Our six-year-old twins are afraid of movies. Not let’s-cuddle-with-our-blankets scared, but full-on, we’d-sooner-lie-down-in-a-pit-of-snakes scared.
This is why.
First, we tried Ratatouille. Now, I love the crew at Pixar, but this is not a movie for kids; well, at least not for my kids. By the time the opening credits finished rolling, Remy was lost in the Parisian underground, having selected the sewer less travelled. While he drifted far from his family, mine moved closer: ninety-some pounds of kids piled atop me, pleading to turn off the TV. Because we aim for our kids to have as much screen time as possible, we forced them to endure the remaining eighty minutes.
Suffice it to say our twins have no problem with the willing suspension of disbelief.
If you already think we’re stupid, keep reading. There’s more to come.
Next project, Stuart Little. I actually read the book aloud to my kids, and it seemed tame. So, I decided to borrow the movie from the library. Surely this movie night would be a success. After all, Michael J. Fox gives voice to Stuart, and there is no way Alex P. Keaton would frighten my kids.
Whenever Snowbell the Cat and his posse entered the picture, William would go into a deep squat and jump up and down, screaming “No! Go Stuart! Go!” Then he’d start to cry, joining Vivian who was sobbing and wiping snot into my shoulder while proclaiming, “I don’t like this movie.”
Eventually eighty minutes passed, none too quickly for any of us.
The kids sprinted up the stairs the moment we stopped restraining them.
I looked at my husband. “Well, that was a success now, wasn’t it?” I said, unsheathing my sarcasm sword.
He pulled the disc out of the DVD player.
“I think we’ll have to wait a few months,” he said, “before showing them Full Metal Jacket.”
Any movie stories or phobias out there?