After my grandfather’s funeral, my grandmother — other side of the family — took me and my brothers to see “Nine Months.” She and my aunt had already seen it, and their favorite character in the movie was the doctor played by Robin Williams. Despite the odd timing, we all ended up enjoying ourselves.

Then, even though we lived in Brooklyn, we went to Pizza Hut for the post-movie meal.

A few years before that, my family was planning on going to see a movie. It was decided that we would see “Aladdin.” I wanted to see “Home Alone 2” — despite having already seen it during a friend’s birthday party — and had tears in my eyes before we drove to the theater.

Walking in the parking lot after the movie, my mom asked me if they made the right choice. I said, yes. I really enjoyed the genie.

Before that, my mom took me and my brothers to see “Hook.” An insufferable middle-aged man who spent too much time worrying about work and too little time caring about his family, by the end of the film, had me believing he was, in fact, Peter Pan.

When me and my brothers got home, we cut swords out of pieces of cardboard and pretended we were pirates and lost boys.

On more than one occasion, “The Birdcage” was playing in the background while I was at my grandmother and aunt’s house. At my old Brooklyn house, I watched “Live on Broadway” with my parents on HBO. I saw “Insomnia” at the Kings Plaza movie theater, and “One Hour Photo” at the movies while I was attending college in Scranton. While visiting my older brother at college, I watched “Good Will Hunting” for the first time and heard a character recall skipping Game 6 of the 1975 World Series to go on a date with his future wife. Recently, after attending my friends’ wedding, my girlfriend and I listened to the “Good Morning, Vietnam” soundtrack on the ride home.

He entertained through his pain. Thanks to him, and all the others.


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