With one daughter in Spain I decided on a whim to take her twin to the movies. We stopped for lunch and headed to an early show.  There weren't more than a dozen people in the theater, though it was pretty dark so how would I know? It wasn't until we were back in the foyer that we realized there were three people we knew sitting right behind us. 

 

The Green Book won a few awards, or so they tell me. I am usually sewing half square triangles during the Oscars. When we lived near L.A. we knew people who strolled in such crowds. One of them actually attended when a friend was nominated for an award and had recently divorced. Coddy Nuckols was a gentleman, and escorted her to the red carpet event. A fascinating thing about Coddy is that he has a brother named Harry. You may recall what I said yesterday about naming your kids. 

 

Anyway the two main characters in the movie won me over, in that I came to care about them. Respect them. And they are nothing like me. Don Shirley had three PhDs and was a world class pianist. Plus he is black. Dr. Shirley is wealthy, but spent holidays alone. I haven't done that since... well, ever. Tony Lip was a burly Italian who hurls rapscallions out of night clubs. But he loves his wife and kids. Kisses them every night. Can't spell even four letter words like dear, though he knows plenty.

 

Tony starts out with a fierce derision for blacks. Yet he is out of work, and the musician needs a fearless driver to take him into the deep south in the sixties, when blacks faced insidious dangers. Tony is unused to holding doors open for anyone, but he sucks it up and takes the wheel. 

 

You are probably one of the three million people who paid for a seat to watch it, so I am not telling you anything new. But that does nothing to dilute the film's impact on me. 

 

Both Tony and Don do what I most long for in a story. They change. Circumstances engage them in one another's experience just enough to leave stereotypes at the curb. It's not as if Tony takes up piano, or Dr. Shirley swearing, but they loosen their grip on the only restrictions they have power over. Their own. 

 

Sometimes I wonder whether I am capable of such evolution. Can I step out of my comfort zone enough to blur the lines between those divisions that separate us with such rigidity? Believe that someone else's choices come from a history I am in the dark about? Admit that I can, if I am willing to suck it up, step into common ground? 

 

It is then that the lights go on, and I realize that we are in the same theater after all.