When I was a kid, going to the movies was a very special and magical treat. It wasn't something we did all the time, maybe once every few months so it was a major family event. Since we lived in McCully, we would usually go to shows at the Varsity Theatre on University or the Cinerama on King Street. While this was okay, I really loved when my Dad would say we were going to see a film at one of the Waikiki Theaters. Being a true local moke, my Dad would only drive into Waikiki when he had to - a kotonk cousin was visiting, somebody was having their wedding reception there, or he had to go on a trouble call to rescue a customer whose car was DOA. Each time we went to the Waikiki 3, I felt like I was a celebrity walking admist the shiny white pillars and the flowing pools of water that were filled by the sparking fountains. It seemed like everyone dressed for the Waikiki 3 - nobody was yogore, even the tourists.
When I was a kid, the only thing I feared was going to the movies and having my dad fall asleep in the theatre which happened pretty much every time we went to a showing in the evening, particularly if he worked that day. Within 10 minutes of the start of the main feature, I would hear the familiar sound of my Dad's snoring - not soft, nasally snoring but full on sawing wood, making the theatre seats shake like an earthquake snoring. As you might surmise, we would get lots of stink eye and shushes but nothing, even dozens of eyeball beams drilling into him would wake my dad from his cinematically induced slumber. I watched the bulk of the movie slumped deep down in my chair, praying to Buddha that we did not know anyone in the theater. What was funny is when he finally woke up as the closing credits rolled, my dad would always say the same thing, "Oh, that was a GOOD movie." As you might guess, eventually I convinced him of the benefits of seeing a movie that had been out for weeks rather than going on opening night.
When I was a kid, the only person who was terrifying in the theatre was on the screen in the creepy form of Jason, Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers. I remember that I could not stay home alone that night after we saw Halloween. My friends had to stay with me until my parents returned because I was so sure that Michael Myers would come to get me rather than try to go after Jamie Lee Curtis who kicked his okole. I don't think I slept soundly for several days, I kept heaing that music in my head.
When I was a kid, the only physical harm you faced at the movies was getting a stomach ache and the runs from the stale popcorn and rancid butter flavoring.
How different life is now that I am a mom with kids of my own.
Last night, the Diva and I sat in silence as we watched CNN coverage of the slaughter in the Cineplex at Aurora, Colorado. She just kept shaking her head and asking why would someone do that. I could not respond because I had no answer. All I could say was, "I really worry about your generation". Not the smartest thing to say but it was the only thing that came out of my mouth.
For my kids, violence - particularly mass killing - is an everyday occurrence and barely registers a blip on their radar. While we parents are horrified, for them it is simply just another crazy white guy going on a shooting spree, just like what happened last week and the week before and the week before. They now what the significance of the word "Columbine", they can tell the difference between a rifle and a handgun, they have calabash uncles who were deployed to warzones and the majority of their lives were lived in a post-9/11 world. Yes, death is an everyday thing but for my kids, so is murder.
For my kids, going to the movies will take on a whole new meaning in light of the Aurora shooting. A few months ago, Oscar the Grouch and I debated whether to let the Diva go to a midnight opening night showing of The Hunger Games with her friends. Although she would be chaperoned by the mother of one of the girls, we were still anxious over her safety. What if she got lost in the crowd and could not find her group? What if she drops her wallet and cannot pay for her ticket or snacks? What if she forgot to charge her cellphone? What if we cannot find her in the crowd when the movie is over? These concerns and our instructions for her to be responsible for herself and her things seem so insignificant and minimally protective.
Not once did it cross our minds to tell her to drop to the floor, cover her nose and mouth with her jacket, and crawl on the ground in the event someone throws a canister of tear gas at the start of the movies. Not once did it cross our minds to tell her to sit near the emergency exits of the theatre so she can quickly run out if someone starts shooting. Not once did it cross our minds to tell her how to stop or lessen the bleeding in the event a stray bullet grazes her body. Not once did it cross out minds to tell her to just get the hell out of the place instead of using her cell phone to record what was going on.
Even though I believe the Aurora killings were an isoloated incident, my first reaction is to never let the kids go to the movies again so that I can keep them safe and alive at home. If I never let them out of my sight, if I never let them leave my side, they will not be subjected to the reality of the world they will grow up in.
I felt this way before, after watching the Twin Towers fall on 9/11. Oscar and I debated whether to cancel our non-refundable family trip to Disneyland in October. We figured we would be safe since we were flying on Hawaiian and not American and that a suicide bomber would not make much of a political statement hijacking a plane from Honolulu to Los Angeles. It was a surreal experience walking through the airport with armed soldiers everywhere but also an anxious one as we scanned to faced of our fellow passengers to see if anyone fit the profile of a terrorist. Even as we took our seats, we looked at each other for confirmation that this was the right thing to do.
When we got to Disneyland, it was a ghost town. There were rumors going around that theme parks were going to be targeted since they were always filled with unaware and delusionally happy Americans. Apparently, the majority of those planning to go to the Happiest Place on Earth had decided to stay home. While it was a great trip since there were no lines anywhere, it was an extremely chilling experience to the power of fear.
So what do we do now?
For my kids, perhaps there is no place as a safe haven. Danger lurks everywhere -not just a creepy guy in a busted van who will pull up aside you and ask you if you want candy but a guy dressed like a commando with red hair who will pull out firearms and kill you. Perhaps instead of going to music classes or running track, I need to send them to self-defense classes to learn how not to lessen their chances of getting shot or how to disarm a gunman. Perhaps instead of looking forward to the future, I need to teach them to fear the present. Perhaps instead of enjoying a normal life of an American teenager, I need to explain to them that there is no normal life anymore.
Perhaps I need to just tell them how much I love them because that may be the last time I get to do so.
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