“I gotta hurry back upstairs to the television!” I told my son as the screen door closed behind him. “It’s the final fight scene in Kill Bill.”
“Omigod! It’s so cool you have it on, too!” Aaron yelled, jogging behind me. “That’s why I’m late. I was watching it at Chris’s house!”
“Did you lock the front door?” I asked rounding the corner to the stairway.
“Shit! No!” he answered, frozen in his tracks for a moment, weighing whether the lock could wait for the end of the movie.
I could launch into a diatribe about the themes of Kill Bill Vol. II and how much this martial arts mom relates to them. I could present a laundry list of the traits my son and I have in common and how similar our tastes are in art and music. In fact, I could fill pages with both subjects.
But as my first born and I sang the soundtrack tune “Goodnight Moon,” watching Beatrix Kiddo drive off into the sunset, my mind centered on a collection of facts that had strongly shaped the moment and that are more important than commonalities with my child or my love of a movie:
- I had to become a mother to care about my character.
- I had to quit living like a frat boy to learn what character really is.
- When my son started living like a frat boy in my house, the character that motherhood made me care about compelled me to show him the door.
- Showing him the door now brings him back through it with a level of respect and love that I’ve wanted us to have from the day he was born.
The rest of the afternoon’s visit consisted of chowing down on hard shell crabs that Aaron brought with him, chatting about his job, friends and flirtations, and waxing philosophical about the best first career choice for a talented young man who’s bound to have more than one. It was an afternoon that made the week, if not the season.
“The lioness has rejoined her cub and all is right in the jungle.” That’s the final statement in Kill Bill… and it’s the truth.