, I am still just a little girl.

Maybe it's better that way.

I think that it is.

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