Geohde at Mission: Impossible is holding a blog cross pollination, the idea being that you go and read your usual blogs, but along the way, you’re exposed to other voices and ideas without needing to do a single click. I’m sure if you went over to her blog and told her how much you love this idea, she’d be willing to hold another one in the future…
Welcome to My Ginormous Faux Pas
from Blogger X
This is the story of the little stirrup queen who put her foot in it…
You would think, living in the same house as the film festival director, that I would have some inkling as to the major themes in an opening night film. But I didn’t. I knew it was Argentinian and I knew the director. And that was about it. I have to tell you, that if you’re going to invite a friend to come see a movie with you, you may want to find out the topic of the film beforehand. It’s just a thought.
The lights dim and my friend and I start watching the movie. It is a sweet film about sons and fathers and how we are similar and different from our parents. Midway through the film, it becomes obvious that the father is not going to make it onto the final reel. Which is when my heart begins to pound. Because I’m watching the film with a friend who lost his own father to brain cancer a few years earlier.
Afterwards, I apologize and he is incredibly nonchalant about the whole experience. He told me it was fine and didn’t seem anxious to talk about it. So we didn’t. We went out and got dessert. And we dissected his love life. And we talked about a picture of a vomiting clown that I got in Italy. And we didn’t discuss the film.
I felt like the biggest ass. If it were me, I would have (1) cried during the film, (2) excused myself afterwards to cry some more in the bathroom, and (3) then wanted to talk about it at dessert. If I have to sit through it, I would at least want to use it a cathartic release.
But that’s just me.
It really drove home the whole idea of men and women mourning differently. I think sometimes because men don’t necessarily cry openly or as frequently as women, we forget that they’re mourning. Or we think that they’re not upset. But seeing his back tense and his chin resting on hand as he leaned forward in his seat reminded me that just because tears aren’t streaming down your face, just because you don’t want to discuss it for hours, just because you can compartmentalize and move away from the emotions doesn’t mean that you’re not in mourning.
If this were a Hallmark card, the outer picture would be an ocean of tears and the inner message would read something poetic in a cursive font about crying and mourning and love and inner connectedness.
But they don’t really make Hallmark cards for these sorts of faux pas.
But I am sorry that I didn’t find out the subject of the film beforehand…
Can you guess the identity of the guest blogger? Look over here to not only discover her identity, but to see my own post for today. And check out this post at Mission: Impossible to play along at home.