Where the Wild Things Are...Revisited

As I wrote in a previous post, Ryan and I were anxiously awaiting the release of Where the Wild Things Are, and last weekend we were amply rewarded.

Where The Wild Things Are was a wonder.

In my last post, I wrote about the similarities between Max and Justin. The thing I was unprepared for was how much Max reminded me of myself at that age.

You see, the movie takes place against the backdrop of a little boy dealing with, among other things, the aftermath of his parent's divorce. His mother is loving but busy and frazzled with not a lot of attention to spare. She also seems to be starting up a relationship with a new man whom Max doesn’t like.

This, in a nutshell, describes a large chunk of my childhood.

Parents divorced; Mom and Dad were loving but busy; couldn’t stand Mom's new boyfriend.

As much as I predominately remember having a happy childhood, I also remember it being a tumultuous time of my life. There were so many times that I was angry. That I was confused. That I was lonely.

So many of those feelings sprang up, not just because of my parent's divorce. But because that particular event precipitated the time in my life where a lot of the innocence drained from it. That time when I realized that Daddy wasn't a super-hero and Mommy wasn’t a fairy-princess. They were just people, with their own lives and their own set of problems that didn't always include me. There's nothing scarier for a child than to realize that their parents aren't perfect and they can't always make everything all better.

But that realization does come, it always does.

It has to.

But that doesn't mean that the period between leaving childhood innocence behind (no matter what the reason) and dealing with the fear and insecurity that's found on the other side, isn't anything less than terrifying.

Sitting in the movie theater and watching the raw emotional vulnerability wash over the face of the little boy who portrayed Max, opened up a floodgate of emotions that I thought had dried up long ago. It took me back to a place that I haven't visited in a long time.

And I cried.

A lot.

I tried to hide it as best I could, because I didn't want Ryan to be scared. Isn't it funny how the harder you try to choke the tears back, the more insistent they are on flowing freely?

Not surprisingly, Ryan noticed my crying. He didn't get scared or upset at seeing me cry. Instead, he put my arm around him, snuggled close, and whispered in my ear, "I love you, Mommy".

Then he looked at me and smiled.

That pure unadulterated smile of childhood innocence.

He still has it.

Despite everything we’ve been through as a family. Despite the number of times he's been robbed of attention that has instead often gone to his brother. Despite the number of times he's been yelled at by a mother who is often frustrated and tired and he's in my line of fire. Despite the number of times he's asked the not easily answered question, "When will Justin talk to me?"

He still has it.

There is no cynicism. There is no sadness.

He is simply all things joyful.

I'm not yet ready to say good-bye to the sweetness that lives inside him right now.

I want to somehow capture it. Hold onto it. Swallow it whole.

Please don't go...I'll eat you up I love you so

I think one of the main reasons watching little Max on that big screen was so hard, was because it reminded me, in vivid detail that Ryan too will go through his growing pains. And it will be hard to watch. And it will be messy and confusing. And it will be something that I will try to help him through but will probably find my efforts futile.

Because ultimately, growing up is a journey we all have to travel alone.