Scrolling through the couple hundred replies, many folks were suitably traumatized by horror flicks such as “Poltergeist” and “The Shining” and “Jaws.” Others still remember the emotional scars from watching “Old Yeller” and “Where the Red Fern Grows” (yeah, that was the first time I remember crying due to a movie’s story line. I was 5 and so very sad about those doggies!). One of the more popular answers was “The Wizard of Oz” – the flying monkeys in particular.
No surprise, my answer is nowhere to be found.
“Saturday Night Fever” for childhood trauma, anyone?
It was 1978. I was in the 4th grade, 10 years old. The Bee Gees were all over the radio, white leisure suits were all the rage, and Welcome Back Kotter’s Vinnie Barbarino was on the big screen. It was heady times.
As kids do, there was LOTS of talk on the playground about the movie. Girls debated which Bee Gee was the cutest (Barry, duh) and many…especially the popular ones…spoke as if they had seen the movie their very own selves. It was R-rated so I was highly impressed and mightily dumbfounded that their parents had allowed the underaged viewing. Ah, the mysterious life of The Popular Girls.
More and more, it was obvious that I was the only kid in my class who hadn’t seen “Saturday Night Fever.” Oh, the ostracization.
Meanwhile, I had my eye on some very trendy sandals. They were tan with spongey soles and the closest thing to a platform shoe that a grade-schooler could wear. Many girls at my school had the fancy-brand version. I spied some knockoffs at Thom McAn that I thought might be close enough to fly under the radar of the Brand Name Police.
Bowing under the suffocating weight of being desperate to fit in (I never truly did fit in, for which I am now grateful), I begged my parents for both Golden Tickets to 4th grade girl acceptance: I HAD to see “Saturday Night Fever” and I NEEDED those sandals.
Now, most parents would have probably said no to both before reminding me I needed to clean my room. However, my parents were slyly teaching me how to make decisions so this was yet another opportunity for education. The choice was simple: they would buy me the sandals OR they would accompany me to the movie. Only one. My choice. And no arguing or pleading after my decision was made.
I suspect Mom and Dad were certain I would pick the sandals. I mean, really – a fleeting 2 hours in a movie theater versus months of fashion-forward footwear? Duh!
Nope.
Off to the theater we went.
I don’t remember getting any strange looks as my dad bought the tickets for the three of us to see my first R-rated movie. But I do remember being the only kid in a single-digit grade in the theater. And I remember – vividly – being seated in the middle: Mom on one side, Dad on the other.
The music was awesome and familiar. The dancing was magical and intoxicating. The clingy disco fashions were so sophisticated.
But the potty-mouth language shocked me and made me squirm. The packet of birth control pills confused me and made me wish I hadn’t whispered to my mom for explanation. And Tony Manero was not Vinnie Barbarino…AT ALL.
However, it was sitting between my parents and suffering through the unbearable awkwardness of the sex-in-the-back-of-the-car scene that left the most traumatic scar.
John Travolta may have been stayin’ alive but I WANTED TO DIE! I desperately wanted to flee the theater. I was certain my parents sat me in the middle to trap me, to make me endure the torture of my bad decision. The sandals. The beautiful sandals. Dear God, why didn’t I pick the sandals?!?
I was beyond relieved when the credits finally rolled. I had hated the movie and the experience of seeing it. But at least…AT LEAST…I was no longer the only kid in the class who hadn’t seen it. I couldn’t wait to get to school and discuss the movie with confidence.
Ready to defend my Siskel & Ebert THUMBS DOWN review with passion and conviction, I was flabbergasted to discover not a single kid in my class had actually seen “Saturday Night Fever.” As I referenced scenes and dialog, I got blank stares and silence.
One of the popular girls sneered at my confusion and reprimanded, “Toni, it’s rated R. We’re not allowed to see it. It’s, like, illegal or something. Gawd.”
In that moment, I learned a lot more than my parents probably expected when they gave me the Movie or Sandals choice.
I learned that braggy kids are often liars. I learned that peer pressure is stupid. I learned that I was never going to be able to please the Popular Girls so it was probably dumb to keep trying. I learned that R-rated movies are gross. And I learned how to accept the disappointment of a bad decision…reinforced every time I longingly walked by the Thom McAn window.
So, traumatic for a 10-year-old, yes. But probably one of the most important life lessons I learned in 4th grade. Well, that and my multiplication tables (thank you, Mr. Magid).
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