Jaws

Eitan, for these past several months, begs me to watch Jaws. And last night I relent. It is as good a time as any as Sonnet and Madeleine to Chichester to see the Diego Rivera and Frieda Kahla exhibition (Sonnet notes the gallery mainly Kahla's self-portraits from a collection in Mexico "and it is amazing that this little museum in Chichester can negotiate a loan of this size from a place like that.").  In 1975, when Jaws in the theaters, I, too, begged my parents to see Jaws but got a donut; said Grace: "No way." Instead we waited for "The Eyes of Laura Mars".

So me and the boy and Jaws. Inconveniently England plays Bulgaria in a Euro 2012 qualifier when we wish to watch the film and I tell Eitan: "Now or never" so we go with the shark. I am pretty sure he can handle it, BTW, save the first seen where the women gets munched in horrific fashion ("It hurts! Oh, God, it hurts!") but Eitan more concerned by any nudity.  By the time Quint chomped in two (blood spurting from mouth, mouth making funny sounds like "Arrgghh!" and "Glurgleglurgle!") we are familiar with severed legs, eyeball-less skulls and a 12-year old going under.

Afterwards I ask Eitan about the experience and he shrugs. No nightmares, either. This morning he is at a five-a-side football tourney representing his primary school. They end up second out of 25. How strange it will be, one day, when he and Madeleine off to college or where ever they go ?