I was excited when I found out The Lion King was coming back to theaters. I wanted Sam to see it but we don't have it on DVD (if it's even ever been released on DVD before--I know it comes out in October though). I was less excited about 3D--can you say mother of all migraines--but our theaters had a showing or two in 2D, so we planned a special mommy/daughter date to go this afternoon. Daniel was supposed to work late today, but since he's on Saturday shift (boo) he got to come home early to watch Peyton (yea!).
Time to share a beloved classic with my little girl on the big screen. I hadn't seen it in probably 10 years or so--which explains why I was a little fuzzy on the deets. I was sitting there with my kid in a giant double decker theater for hundreds, and we were sharing it with a dozen people, tops. We had not only our own row, but we were the only people on the far half of the theater. Of course, that didn't stop the family who brought a newborn from letting the kid cry at one point. Seriously, only 10 other people around and someone still has to be a pill? So there I was, sitting happy in my decade-old memories of a great movie. Mostly, I remember that JTT was the voice of Simba, and my walls would attest to the deep and abiding love I had for all things Jonathan Taylor Thomas at that juncture in my life. Of course, I remember Mufasa dying, but I remembered it like the death of the mom in Nemo. Cue scary looking fish, cue shot of mama clown fish, blackness, and then, no one ever mentions her again. Sad, and traumatic, yes, but to a three-year-old, largely inexplicable. Death in the abstract. Off screen.
We were only a few minutes into the movie when it all starts coming back to me.
Crappity crappity crew.
Suddenly, a long repressed childhood trauma is surfacing--as I remember that Mufasa's death is no off-screen plot point. Nothing abstract or hard to figure about it. It was devastating. He was murdered by his own brother (for some reason, I had fudged my memory over as just an accident that Scar orchestrated, not that he played an active part). What have I inflicted upon my daughter!?
Sure enough, it was as depressing as I finally remembered. Possibly worse, being a parent on the other side of the equation managed to actually make it more horrible. I'm seeing poor little Simba curled up with his dead father's body and panic is rising. Sam says "Mommy?" and I looked down to two eyes the size of dinner plates. "What happened to Simba's daddy?!"
I didn't know what else to say, so I went with the truth--"He died."
Sam sounded even more panicked, "He died!? Did he die because Simba disobeyed?"
Fabulous. I'm wondering if I should just pre-pay a therapist now instead of saving for college. I remember all sorts of pointless crap, why couldn't I have remembered that this might not be preschooler appropriate? "No, honey. Mufasa died because of Scar, the bad guy. It was not Simba's fault. That was a lie the bad guy told him."
Very quietly, Sam breathed "Oh."
The rest of the movie got happier, and Sam got wigglier and started to wander among about five seats she had claimed as her own (why not, the theater was a ghost town). She begged for candy and popcorn. She forgot to use her indoor voice repeatedly. I was a little worried that the only point she really paid attention to was going to turn out to be the most horrible part. She came back a little towards the end, sat on my lap, and asked questions. Turns out, she had been paying attention during her wanderings.
As we walked out of the theater, Sam started singing "Hakuna Matata, Hakuna Matata..." She grabbed my hand and we sang it together for a while. Then, she looked at me and said "I liked that movie. I think I want it for Christmas."
She seems to be totally fine about everything. Not permanently scarred or asking if one of us is going to drop dead the next time she disobeys. It's only been a couple hours, but if that were true, both Daniel and I would be dead five times over by now. Nope. She's just mad that I wouldn't let her have a cupcake chaser to her popcorn and jelly bean afternoon.
And as usual, the drama is all in my head.
Hakuna Matata, everybody.
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