I was 15 years old when my father came into the room and told us that we were going out as a family. Like any teenager, I greeted this news with all of the enthusiasm that I would bring to a rectal exam. But, my father is not someone that you argued with when he had decided on something, so the six of us loaded up into my parent’s behemoth of a van and headed out. Bear in mind, we lived in Logan, Utah, where the list of “fun things to do” that didn’t involve shivering in a tent could be scrawled on a Post-It.
My dad occupied a strange place in my teenage universe when I was young. On the one hand, he was the domineering, towering authority figure that had long since forgotten what it was like to be a teenager and just plain “didn’t understand”. On the other hand, I was (and always have been) in awe of my father. He was an extraordinary man, a soldier that had done extraordinary and remarkable feats with improbably regularity. My view of him was a constant oscillation between adolescence-fueled disdain and a desperate hunger for approval.
So when we pulled up in front of the main movie theater in town and clambered out, I wondered what kind of movie my father was dragging us to, while simultaneously hoping it was something that we could bond over. I looked up at the marquee, and saw two words.
Jurassic Park.
I was familiar with the book, of course. Everyone was. Michael Crichton’s thriller was no less a phenomenon as The DaVinci Code or The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. My father had devoured the book, and I had snatched it up as soon as he was finished, spending a late night reading about science and blood, always two of my favorite topics. The news of the film had thrilled me, but I had assumed that I would have to wait until it had found its way to the sticky, grungy screen of our local dollar theater. The idea that I would get to see it on opening day had never entered my mind.
I sat next to my mother, who, before the film began, patted me on the arm and told me, “You can hold my arm if you get scared.” I nodded, smirking inwardly. I’d read the book. There were no surprises for me. My mother was unfamiliar with the tale, and I was certain that she’d be clinging to me before the credits rolled. Before I could respond, the preview we were watching came to an end, the lights went down…
And I fell in love.
I will refrain from gushing about the details of Spielberg’s masterpiece. In fact, what stands out the most are brief instances. The way my breath caught in my throat as the camera rose up over the herds of dinosaurs. Samuel L. Jackson’s cigarette dangling from his mouth as he muttered for people to “hang on to their butts.” Seizing my mother’s arm in an iron grip as the velociraptors silently stalked the children through a kitchen.
Jurassic Park is not the best film I’ve ever seen. Since that day, I have sat in the rapidly dimming lights and watched the title melt into existence hundreds, even thousands of times, and I’ve seen some extraordinary movies. But my love, my adoration of this medium was born in those moments next to my mom while the water trembled and the audience held their breath. In those moments, it wasn’t a movie. It was pure magic.
This blog is about my journey to get healthy, so it might be a bit confusing as to why I’m blathering on about a movie about rampaging dinosaurs. In part, I believe a slight paraphrase of Leslie Gore’s teenage anthem to misery would apply here: “It’s my blog, and I’ll reminisce if I want to.” But one realization I’ve made lately is that I can’t be doing all of this, from TSFL to exercise, just to lose a few pounds. If that’s the sole reason, I’m ultimately doomed to failure. I’m doing this to make my life better. I’m doing this so that I can strip away masses of jiggling regret, and focus on the things in my life that make me happy. Occasionally, I’m going to talk about those very things.
Tonight, Jen and I will meet some friends at a local theater to see the rerelease of Jurassic Park. Many of these friends haven’t seen me since I began this journey towards not having quite as large of a gravitational pull, and there is a very big part of me that is thrilled that I’ll get to see their reactions to my new, slimmer form. But there’s another cherry on today.
Tonight will be the first time that Jen has seen this movie. Tonight, I get to show it to her in the same way I first saw it: sitting in the dark, holding a loved one’s arm, and waiting for the lights to go down. Tonight, she gets to see why I love film so much.
Tonight, I get to show her some magic.
