Dear Mom,

The Academy Awards was this past weekend. I found myself planning my entire day around getting home in time to watch every second of it. Despite the fact that the only category I’d actually seen any movies from was the animated features, I was still super excited to watch. It baffled me at first. Why did I care so much? It’s not like the Grammy’s which are more like watching a live concert of the world’s best musicians. Why did I care about this seemingly trivial night? Why did it matter who took home awards for films I had zero investment in?

Well, it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.

For the entire three hours of airtime, even during the boring bits, Scotland curled up on the couch next to me. She wanted to be close, my arm around her, as she snuggled against me. She wanted to experience this moment of watching the glitz and glamour of one night in Hollywood with me, her mom. Just as I did with you.

For as long as I can remember, I curled up on the couch with you each year to watch the Oscars. Even when I went off to college and later to Los Angeles, we’d text or sometimes even talk on the phone during the show. You loved commenting on the dresses. You always got choked up when the In Memoriam came on and you’d remember the artists of your youth who were now gone. I can still see you gasping, holding your chest, while realizing that some great star had perished, and you hadn’t even realized it.

Each year, even after I left, you’d go to the cinema to check off as many movies as possible before the big event. Even if that meant going alone. Sitting in the dark by yourself, feasting on popcorn, and enjoying your time in front of the silver screen.

Mom, your absolute love for movies is what made me love movies. And I can’t possibly thank you enough for that.

I often joke about the number of movies I watched growing up that I had no business seeing. The R-rated films that were intended for a mature audience being shown to children. Any Stephen King I could get my hands on. All the classic mafia movies. All the classic movies still considered the best of all time. I consumed so many movies as a child that I believe we had no more left to rent at the video store, other than that back room behind the red curtain of course.

I filled my brain with ideas of what teen life would be like by watching all the John Hughes films and other movies where adult actors played teen roles. The plethora of movies made in the 90s about teens who only cared about drinking, drugs, and sex probably didn’t help me much, but I sure did enjoy it all in the moment.

But my love affair with cinema goes way beyond those pivotal teen years. It goes way beyond what I learned from the storylines. Movies to me were more about magic than reality. It was about getting lost in a world that was bigger than mine. Fantasy, horror, science fiction. I loved to be immersed in a world that was epic and full of adventure. The Goonies, The Princess Bride, The Wizard of Oz, Willow, ET and Labyrinth. I grew up on movies that were weird and dark and confusing but also full of hope and friendship and love. I grew up crying during The Neverending Story and An American Tale, being sufficiently creeped out by The Witches and Return to Oz, and entirely terrified by Jurassic Park and Jaws. I was also oddly obsessed with The Lost Boys at 5 years old which opened a door for me leading to a deep love for cheesy horror.

I dreamt of traveling through time and space during Back to the Future and Flight of the Navigator. I learned about history from Indiana Jones and A League of Their Own. I cried so many tears I thought I’d flood the house during My Girl and Steel Magnolias.

My entire upbringing revolved around the movies I watched along the way. I’m not sure if it all has to do with the ability to transport myself to a different world or if I was searching for answers and education. I think it was a little of both, but I also think it had to do with my fondness for make believe. I loved horror films as a young kid because I wasn’t scared of them. I wasn’t scared of them because I knew they were pretend. I knew they were full of actors in makeup on fake sets. I saw the strings. I recognized the actors from other movies. I knew the hero would survive. They were all stories to me. Fun, entertaining, heart wrenching, scary, silly, adventurous stories.

And I adored stories.

But there is something about the Oscars in particular that’s bigger than my simple love for stories. The Oscars to me represents our mutual love for Hollywood. For Old Hollywood. For the history of movies. For the physical heart-fluttering feeling that comes from nostalgia. Watching the Oscars has a way of transporting me to the past. It’s a little reminder of where this all started. Both Hollywood in general and my personal love for cinema. It’s a reminder that we once shared a deep love for movies. It’s a reminder that we both dared to dream. We dreamt of other worlds. We dreamt of being transported. We dreamt of something greater. There is a reason so many little kids experience standing in front of the mirror, holding their pretend award, while reciting their acceptance speech to an imaginary audience. Or was that just me?

As a somewhat lonely kid in the suburbs of Chicago, I could look up on that screen at those stunning actors in those glamorous gowns and I could dream that one day I’d be on that stage. I’d have a little glamour in my life too. I could play make believe forever. It’s the reason my Bat Mitzvah theme was Hollywood, and my AOL username was Hurae4Hollywood. It’s the reason I took all the theater classes in high school, minored in Film Studies, and later went to Film School. It’s the reason I moved to Los Angeles. It’s the reason I still come up with stories and put them on paper. Hollywood and the entire industry of making movies has been the biggest influence in my life.

My love for watching movies has many layers. I’ll never forget when I discovered Dazed and Confused by myself and then wanted to scream from the rooftops so every neighborhood kid could share in the bliss of being taken to a time period that was so much cooler than ours but also pretty much the same. I also have some of the very best memories of me and David discovering movies together as kids and him later introducing me to more important movies such as Stand by Me and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as a rite of passage.

I have fond memories with Dad too. He showed me his favorite classics. Introduced me to Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Miller’s Crossing, and Once Upon a Time in America and is also responsible for my love for Tarantino films.

But you, Mom? You filled all the spaces in between.

You introduced me to the originals. The movies that were being remade when I was a kid? You showed me the black and white versions. You showed me the horror films of your youth that scared you but only made me laugh at their terrible special effects. You showed me the Hitchcock greats as well as the musicals you loved like Bye Bye Birdie and West Side Story. You sometimes got it so wrong by renting Exit to Eden and Heavenly Creatures when we were way too young to watch them, but sometimes you got it so right by renting Cry Baby and taking me to the theater to see Clueless.

You read the movie reviews in the paper. You were always hip to which movies needed to be seen and which could be skipped. If you saw a movie without me, you made sure to download your personal review for me so I could make an informed decision. The best was when we fell in love with the same movies. Together we discovered all the rom coms. If The Holiday came on TV, we’d stop everything to watch it together. We’d laugh and cry while watching our movies and then we’d talk about them after the credits rolled. Watching movies was always our common denominator. Even when we were fighting and not getting along, we could always sit quietly together while the screen flickered in front of us.

And now, I’m seeing the same love for movies developing in my daughter. Scotland loves lying next to me watching a film. She does wish I’d cry at the sad bits like she does, but apparently I don’t cry so easily during movies anymore. She loves all movies. The classics and the remakes. I haven’t shown her anything that she finds too boring to finish, minus that one time I forced both kids to watch Cool Runnings and they forced me to turn it off because it took too long to get to the bobsled part. Idris also loves movies but not like Scotland. He tolerates them but he’s more of a shortform entertainment kid. TV shows and video games are more his cup of tea. Though Idris did once watch all of Avatar on a plane and I swear he never blinked.

Scotland wants to spend a lazy Sunday in front of the screen getting lost in a world unlike her own. She sees the magic in film. She understands the pull of make believe. But more than all of that, I think she wants to experience it with me. She sees the importance of having this special time together. It’s so common these days for parents to complain and shame about screentime, but I don’t count this screentime as bad. I’m not sticking her in front of an iPad and walking away for hours. We’re getting lost in a new world. We’re creating what will become our future nostalgia. We’re dreaming. Together.

For me, the movie watching experience is full of nostalgia. I get to remember what it was like when I first fell in love with certain films, but I also get to remember what it felt like to be with you. To snuggle with you. To cry with you. And the Oscars are another reminder of those feelings. The magic of the Hollywood glitz and glamour. The inspiration of living a dream. Forever, when I’m immersed in make-believe, watching these award ceremonies, dreaming of one day being up on that stage accepting my award for writing, I will feel your presence. I will feel your hand on my back, pushing me to keep dreaming. To keep falling in love. To keep believing in the magic. And all I can hope is that one day my daughter will look back and feel the same way. I hope she will always know that I am here, pushing her to believe. Daring her to dream. Just like in the movies.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel