October 24, 2019 (Thursday)
I liked the movie, “The Thief of Bagdad.” I saw it the first time in 1940, when I was only 8 or 9 years old. I had seen the previews and begged my parents to let me go and see it at the Queen movie theater at 2427 Jensen Drive, Houston. It looked much like the one shown below.
The movie was a rarity, because it was in Technicolor. The colors were rich and vibrant. I wanted to see it because the previews had shown the actors riding on a magic carpet, a man riding in the sky upon a flying horse, a slave boy climbing a huge golden idol to retrieve its magic eye, many other amazing sights, and, of course, a Genie granting wishes.
My father took me to see it, as a favor to me, because I begged so hard. It was the only time I can remember my father attending a movie theater. He didn’t care much about such things, but he was kind enough to take me because I wanted to see it so badly. I’ll never forget that.
Daddy didn’t ever have much to say. He was a very quiet person. Later in life, when he was getting older, and was partially disabled, he hardly ever left his house. I would go to Houston to visit with him, and we would visit a while, soon running out of things to talk about, and I would be on my way. On one of my last visits with him, about 1978, as we walked out to my car, we stopped at the gate, he laid his hand on my shoulder, patted it softly, looked directly into my eyes, and said with a slight smile, “I’m proud of you.” I’ll never forget that, either.
I guess as we get older it takes longer for us to share stories from our life because as time goes on each memory is enhanced. It’s difficult for us to think about something that happened without thinking also of other associated memories. Each memory spawns others. My great regret today is that I didn’t listen more carefully when my elders were telling their stories and sharing their memories.
[This blog, “Magic Memories,” was posted 11 years ago sans pictures on October 17, 2008]