E.T. Telephone la maison…

Allow me to get a little sentimental on you for a moment.

I started watching the French version of E.T. with a few neighbor kids.  I know E.T. is a great movie, I would never deny this.  However, I can’t even remember the last time I watched it, and I know for a fact that I’ve only seen it two times before this.  As I sat there watching this movie through the eyes of my Bahamian children, I began to appreciate it with a child’s heart again.  Their eyes lit up with wonder when he speaks for the first time, they laughed hysterically when Drew Barrymore dresses him up in her wig, and I began to think of the first time I watched the film.  I was maybe five years old, in the living room with my mom and dad in the old rickety farm house in Melrose, Iowa.  And I too shrieked with joy when E.T. gets drunk and Elliot releases the frogs, cried when E.T. turns white and the bad humans hook him up to machines, and gasped in wide wonder when the bikes fly into the air.  In the day and age where I’ve seen more versions of the Saw and Final Destination franchise than I care to admit, or when I’ve seen children flying on broomsticks to magical prep schools in alternate reality, I can safely say that the magic of TV and film have made me jaded.  I am shocked at nothing these days.  But watching this movie, through the eyes of these children who do not watch movies on a regular basis, took me back to a nostalgic place in my heart, and while I’m not that child anymore, I at least got a chance today to remember her clearly.


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