O Mother, Where Art Thou?
Jared, my youngest kiddo, came over to the house today to eat Sunday dinner and watch last week’s Jeopardy episodes, which Rachel records for all of us to enjoy together. During one of the episodes, there was a category called "Pacino". In it, they gave a short summary of a film Al Pacino was in, and you had to name it. One of the answers was Dog Day Afternoon. That triggered a long-forgotten memory for me, which I felt should be written down.
Mom wanted to go see Dog Day Afternoon. She liked movies and had a thing for Al Pacino. Unfortunately, Daddy was not a fan of either, and almost never took her to the picture show. It became fairly common for me to accompany her once I was a teenager.
This time, I was sixteen and had a driver’s permit, so Mom let me drive, since the theater wasn’t that far from home. It was more remarkable that she let me go with her to an R rated show. She was no prude, but did not like for her children to be exposed to anything "off-color ". She also did not like bad language. In fact, the only cussing I ever heard from her was when she hollered, "Damn it, Peach!" the time Uncle Peach was snooping around opening doors at my house in Waelder and walked in on her when she was sitting on the toilet.
Anyway, we sat at the end of a row that was about halfway toward the screen. I remember that we chatted for a while before the lights went down and the previews started. After that, we watched the screen in total silence.
When the movie started, it became obvious to me pretty soon that the language was going to be a bit rough for Mom. I mean, it seemed like every other word was f*ck. After about five minutes, I looked over to see how she was doing, and she was gone. I thought she had gone to the restroom, but she was taking way too long to come back.
All of a sudden, I noticed that Mom was sitting about five rows in front of me. She just couldn’t bear sitting next to me knowing I was hearing all that bad language. This was a major improvement from the time she took us to Atlantic City to see Julie Andrews in Hawaii. That time, I was eight years old. The minute those bare-breasted native gals swam out to meet the ship, Mom had Patti, Grandmom, and me halfway out the door! Mom had expected something more family friendly like Mary Poppins or the Sound of Music.