Remember the F’ians

Getting Personal:

My mom loves certain movies with all – with all- her heart. She bites into them. Feels cozy ’bout ’em. She said (to me) “At some point, when you were a kid, you were afraid of being warm” “Giving.” It was “Giving” that she said not “warm.” Why be warm when everything else is so cold(?) (Anyway that was LAST thursday.)

Last night, Remember the Titans was on. My mom can watch the same movie (depending on how into it she is) over and over and will enjoy it the same way as she did the first time. I find that childish. My defense-mechanismed-armor calls that Childish. Just like a girl with braids eats a bowl of macaroni and cheese in her school uniform at a kitchen table after school

My mom loves football movies – Wildcats, ummmm what’s another football movie. So far, I got Remember the Titans and Wildcats. She loves Denzel. She likes when movies do it well. “There’s something to be said for people who ‘play to win.””

My dad doesn’t play to win ’cause he still doesn’t have a career job-job and writes poetry, and just gets depressed and sits in that depression. (I think, i’m not sure. Maybe I’m wrong.) My brother doesn’t play to win ’cause he spends more time getting nervous about his HW rather than doing it. And saying things like ‘Dude,” “Awesome” and “Totally” a lot. (He’s also 17). I don’t play to win because I let myself get so upset by the littlest things when i don’t even KNOW upset (I think. I’m not sure. maybe I’m wrong.) A bunch of people who can’t move forward(?) A bunch of people who just make art when life gets tough(?) I asked BACK this time instead of just nodding (she says that “play to win” thing a lot.) “Who doesn’t play to win? In this house – who doesnt’ play to win? Dad?”

She says, “I dunno… me?” AHA!

And THEN I realize my mom wants me to do for HERwhat I want her to do for me. So i bring my tea in and sit on the couch with an internal, “Well I guess I’m gonna have to watch this.” <- I’m a prick sometimes.

She turns to me: Look at this scene. This movie has so many, like, little moments, she tells me. I’m watching my mother clap (not really) like she’s a five year old watching The Little Mermaid. (Not a bad thing – I love the Little Mermaid.) “This is all my music, too. Music from my time. It’s the Temptations, it’s great.”

Before the actual watching, i had run downstairs for a cup of tea then asked her if she’d like to have a cigarette w/ me on the porch. She said yeah and we stood (she sat) outside. “I know you’re never going to watch Remember the Titans in your life, so i’ll just tell you what happens.” She told me the whole movie, while I just wanted a cigarette because I’m a bastard. Kinda like, Look, Lady… (I watched it anyway.)

It’s sentimentality that scares me. I tell myself that too much of it forms plaque on the brain and any other part of the body, limiting one’s form of escaping, should life paralyze you and hold you down. Limits you from making a change. Growing up. I steer away from that “way” because, well, wouldn’t Playing to Win mean getting up from a chair, separating yourself from a movie, or the NEED for the movie? Even if you are tired? However, nevertheless, for better or for worse, isn’t it also learning to not be a cold, douchebag prick as a form of self-defense?

Part II

Even when I was a kid, and I’d have toasted bagels for breakfast, I’d scrape the butter onto the toast so hard because I didn’t like seeing the yellow pats of butter. I didn’t want to SEE it. My mom could put pats of butter on toasted halves and wait a half minute for them to melt some, and would just start having breakfast. But I hated The Yellow. If i saw it on top of pancakes, or waffle, or piece of toast, or even melting in a pan before cooking something, i’d react like Wayne when Terminator-2 cop pulls him aside asking if he’s “Seen this boy.”


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