With delight, my dad shares his remembrances of magical movies he and his siblings used to watch for only ten cents.
They stayed all day at the theater, ate candy and popcorn, and only left when it closed.
One night, they were tired as they left and walked ten blocks the wrong way.
They backtracked and had to cross a dark alleyway.
A police car waited there.
The police treated them with a ride to the police station, and then, chewed out their parents.
My dad was nine. His siblings were younger.
His parents had been at their usual club.
I love words. I love the shape and taste of them. I find refuge in words and stories. I don’t always get it “right,” but I write anyway. It’s in my bones. – Tyrean Martinson