I remember it well. It was only the end of the last Christmas break, after all, but it feels like a lifetime ago. All three kids were headed out to see “Spider-Man: No Way Home.” A perfectly normal occurrence. Except that it was the first time I wouldn’t be joining them, my eldest daughter, then home from college, having secured a hard-won driver’s license exactly five months before.
She paused at the door as we exchanged a knowing, almost sad glance. Things were different now.
It’s funny how arranging yourselves in a row in a darkened theater, attention directed forward onto a screen and not toward each other, brings togetherness. A unity of purpose? At home, in contrast, each kid’s focus tends to be channeled into his or her own hand-held entertainment device.
The highlight for me, though, was always the walk to Carvel for ice cream afterward, if at the late, lamented Southampton Cinema, talking about the movie as we strolled an empty Job’s Lane. Failing that, the plot points and outrages could be picked apart in the car ride home over the pop tunes coming from the radio.
The new arrangement amounted to a small but significant life change. A step closer to a passing of the generational baton.
But old habits die hard, and, the college kid home again, we were back at it Sunday night after dinner, standing in the kitchen debating the latest trailers (yes to Jordan Peele’s “Nope”) and recent releases (go ahead and skip the new “Dr. Strange”), ranging back into David Lynch’s oeuvre, from the 1984 “Dune” (I’m a rare one who considers it a favorite) to the hair-raising Hollywood noir “Mulholland Drive” (they must see it).
And then they were out the door and into the car, destination the Bridgehampton Carvel. That’s okay, I’ll take the hit, glad for their time together. Just promise me another pop-culture talk next week. Same time, same place.