Next Time He Can Pick The Movie

Last night Mark and I had a date.  Our menfolk are still at scout camp and Emma went on an outing with her grandma. 

So it was the red head and me.

We went to IKEA to scope out bunk beds.  First I checked Mark into Småland.  Gone are the days he gets kicked out for hitting.  I don't think they even remember him anymore (there was a time he was on IKEA probation).  He had a great time and by the time I picked him up he was sweaty and flushed and a little perturbed that they wouldn't let him play dodge ball.  He said, "The only thing they'll let you do with the balls is play catch and throw them in the hoop."

I apologized on behalf of IKEA and fed him meatballs.  And also chocolate cake.  It's great to have a child that feels about chocolate like I do.

We went to look at bunk beds and I don't know about them.  I don't think we want bunk beds.  Mark thinks we do.  We'll continue to deliberate. (And ponder the ramifications of a new surface Mark can jump from.)

I realized that we'd have enough time for a movie when we got home.  We stopped by a Red Box in hopes of renting Diary of a Wimpy kid.  No luck.  I picked the movie Hachi.  I had seen a preview and remembered it vaguely as a heart-warming story about a dog.  It was rated G.  Bring it on.

Mark and I got comfortable on the couch.  We snuggled under the same blanket (the red one...we shun the grey scratchy blanket Adam prefers) and shared a bowl of popcorn.  Everything was going swimmingly.  The dog was cute.  Mark was cute.  He kept snuggling into me and telling me he liked this movie.

Then the dog's owner died.  Mark said, "I don't think I like this movie."

Then the dog went to the train station every day to wait for his dead master to return. Every day for ten years.  Mark was aghast.  He said, "I hate this movie.  This is an awful movie."  And then he started to cry.

He said, "The dog doesn't understand that no one's ever coming."  His little heart was breaking.  Which made my heart break a little too.

At the end of the movie, there was a screen telling the story that it was based on a true story.  There really was a Hachi, in the 20s in Japan.  And he really waited for his master every day like that.

Well that's when Mark lost it.  He pulled the blanket over his face and sobbed.  He said, "That's a terrible movie.  Terrible!  I thought it was bad but then it's true?!?"

I told Mark I was sorry.  I hugged him.  I wiped his tears.  I cursed my movie choice.  I promised him we'd go back and get Percy Jackson the next day. 

He declared he was sleeping with me.

I said, OK.

He was starting to cheer up but then wrapped his wiry arms around my neck and said, "Mom, what if you died? What if I didn't see you for ten years?  I can't even go a week without you!"

Oh boy.

Finally, finally, he felt better.  I told him stories about when he was a baby.  He fell into an exhausted sleep.

My baby.  My little warrior.  He loves nothing more than fight scenes in movies.  He wields several weapons at any given time (mostly made of sticks).  He plans to run a "Survivor Camp" when he grows up.  He can hold his own when wrestling with his teen-age brother.  He's hardy.

Except when he's not.

Then he's the most tender-hearted boy in the world.

And I will never rent that movie again.