Vice

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,

As to be hated needs but to be seen;

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

    Alexander Pope

I heard this quote when I was young, and it stuck with me.  It's true, you know. I've watched myself get used to and slowly embrace too many things that I used to know were unacceptable.  I need to do better.

When I was about fifteen the movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sun-dance Kid" came out.  Keith, my older brother, and his best friend Richard really wanted to see it.  After hearing them talk about it I wanted to go see the movie, too.  I guess mom and dad finally decided it would be better to see it with us than to just let us go alone, because one Friday night they got a babysitter for the rest of the kids and took Keith and Richard and me to the movies.

Back in those days going to the movies meant seeing a double feature.  The movie that was showing along with "Butch Cassidy" was called "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie".  None of us knew anything about it, except it was supposed to be something about a teacher, and it sounded pretty innocuous. 

Keith and Richard didn't want to sit by us, (what if their friends saw them?) so they walked down to the front of the theater to find seats while mom and dad and I sat up towards the back.  I settled down in the dark theater, enjoying the excitement I always felt as I waited for a movie to begin, but the feeling didn't last.  "The Prime of Miss Jean Brody" was pretty dull, and it wasn't long before I was squirming in my seat, anxious for the dumb movie to get over so "Butch Cassidy" could begin. Then suddenly the scene changed, and I found myself staring at a totally naked lady, lounging on a couch!  Woahhhh!

Our family did not go to see R rated movies.  We did not allow pornography of any kind in our home, we did not laugh at lude jokes or tell off color stories, we did not watch suggestive television programs, and we DID NOT look at naked ladies on huge movie screens.  I had no idea what to do.  My mouth dropped open in shock, my mind whirled in unbelief, and I just sat there. 

Dad knew what to do, though.  He jumped up, grabbed mom's arm, she grabbed mine, and we crawled out of our row.  Leaving us, dad then stalked down the isle to where Keith and Richard were sitting, grabbed their arms, and led them back up to us. Together, we all walked out of that movie.  Dad marched over to the box office and proceeded to  give the ticket taker a piece of his mind.  (I felt sorry for the kid.)  Dad let him, and everyone else standing around in the lobby, know that he was very disappointed with the theater for allowing a movie like that to be shown without warning.  He assured the management that he would never have brought his family to see a show like that if he had known what was in it, and he wanted to know why it wasn't rated R?  I suppose it was, actually, but someone had neglected to post that bit of information.

Finally, dad told the kid that he was taking us home, but we would be back in time to watch "Butch Cassidy and the Sun-dance Kid", and he expected them to let us come in without charging us again.  The poor ticket taker humbly agreed, and dad pulled us out of the theater, got us into our car, and drove us home. 

I was still in shock.  Not so much from seeing a naked lady, but from watching my dad.  He was normally  such an easy going, nice fellow, especially around other people.  He never lost his temper or made anyone feel bad, but this time he wasn't being diplomatic or kind.  Actually, he kind of made me think about the Bible Story of Jesus, cleansing the temple. 

Two hours later we went back to the theater, passed the ticket taker without saying a word, walked into the darkened theater, found our seats, and settled down to watch "Butch Cassidy and the Sun-dance Kid".  I've got to tell you, I sat on the edge of my chair for at least half the movie, wondering if dad was going to make us get up and leave again, but it turned out to be fine and we stayed for the whole thing.  I enjoyed the show, I remember crying at the end and thinking it was so poignant, but I'm not sure it was really that good.  Years later I watched it again on TV and it was actually kind of a lame movie.  But, oh well.

The show itself certainly didn't change my life, but the experience did.  I learned how to stand up in the middle of a movie, whether it was embarrassing or not, and just walk out.  I learned that there are some times when making a scene is appropriate.  I learned that the faster you act, the easier it is to do what is right.   And I learned that even though I only saw that pornographic picture for just a minute, it is still emblazoned on my mind, even all these years later.   

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be see;

I hope, and intend, to never see something like that again, and certainly never to become familiar with it.  I don't want to have to endure stuff like that; dad taught me I don't need to endure it.   He showed me that it is OK to be embarrassed and embarrass other people if I have to, so I don't have to endure stuff like that, so I will never come to the point where I pity, understand, rationalize, or embrace garbage that will destroy my soul.