When the lone stranger sitting next to me in the movie theater noisily unknotted her plastic Wal-Mart bag and pulled out a Tupperware container of leftovers, I was surprised. When she pulled out two more containers after that, I was aghast.
I don’t know what she was eating, I only know how it smelled and sounded. It had a fishy aroma. And a moist sound. A warm, moist sound. Keep reading if you can.
There I was, trying to enjoy The Lone Ranger, but even Armie Hammer’s darling face could not distract me from what became my severe irritation with this woman. If she were hungry, I can understand grabbing a granola bar before leaving home, but grilled tilapia and au gratin potatoes? Who said she was allowed to pack a whole picnic for the movies? She had full-on silverware, not plastic. She didn’t hurry to finish and put it away, either. No, this princess lingered over her meal for almost an hour, laughing and burping between bites. I saw her twirling her fork with delight! The screen’s luminescent glow glinted off the tines. During the quiet moments of suspense, she’d be sucking her teeth or gulping whatever it was she had brought to drink. Gotta cleanse the palate between scenes, apparently.
On top of it all, as a little morsel of dessert, she retrieved her phone and brightly popped on facebook for a bit. Maybe her friends were posting idiotic pictures of their food. Why miss the chance to reply, “Yes, but did you eat it on the fifth row at Cinemark? I did!” Oh, did I mention that Tina Tuna Helper was in her forties or fifties? At least a teenager would have brought a burrito and Skittles and been done with it.
The weirdest part of all is that I didn’t speak up. I wanted to ask her nicely if she wouldn’t mind putting the food away because I was starting to get a little queasy. After thirty minutes, that would have been a reasonable request, to say the least. But I never did.
It might have been because I really wanted to speak up about something else entirely. If you don’t mind, I’ll do that here:
Parents, maybe you should have thought twice before espousing all of this “It takes a village to raise a child” rhetoric, because I took you seriously and I took a serious interest in your child’s well-being. We teachers tend to do that. While my new friend was squishing squash casserole in her cheek, I was listening to the louder noise of all the kids in the theater, and, as a “villager,” I have a question about your filtering system for your kids. The Lone Ranger is rated PG-13. That means that someone, somewhere, thought it might be harmful or uncomfortable or frightening for children to see. But you were willing to take that risk. Why? Because it was Disney? You, parents of the elementary-aged kids, thought they could handle it? Could he? Did she? Were you proud? Did they love it when the villain cut out a man’s heart and ate it (complete with disgusting sound effects, which were a lot like those coming from my movie-seat neighbor)? Did your son think it was cool when the villain wiped the blood from his mouth with a lace hankie? Did your daughter laugh at crass lines like, “Get out of here, or I’m going to put a hole in you!” When she repeats that zinger at school, the principal won’t be laughing, but I don’t know how you expect her to internalize such a reality when you are teaching her at a young age that threats are entertaining.
I can hear you responding now: “First of all, it’s nobody’s business where I take my child. Secondly …”
Excuse me while I interrupt to address the first point. Actually, you drop your kid off at school for eight hours every day while you are not there to supervise him, which makes him other people’s business most of the time. Please continue.
Again, a reply: “Look, lady, I know what my child can handle.”
That, dear, is my point. You know that your child can “handle” blood and violence and even a hint of cannibalism, and that doesn’t scare you.
Well, it scares me. It scares me a lot.
Am I alone in thinking that parents should try to protect their kids from the worst the world has to offer … for a few years, at least? Don’t you want your children to sleep with peaceful dreams, to save them from every possible nightmare you can? During one scene in The Lone Ranger an adult hit a child in the face, and I cringed. I have known students who have experienced horrors of that kind firsthand, and I can guarantee they wish they had lived a little while longer before finding out that life could be so cruel. But some parents seem bent on dragging their children into Hollywood’s war zone as soon as they can chew popcorn, which is only a different kind of child abuse.
I know that each person is responsible for his own actions, but every time there is a random public shooting, I can’t help but wonder at what age the shooter first learned to “handle” blood and violence, that’s all.
I am not speaking out against action movies; don’t twist this. I was enjoying The Lone Ranger myself. I am questioning parents who do not wait before exposing their children to all manner of young adult material because it is inconvenient to do so. I realize this is not a popular thought. Ultimately, all of you can disagree, and it won’t hurt my feelings.
I’ve been a lone ranger before.