One day, out of the blue, my father said we were going to a movie. I kept asking which movie we were going to. He said he couldn’t really remember the movies and the different times but he thought there was one playing around two thirty. He got in the habit of focusing on the matinees at this low budget theatre because they were always cheaper than the new releases playing in the evening. Matinees also were a formula for unruly kids because the only people that went were the ones that got dropped off by their parents. My dad said it would either be BEN , or some Disney movie and I’d seen both more than once. I wanted to see the new James Bond movie at the fancy theatre downtown, but that wasn’t going to happen.
It was around one-thirty in the afternoon and we had about forty-five minutes to kill before we had to leave. I was drawing or something and all of a sudden my father said, “Hurry up and get your shoes on, we have to get going.” I was baffled why we had to head out so early, but I did as he said and we were off. I was starting to ask why we were leaving so early but he kept trying to ignore me. Eventually when we drove past the theatre, he said we were going to his mothers first because he had something to do before the movie started. That was clear over on the other side of town for God’s sake, what were we going over there for?; he had all day to do that, I thought!
We walked in to see grandma. He asked her if she had popped the popcorn yet, and she gave him a big bowl wrapped in tin foil. Why in the world was he coming over here to eat popcorn, I thought. “Dad, what are you doing, you won’t have room left to eat at the movies,” I said. My grandmother started to laugh and my dad turned away. She said he had come over to get popcorn to take to the movie and she had popped it last night. My dad then turned around with the bowl and told me to take some. I grabbed a few pieces and put them in my mouth. Since it was from last night, it was cold, and to make it worse it tasted burnt. I liked warm popcorn with butter dripping off of it, and it was the right of movie goers to have fresh buttered popcorn, I thought.
My dad started to shove it in a brown paper bag, like the ones you put your sack lunch in, and I was depressed. I pleaded with him to just get it at the movie theatre, but he said, “No.” My grandmother then said, “This is homemade popcorn, it’s better than what you get at a theatre.” My father walked in the other room and my grandma whispered, “You know your father, he’s quite the miser.” I thought I’d better keep quiet because arguing would lead to no good.
We arrived at the theatre. There was a long line of cars dropping kids off and the parents would just drive away. This place was a cheap babysitter, so to speak, and kids were swarming around like bees. I wasn’t sure what movie we were going to see and my dad said we’d figure it out after we got inside. We were standing in a long line and my father was constantly readjusting the bag of popcorn that he had hidden under his jacket.
The ticket girl was standing right next to the snack counter and after you bought a ticket, you were immediately asked what you wanted to eat or drink. When they asked my father he kind of just stood there and quietly examined all the prices posted above the girl’s head. She looked at me and was giving us some suggestions, like, “Popcorn or any candy?” My father was still silent and I dared say nothing. My father finally said he’d take one medium Coke and that was it. I kind of tugged at my dad’s arm and whispered, “Dad, I wanted something to drink too, and I’d really like some M and Ms over there,” and he said, “No, if your thirsty we can split this Coke because you wouldn’t drink a whole Coke anyway.” I wasn’t a damn baby, I thought, and I sure as hell didn’t want that petrified popcorn hidden under his jacket.
As we were walking away, I saw another bump under his coat. It wasn’t the popcorn. I grabbed the thing and it felt like a can of pop. I said, “Dad, you’ve got a can of pop under there!” He told me to be quiet and acted like he didn’t want anybody to know. I then was getting worried. I envisioned the theatre owner or someone getting angry, and kicking us out. The theatre police would shine a flashlight on us and tell everybody that we had smuggled in illegal contraband.
We sat in the back of the theatre a few rows from the central group of kids, and he eventually pulled out the popcorn. The movie hadn’t started yet and the lights were still on. A couple of people glanced over and looked as if they were trying to figure out where our popcorn came from, and my father just looked straight ahead with a stoic grin on his face. While the people watch, he shoved the bag in my face and told me to take some. I refused but he kept insisting because he wanted to show the others that he wasn’t the only one crazy about homemade popcorn. I took one piece to make him happy.
The movie was starting, and my father handed me the Coke he’d just purchased. I asked him why he’d bought a soda when he already had one under his coat. He said he had second thoughts about the one smuggled in because it was warm and thought he’d splurge and get a cold one. “It doesn’t matter, He said, I’ll just take it home and put it back in the fridge for tomorrow.” Thank God, I thought, the combination of old popcorn with warm soda would have been the end of me.
Some rerun Disney movie was starting to play, and all of a sudden my dad was eating candy. Candy, I thought, where in the hell did he get that box of candy from; he hadn’t bought any back at the concessions stand, I surely would have seen that. I was waiting for him to maybe say something about it but he wouldn’t even look at me. I finally said, “Dad, where did you get the candy?” He said he’d bought it earlier in the day because the movie theatre wanted to rip him off with their high prices. To prove it, he closed the box and tipped it over to show me the price tag. “They were more expensive at the counter, remember?” he said. How in the hell would I know? I didn’t study all the prices, and didn’t feel comfortable looking at the candy anyway knowing I couldn’t have any. He kept eating it and eventually asked if I wanted some. They happened to be the black liquorish kind that he knew I wasn’t crazy about, but I took some anyway.
All of a sudden popcorn and jelly beans started flying like fireworks. The theatre had a second story balcony, and one jelly bean from above started it all. Kids were having a food fight; our floor was battling the second. I was one to avoid conflict at all costs and these teenager types were a lot bigger than me. I was in the perfect position to watch and do nothing, but my father couldn’t take it. He stormed up like a bouncer smelling blood and I sunk lower in my seat. He yelled, chastised and pointed until he was out of breath. A few brave fools even threw candy directly at him in defiance but my dad never staggered. He threatened them with their parents and said he’d personally make every phone call to their mommies and they’d get in a lot of trouble. My dad was a teacher and was use to the ungrateful job of disciplining little nightmares. The popcorn was dissipating but a few kids were hiding in the recesses of the balcony launching jelly beans out in the crowd. My dad ran upstairs to weed out the enemy and put a stop to the unruly behavior.
My father enlisted the help of the manager and they kicked out some of the trouble makers, but as far as he was concerned, a lot of brats got away with murder. From that point on I was very tense and afraid some of the straggles would get together and come after us when we least expected. I was constantly looking over my shoulder.