3-D One years old. Again.

Hey kids,

There was all sorts of speculation (mostly on my part... no one else really gave a rat's ass, and rightfully so) regarding what I was going to do for my birthday. Back in the days when I was a bit more liquid, I was thinking of maybe taking you kids out of town for the weekend. That morphed into going to see a show somewhere close to home. The Pretenders were in town that night, but so was Zeparella, an all-girl Led Zep tribute band. As of yesterday afternoon -- the actual birthday-- I was still undecided.

The deal-breaker was my stupid headache. All day yesterday, I was a bit fuzzy and light-headed.

So, what to do that didn't involve a long drive and a late night, but was still a bit more meaningful than dinner at Chili's.

I decided to take you, Jakob, to your first movie in a movie theater.

We have not done this with you up until now, sweetie, because you're temperament contra-indicated such an undertaking. But you've been slowly outgrowing all those long-held assumptions we've had about you since your more peculiar and louder days. I knew it was time.

But, I wasn't going to press my luck, either. I chose a movie that's been out for a while. A matinee. Less chance of sensory overload from a crowd that could potentially hem us into place. I chose Coraline in 3D at the Carson movie house.

Okay, taking you to your first movie is an epic rite of passage, if you ask me. Going to movies is huge. I adore movies. It's a delicious indulgence, its charms instilled in me way back before I was your age by my own mother, who took me to the movies quite often. In hindsight, I'm sure it was a much-needed escape for her, and luckily I got to tag along.

Saturday matinees at the naval base movie house cost just a quarter back in the '70s. Every Saturday, half a dozen of us would head for the theater, stocking up on M&Ms and Sweet Tarts at the shoppette on the way. I found this photo of the theater. It's pretty ratty-tatty looking now, but it was Kid Central back in the day.



In those slacker years between high school and college, my friend Michelle and I made Saturday night drive-in nights a ritual. We'd manage to see two movies, sometimes three, driving illicitly from lot to lot, mixing and matching our own movie fests. There were usually California Coolers involved, and various forgettable man friends. Looks like the Valley 99 is no more:



In the intervening years, I've seen hundreds upon hundreds of movies in almost as many theaters, with the widest array of companions imaginable. Your daddy and I went to the Capitol Drive In back in San Jose almost every weekend, where trains run about once an hour beneath the east-facing screens. A strangely peaceable kingdom for both gangbangers and harried families with station wagons and buckets of chicken.

So yeah, movie-going has always been a big part of my life, and being there for your first was definitely the way I wanted to spend my birthday.

Here's how it went:

A 3-D movie experience is kinda spendy. The matinee price for an adult and a kid was $19. Yow. We got a small tub of popcorn and a large Coke slushee to share ($9.75), as well as the water and Gatorade that I smuggled in my purse.

We chose seats on the aisle about halfway up on the right-hand side. There was a grand total of seven other people in the theater.

You wrestled with the over-sized 3-D glasses and arranged the slushee and the popcorn just so, there at your feet. The lights went down, and I steeled myself for the inevitable barrage of What's that? What's his name? What's she doing? Where's he going? What's that called? What's that thing do? ... the way you do when we watch tv at home.

But you were sufficiently cowed by the grandiosity of it all, and sat there quietly through all the previews and then the movie started. You giggled and gasped in all the appropriate spots, took the glasses on and off and on again. You sat on my lap for a while, and then got back in your seat because it was easier to bogart all the popcorn from there.

About halfway through, you turned to me and said simply, "I'm done."

I pleaded and cajoled and got about another 10 minutes out of you, but you were indeed done. It definitely wasn't my worst-case scenario, so I persuaded myself to be pleased that we got as far as we did as I gathered up our stuff to leave.

In the lobby, we stopped at the arcade and played a race-car video game. You're too short to reach the pedals of those games, so I stood behind you and did the gas and clutch while you steered and shifted. Afterwards, we walked outside and sat on the curb for a few minutes, and much to my surprise, you said you were ready to go back in. I got confirmation from you half a dozen times, just to make sure, then we headed back in, found our seats again, and watched the rest of the movie (which was definitely darker and a bit scarier than the first half. I asked you once or twice if you were okay, and if it was too scary, and you said that yes, you were okay, and yes, it is a little scary...).

You got up once, to step over me and find a seat two rows directly in back of me, but other than that, you quietly watched the rest of the movie, and didn't allow me to even stand up until the last of the credits rolled and the lights came up.



So all in all, a fun time. For future reference: an impromptu intermission half-way through is a good idea, and two separate tubs of popcorn might also be a good idea.

Love you both, and happy birthday to me... I got just what I wanted!