Through the Lens: Grieving a Distant Father
My memories are fickle. In some, it is Mars Attacks! on the screen. In others, it is Fern Gully or Independence Day. I am always small. Small enough that I need help to see the movie from the projection booth. Sometimes I climb down into the theater and sit in the back, either watching or wandering in the aisles, searching for abandoned treasures under the seats.