I’m recovering from what all indications point to, a nasty case of Norovirus. I’m better today. I can walk by food and not want to lure it into lethal sunlight or throw garlic, a silver crucifix and holy water in its general direction. I’m no longer presenting any of the classic symptoms, but for two days I was an absolute font of disgust. I perfected the skill of “simultaneous orifice dexterity”. And I did so with pinpoint precision. You DO NOT want me to elaborate any further
So, as I lie in my bed waiting for the cessation of the pain of wrenched stomach muscles due to wretching continuously for 48 hours, I remembered it’s the anniversary of my father’s death and well, that got reflecting back on my mother as well. She more than three years ago. She and my father had been divorced since 1978. He hadn’t been in my life, even less so after the acrimony was made legal. We mutually agreed to jettison each other from our existences. It was the only option. He married the same harridan twice, which didn’t help, nor did the fact that they became extremely religious (of the intolerable variety) when they joined some sect. They didn’t celebrate Christmas, but instead called it “Jesus’ Birthday”. Gone were pagan lit trees, wreaths and baubles that festooned most homes for the season. Instead, birthday decorations were in their places.
Anyway…
Thinking about my childhood is always an odd venture backwards. I was born and raised in a small town in South Central Texas. There was a theater six miles away but it was rather rundown and sad. If the film broke, impatient hicks would throw their drinks at the screen. It wasn’t a big deal to see (on occasion) John Wayne or Elizabeth Taylor in orange. An unhappy movie goer threw his orange drink at the screen.
To see first run movies, we had to dress up and attend one of two theaters in the mall where snobbery was applauded
And encouraged.
They had no interest in seeing with kids’ movies, for or with me. Walt Disney? I’ve never seen Bambi, any one of the flicks that coupled chaste, lovely damsels with handsome princes, talking mirrors, poisoned apples or a septet of very short men with adjectives for names. I was 21 before I saw Mary Poppins.
If a baby sitter was unavailable or my presence to a trek to the big city was necessary, I’d go with them. Invariably, my parents would end our day with attendance at the cinema. But only for the movies THEY wanted to see. To hell with me or my maturity level. They would’ve freaked knowing at that tender age, I was already familiar with the seven major cuss words and I understood the action behind coitus as well, if not more so than Young Sheldon.
For example, in between the ages of eight and eleven, I’d seen the following:
- Bonnie and Clyde
- Midnight Cowboy
- The Wild Bunch
- Viva Max
- The Longest Day
- The Dirty Dozen
- In Cold Blood
- Patton
Patton was by far the most memorable. Here’s why:
One matinee Thursday, my parents elected to see Patton. The theater was virtually empty, save for this elderly couple who arrived just as the movie was starting. They sat in the row in front of us, a few seats to our left. Close enough to be in Dolby sound/hearing range.
The gentleman in this union was hard of hearing. His wife wasn’t. Early on, he’d ask her what was just said and she’d repeat some innocuous part of the dialog; in her outdoor voice, as they say. My parents were annoyed. I just sat between them eating popcorn and wondering what the freed child hostages were doing on that summer day.
Then, the Mister’s queries came at interesting parts of the dialog.
Him: “What did he say?”
Her: “He called Rommel a magnificent bastard”
Him: ‘What did he say?”
Her: “He called the young private a scared little bastard and said he’s to be shipped to the fucking front lines”.
And it went on and on—like that—for a full two hours. My parents were no longer annoyed, they were amused, trying to stifle laughter until it became impossible for them to do so. They were audibly laughing through some of thee most inappropriate scenes. And oddly enough, when my parents’ laughing got loud, the woman who’d been doing audible translation, actually turned to look at us, as if WE were being rude.
My father hustled us out of the theater immediately. When in the lobby, they burst into laughter.
So did I.
BONUS: My first dirty jokes. Hilarious when in first or second grade
There was a man named Paul Dodoo. He’d been made fun of all his life, the butt is so many jokes. So, he decides to go to court for full name change. He stands before the Judge who asks him, what would you like your new name to be? He replied, “John. John Doodoo!”
On his way to school one day, a little boy witnessed an accident involving a car and a pedestrian. The little boy excitedly told his class and his teacher what he’d seen and added that the car ripped the man’s ass apart. The teacher quickly corrected him and said sternly, “Young man we do not use that kind of language in this classroom. If you repeat the story, please use ‘rectum’, the correct medical term. The young student was stunned that his teacher was marginalizing such a horrific scene. He said with astonishment, “Rectum??? Hell, it killed him!!!”
