Last week, I showed you a few pages from my early childhood diary. Today for Flashback Friday, I'll walk you through something I found in the same box as the diary. It's a small notebook filled with nothing more than a record of all the movies I watched between January 14, 1989, and August 18, 1990. Or at least all the movies my 7- and 8-year-old self felt like writing down, anyway. It gets pretty spotty near the end.
Here's how I start out my little movie record:
Do you remember the old TV/PBS version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe? All the anthropomorphic beavers, fauns, et al were ridiculously costumed, but the main cast (especially the White Witch) were actually quite good. My siblings and I developed an unhealthy dislike for Lucy - she was stubborn and whiny and her haircut was unattractive. On the other hand, I practically worshiped Susan, with her shiny braided hair and pleasant British demeanor.
Part two of the same.
I assume this is part 3.
Then comes the inevitable vandalism from my brother Blair (this is only one of the pages he defaced):
In case you can't read it, it has Return of the Monkeys being watched on Saturday not by me, but by President Bush (Senior). Blair brings up a good point, really, one that was brought up by Jeremy as well when he saw this notebook: Why did I record the "who"? It was my notebook - who else would I be writing about but myself? Couldn't we just assume it was Bridget doing the watching? Apparently not:
Craig is my dad. The best part is that that appears to be his handwriting. I'm glad he was willing to sign off personally on Eight Men Out.
Not only was this little notebook fun to read through for nostalgia's sake, it helped solve a little mystery, too. My sister Teresa and I may not have the best track record for remembering childhood events accurately, but both of us were fairly certain that back in the day, long before it would have been appropriate for us to do so, we watched the movie Flowers in the Attic. I know! What a terrible, terrifying movie. I have vague memories of scenes involving a freaky grandma, cyanide-laced powdered sugar on top of cookies, and a bride falling to her death onto a sunken grate in the garden (?). But surely I hadn't actually watched that movie, and certainly not with my younger sister, right?
Well, see for yourself. The notebook doesn't lie:
This page is nothing less than incontrovertible written evidence of what must be one of my parents' more colossal parenting blunders. I really can't imagine how this came about. I only know that I am scarred for life.
I realize you may not have contemporary written evidence, but was anyone else disturbed by certain movies at a young age? Besides Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, of course (Gene Wilder = SCARY).