No, I haven't seen it yet. And I probably won't until it comes out on DVD or screens long enough for us to see it at the drive-in.
(Note to self and others: discuss how to find a trust a babysitter when grandma's got other plans.)
There's just something about the sincerely pained expression on Martin's face in promotional shots for the film that come across as so real.
As fractious as we've become _ some of us ascending, others slipping through the cracks _ who doesn't cringe, at times, at the duty attached to extended family.
I can attest: a phone call about a second cousin needing a marrow donor, or a nephew-in-law's arrest, or an entire household of virtual strangers needing post-Katrina lodging can come like a bolt out of the blue.
Thank heaven for those (relatively) rarely delights like seeing a cousin you hadn't laid eyes on since she had baby teeth stand at the altar and exchange vows with the head of cardiovascular surgery she met in med school.
Through the good and the bad, the relocations and separations, it's seems so hard not to get detached. If you're reading this, you've know doubt had a "Roscoe Jenkins" moment yourself.
And our sons will most likely have theirs. We're raising them to be success stories. By blood or by marriage though, they'll need to know how to relate to and love living, breathing cautionary tales.
As the father of an only child, what's my best shot at making sure that the paternal relatives who live 11 hours by car (north and south) from him aren't virtual strangers by the time he grows up? And should I worry that he may grow far closer to his mom's side of the family than his dad's, as I did?
I basically left my hometown when I was 18 and for all practical, regretful purposes never looked back. But never mind me. Can I somehow soften the sort of "Roscoe Jennings" jabs my boy will one day absorb?
