Movie Night

We had a family movie night tonight.  We ordered various types of Pizza and chose a free movie available through the cable company.  We have not had an opportunity for such an evening since last Christmas.  This summer is the first time in a year that we have all been in the same place at once with free time to spare.

Both my kids are home this summer and since my son has a cold and a computer to repair, he decided to stay in this Friday evening.  My daughter took time off from writing and composing to share an hour and a half with us, which was also generous.  It was nice evening.

The tradition began when the kids were little.  I can't remember the first movie we watched together, but the ritual quickly became a tradition on Friday nights; pizza and a movie. Often the movie was one we had seen before.  I enjoy watching movies over and over; I pick up different nuances with each screening.  I can quote lines as they are spoken and anticipate the words with an appetite for each syllable; their utterance satiating.

My husband likes to watch specific movies each year. Christmas brings round an obvious group, but in January he likes to watch "The Deep," just to feel warm. Once a year he watches "Jaws" and much to my initial horror, he watches "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

This movie came out in 1970 and my brother and I went to see it when the hospital in which our Dad was dying, refused to let us see him.  Typically he was admitted to a different facility and we usually we had the run of the floor when he was hospitalized; he spent most of my childhood hospitalized as he was terminal for ten years. We were sent to the movies to give my Mom some time to visit him.  Our Dad died the week we saw that movie and it has carried the tinge of that experience, especially tied to the final scene of the film. The first time I watched it with my husband, my brother happened to call and ask how I was; I said I am watching  "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." My brother said "Oh my God;" shorthand between siblings.  The net result over the years, of seeing it over and over, is that not only do I have new memories attached to it, but I like it.  I actually used to wake my son up for school with a line from the movie as a joke. Family movie night has healed the wound; without a scar.

Cuddled up in habitual places in the room, cold evenings with a fire, warm nights in the cool of the half-subterranean den, we munch pizza and drink beers, quietly sharing a story in the dark; and like modern cavemen, bond over the tale.  Often the soft regular breathing of  the dog and the soothing purring of the cat are accompanied by the subtle snore of the patriarch, while the three of us knowingly, silently giggle in the compelling assurance of trust and comfort.